#writing tip: Sometimes kids are straight-up assholes

[jpriest85-blog]

I've come up with another Scarlet Hollow MC, the infamous Florida Man ™️ cousin Jackson Scarlet. He started out as a joke playthrough, but then I got emotionally attached to the weirdo. I mean, the dude offers everyone that bag of boiled peanuts in greeting, and ironically enough, it is one of the few Scarlets to ever go to prison for a crime he was innocent of. I've included some concept art of Jackson, his roommate Truck the cat.

Name: Jackson Darwin Scarlet 

Gender: male 

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: 25

Height: 5ft10"/177.8cms

Eye color: gray

Hair: Dark brown, straight, and cut short and messy

Face claim: Tom Hardy 

Home city: Tampa

Notable features: the characteristic Scarlet ™️ cheekbones and deep set eyes. As well as a scar on his right eyebrow, stubble, a slightly crooked nose due to a break that didn't set right, and a few faded stab wounds on his lower abdomen beneath his belly button. Jackson also has several tattoos; a Raven on the right side of his chest, a prison tattoo of barbed wire and pocket watch with no hands on his right bicep, and a Madonna and child tattoo on his left bicep. Almost always seen wearing denim pants or shorts, a white tank top, and tacky tropical shirts in eye searing colors, no matter the weather.

Traits:

Gator wrestler Talks to animals/Powerful

Eloquent Ex-con Powerful/Book smart

Dr. Doolittle Talks to animals/ Book smart

The Birdman of Hardee Correctional Talks to Animals/Street smart

Occupation: student trying to get a degree in Biology

Living situation: shares an apartment with an asshole roommate, Truck the cat.

Romance: has a serious crush on Kaneeka.

Personality: The infamous Florida man™️ cousin. Jackson can be impulsive and reckless to the point most of Peralanne's rumors about him aren't that far from the truth like dragging an alligator out of a neighbor's pool, or getting banned from a local pet store for trying to free the animal when he was a kid, ect. Though he knows it wasn't easy for Vivian to raise him, especially with some of the crazy stuff he put her through, Jackson adored his mother dearly to the point he had a reputation for being a giant Mama's Boy. He was also raised to be a gentleman so Jackson is always very respectful of women and always addresses ladies he meets as ma'am and tips his hat, even if the lady in question is an elderly pug dog.

While he does come across as a reckless dumbass Jackson is actually pretty smart. Since he can talk to animals he developed a fascination with Biology from an early age and takes a huge interest in protecting endangered species. He's also surprisingly well read and is fond of the writings of very diverse authors from William Shakespeare to Toni Morrison. 

Sadly, Jackson had a very difficult time making friends with other children his age. Animals he's fine with, but other kids don't really want to play with the boy who claims he can understand what the class hamster is saying. So when he finally did make friends, he was desperate to keep them, even if they were bad influences. Sadly, Jackson's blind loyalty got him into trouble when he took the blame for his best friend on drug charges. Since the Scarlet family name doesn't have much pull in Florida, Jackson wound up spending 4 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Thankfully, he did eventually get his name cleared and was on his way to getting his life together, going back to school, attending AA. Things were looking up…until Vivian was diagnosed with cancer. 

Miscellaneous info & Headcanons

Jackson's father was a miner named Teague O'Byrne who came looking for work after fleeing Northern Ireland during The Troubles. Vivian never shared much about Jackson's father other than he loved to share stories with her about all the folklore they both grew up with.

In addition to the Talipo story, Vivian sometimes shared Irish folktales with Jackson she heard from his father. Jackson's favorite was the story about Selkies.

Jackson's middle name, Darwin, is a reference to the famous naturalist and his interests in biology. Also, for the infamous Darwin awards where people wind up dying in very stupid ways, which so far, Jackson has only gotten honorable mentions.

In addition to being able to speak with animals, Jackson is fluent in Spanish.

As a child, he always wanted to be a pirate or sailor so he could marry a mermaid and live out in the ocean with their part fish kids.

Jackson likely has undiagnosed ADD/ADHD, but considering his trouble finding health insurance, it's going to be a while until he can get it treated.

Due to his excessive energy, Vivian tried to get Jackson involved in sports to help him focus. He did pretty well on the high school wrestling team and was eligible for some college scholarships…until his best friend got into trouble with drug possession, and Jackson took the wrap for him.

Due to being able to communicate with animals and how much the Talipo story frightened him as a child, Jackson decided early on he'd become a vegetarian.

Jackson attended Braulio Alonso High School, which had a Raven mascot. He still owns the Navy and gold varsity jacket.

Despite all the unscrupulous and illegal things the Scarlet family has done over the years, Jackson is the only family member to have on record gone to prison, and ironically, it was for a crime he was innocent of.

Growing up, one of Jackson's few friends was a kid named Benny Johnson, who moved to Tampa from Miami in the 3rd grade after his parents divorced. Jackson bonded with him over the fact they're both being raised by single moms, but that's where the similarities end. Benny's mother was a bitter ex-trophy wife that never seemed happy with anything even though she made good money off the alimony from her plastic surgeon ex, and often spoiled her son while being condescending to the people around her.

During his trial, Jackson's best friend, Benny, did testify, but instead of returning the favor for Jackson taking the blame for the drug possession charges, he threw him under the bus.

While Jackson harbor some resentment for Benny betraying him, he didn't try to hurt him or plot to destroy his life. Instead, Jackson convinced a family of skunks to move into his ex-friend's house and taught them how to safely hide and escape from an eventual visit from pest control.

Due to spending 4 years in prison, Jackson missed out on a lot of pop culture references and jokes. Like when Kaneeka's brother Miles compared him to a character from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure because he's into marine biology and spent time in prison, and the reference went completely over his head.

Jackson's favorite TV shows are pro-wrestling programs, The Golden Girls and Magnum PI. He also starts getting into Murder She Wrote when he befriends Stella and Gretchen.

Truck the cat is a main coon cat with a gray striped coat pattern, which is why Jackson's old room gave the cat the name Truck because he's so fucking huge.

I headcanon Truck's first owner was a chef and Jackson's ex-boyfriend. Part of the reason Truck is such a brat to Jackson is because he doesn't spoil him with treats like his "real dad" used to, since Jackson is a vegetarian and worries about Truck's health.

I headcanon Truck the cat was a rescue part of the reason Jackson keeps him after his roommate/ex-boyfriend moves out is he can relate to how hard it is to build a life after being locked up for so long.

Truck the cat has an ongoing rivalry with an alligator that likes to sneak into the neighbor's pool that Jackson affectionately addresses as, Big Edie.

Jackson often used to get into arguments with Truck when the cat would steal his food. They usually devolved into yelling at each other in Cuban Spanish.

In addition to arguments about stealing food and bathroom etiquette, Jackson doesn't like that Truck tends to monopolize the TV. The cat will scream at Jackson for hours if he doesn't get to watch his telenovelas.

Before leaving for Scarlet Hollow Jackson left Truck in the care of an elderly neighbor who he affectionately calls Abi (granny) Marisol.

Jackson often jokes that his cousin Tabitha is like his grumpy parole officer.

In a strange way, Jackson's dynamic with Tabitha mirrors his relationship with Truck the cat but reversed. Jackson would often get into arguments with Truck just for trying to keep the cat alive; like keeping Truck from eating foods that'll make him sick, or trying to stop him from trying to constantly fight Big Edie, the alligator that keeps sneaking into the neighbor's pool. Likewise Tabitha and Jackson often argue about Jackson constantly winding up in dangerous situations, and it's only a matter of time before he comes to the hilarious realization he's basically become the jackass cat to his cousin.

[nitewrighter]

Hi hi! I always admired your writing, my favorite thing about it is how natural you can make people interact with each other.

But my question to you is, where do you draw inspiration from? Or if you have any references?

I have a fantasy story where the MC through some shenanigans, becomes a defacto student teacher, so most of the other characters she interacts with is high school aged students or other faculty staff. So we're looking at a about a decade difference older and younger. And im not sure how to write them without it feeling awkward or stilted.

Aw, thank you very much! I'd say I take inspiration from a whole lot of different places, both from my own life and from the media I consume. Both my parents are teachers who had summers off, so we would be able to travel a lot as I was growing up, and I got to see a lot of places, and I grew up in a big family, so there were lots of gatherings that put me in contact with lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, so you kind of grow up with a wide variety of interactions... I also roleplayed a lot in forum text RP's on gaiaonline when I was in high school and even in my first two years of college, which were themselves collaborative storytelling but also put me in contact with a lot of other amateur writers' voices and a lot of very distinct characters--sure a lot of them were anime knockoffs, but behind those anime knockoffs were very earnest and passionate voices. And I do have a degree in creative writing and was writing both academically and as a hobby in college (hoo!). But I've also always been hardcore into fantasy and science fiction from a young age, and also like... and like, that's kind of a whole melting pot in my brain. And I grew up reading a lot because I'd often be stuck after school with my parents working late grading papers. There's a lot of voices in my head and when I write I just.. tend to hear them. So lots of reading, lots of writing. Lots of getting out into the world. No small amount of Video Games.

As for your writing question, I think part of making dialogue feel natural is being willing to embrace the awkward. In the case of a student teacher, I can tell you that I actually work with a lot of people 10+ years my senior, and age differences with your coworkers really aren't as awkward as you think once you're past your mid-20's. There's some hierarchical stuff, because there's clear differences in levels of experience, but most of the time you're just... doing your job. I think basically the two questions you want to ask yourself when you're writing dialogue is:

A. What is this dialogue meant to accomplish? (Plot-wise, characterization-wise, exposition-wise... there's a lot of functions for dialogue! If you're just having characters talk for the sake of having them talk, you might find yourself stuck!)

B. How will the characters's own voices/characterizations, and their perception of the other character, affect this goal?

Let's say.. your MC is talking with a kind of stodgy, tenured-type teacher--real old school kind of guy. This is a guy who's very used to his routines, not really in the space to have a young person with approximately 20 minutes of experience disrupt what ain't been broke for 20 years for him. And oh lord, she looks like she has ideas. But they're still coworkers, so he's blandly polite but pretty terse.

"Oh no," you're saying, "Where's the banter? Where's the flow?"

Well that's just it: This ain't a marvel movie. Dialogue does not need to jingle keys in your face and be constant back-and-forth to be engaging. This is the part where all the "show don't tell" that all those writing classes have been talking about actually comes in. What's it like in the room? What are both of their body languages like? Does talking to this guy inexplicably make her sweater feel itchier, or is she just refusing to itch because she doesn't want this guy to think she's fidgety? Is she looking around the room for something, anything to talk about (environments are people too!!). Would they have misunderstandings? Uncomfortable pauses? Who wants to get out of the conversation first? The dialogue itself is only a part of a whole scene--so don't be afraid to zoom out to the scene.

As for the decade younger crowd, you can apply questions A and B as needed but keep in mind results may vary in terms of these whippersnappers' relationships to authority. No teacher is everyone's favorite teacher, and some kids are just straight-up assholes.

Anyway, Hope this helps.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I’ve never seen a de aged NHS or NMJ fic, and I’d really like too see how you write one (especially if it’s one where young NHS is transported too the present, and old NHS is transported to the past, before his brother dies OR after!)

“Sometimes,” Wei Wuxian said, when it’s late at night and they’re really drunk and he’s been whining up a storm over nonsense to the point that even Nie Huaisang, master of whining, asked him why, “sometimes it’s just - when I’m feeling really spoiled, I go back to being, y’know, like a little kid. Five, or three.”

Jiang Cheng just huffed, clearly already used to the idea, clearly acting like Wei Wuxian’s just stating the obvious, but Nie Huaisang’s eyes went wide. 

“You do?” he asked, jaw dropping open into what he knew was an unseemly sort of gaping motion, like a fish, but in his defense – “I’ve never met anyone else who does that!”

Wei Wuxian squinted at him. “‘Else’? You mean you do it too?”

“Yeah! Though I don’t go back that far – just to age seven or so.”

He was rounding up a little, but mostly seven didn’t sound as good.

“Seven’s better than three,” Jiang Cheng opined. He was sprawled out on his stomach, looking like he was contemplating taking an extra helping from their snack pile. He probably didn’t go little at all, the bastard. “You can feed yourself when you’re seven. This asshole here –” He meant Wei Wuxian. “– needs spoon-feeding.”

Wei Wuxian reached over and hit up upside the head, but didn’t deny it.

Nie Huaisang giggled. “Yeah, eating is fine,” he said. “I mostly just need a lot of hugs and stuff, to help me calm down and feel better. My da-ge gives the best hugs.”

“I think I’d be too scared to try it,” Wei Wuxian said, though he looked wistful. Even a little jealous.

He should be. Da-ge’s hugs were the best hugs.

“I know I’d be too scared,” Jiang Cheng interjected. “Even at the age I currently am.”

“Well, he’s not your da-ge, is he?” Nie Huaisang said haughtily.

“I can’t even imagine him giving hugs,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling over onto his back.  “He’s just – you know?”

“Tall? Strong? Terrifying?” Wei Wuxian suggested, then sighed. Wistful again. “I can imagine it, no problem. He must give great hugs. He’s got arms for days; it must feel so safe and secure.”

“I’ll give you the arms, I guess,” Jiang Cheng agreed, though he sounded doubtful. “I mean, he could probably pick you up.”

“Oh, definitely,” Nie Huaisang said. “Being picked up is key to a truly fantastic hug.”

Nods all around, even from Jiang Cheng.

“This is really great,” he added enthusiastically. “I didn’t think that it happened to anyone else; I thought it was just me! Da-ge’s always really strict about me not letting anyone else know…and it’s not like it’s all the time, you know? Just sometimes. When it’s safe.”

When he was feeling sick-to-his-stomach stressed, followed by a moment of sheer intense relief – and when his brother was around, of course. He couldn’t feel safe if his brother wasn’t around.

“Just sometimes,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Just like I mostly do it when my shijie is there, she’s really comforting to. I don’t know why you’d have to keep it a secret, though. It’s not really that embarrassing.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “Says you.”

“Da-ge’s always worried someone will try to use it against me,” Nie Huaisang confessed.

“Well, we won’t,” Jiang Cheng promised him, and Wei Wuxian nodded along as well, and really, Nie Huaisang could just start crying with how nice it felt to have people who understood.

“Maybe I’ll come find you guys next time, if you’re ever in Qinghe when it happens,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I can talk to da-ge; he can give you guys hugs, too.”

“You know who I really want hugs from?” Wei Wuxian said, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Lan Zhan! I bet he –”

“Don’t say his name! He’ll appear!”

“No, he won’t, he – oh! Uh! Hi! Lan Zhan, we were – uh…”

Lan Wangji glared at them.

Nie Huaisang tried to hide behind something, misjudged, and fell over straight onto his face.

Ouch.

“– not allowed in the Cloud Recesses!”

Da-ge’s going to kill me, he thought miserably, and stopped thinking about any of it.

He didn’t think much more about that conversation at all, in fact, not through their entire adventure with Wen Qing and the scary goddess statute, not with Xue Yang and the massacre and the battle there, not up until he made it home and they had a big banquet and everything was really great and he was home and calm and everything was fine –

Yeah, he probably should’ve been able to call what happened next.

He crawled into his brother’s bed.

“Hmm? Oh, Huaisang,” his brother said, waking up with a start and calming at the sight of him, and then he sighed. “I thought you’d started getting over this.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, even though he’d started wondering himself. It’d been a while. “Gimme a hug.”

His brother pulled him close – and truly, no one in the world gave hugs like his da-ge did. “Don’t go running around too much in the morning,” he said, already falling back asleep. “We have guests.”

Naturally, the next morning, Nie Huaisang woke up first, full of energy and pep – he was seven, after all (nearly), and they were far more excitable than either seventeen-year-olds or twenty-five-year-olds – and that’s about when he remembered that for once he didn’t have to worry about hiding away from their guests because his guests were like him. They got little, too.

“What the fuck,” Wei Wuxian shouted when Nie Huaisang jumped on his bed. “Who the fuck?!”

Nie Huaisang laughed at him. “It’s me, Wei-xiong!” he said happily, waving his arms around. His sleeves were always too long when he went little – his brother insisted that he wear something loose enough that he wouldn’t hurt himself if suddenly went big again – and it was a little funny to see Wei Wuxian from this angle; it made him all big and gangly. “I know your shijie’s not here and all, but it’s very nice; do you want to go little? If you’re five, da-ge will definitely give you a hug!”

Wei Wuxian stared at him. “Nie…Huaisang?”

His voice was wrong – all weird and strangled – and Nie Huaisang started to have that awful itchy feeling that he’d done something wrong. 

He knew it was possible, he often did the wrong thing, and he was even more liable to make mistakes when he’d regressed back to being seven than he normally did. His brother said that it wasn’t his fault, since after all having the same memories as his grown-up self didn’t actually mean that he could process all of them the same way – his brain was seven again, after all, and sometimes he couldn’t quite parse the big feelings and complex thoughts that grown-up him had - but he still felt bad about it when it happened.

It felt like he’d made a mistake now.

But he’d been so sure that his older self had talked it over with Wei Wuxian, and that Wei Wuxian had said he was like him. So why was he acting so surprised all of a sudden?

Nie Huaisang started fidgeting with his sleeves the way he did when he was anxious, his breath starting to come fast. “Wei-xiong,” he said, biting his lip. “You’re little sometimes, like me, right? You said…didn’t you say?”

“I –” Wei Wuxian started to say, then stopped and wet his lips. “Nie-xiong…er...Nie-didi...”

The door open and Nie Huaisang’s brother strode in, his face black with rage. Nie Huaisang, distressed, immediately scrambled off the bed to throw himself at him, to clutch at him and press his face into his robes as if it would hide his shame and embarrassment.

He really hadn’t meant to make such an awful mistake. He really hadn’t, honest!

“Wei-gongzi,” his brother said, voice stiff.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Wei Wuxian blurted out. His eyes were still fixed on Nie Huaisang. “I won’t, I promise – it’s not his fault. Really. When we were at the Cloud Recesses, I told him that sometimes I like to be a kid, with my shijie, and he thought – he must have thought –”

“He assumed you were not referring to merely playacting,” Nie Mingjue said. His voice was heavy, but a little less imminently violent; it was a good thing that Wei Wuxian had started by saying he wouldn’t tell.

“He’s a child,” Wei Wuxian said. His voice was awed. “He’s – he’s actually a child again. He’s small and – and cute – his cheeks are so chubby –”

Nie Huaisang could feel his brother starting to soften a little – he’d always liked it when people complimented Nie Huaisang – and he decided to press his luck, tugging on his brother’s robes and standing up high on his tip-toes in a silent plea that his brother acceded to, reaching down and picking him up in his arms. The best place in the world to be.

“I told Wei-xiong that your hugs are the best, da-ge,” he whispered in his brother’s ear, his own arms looped around his brother’s neck. “’cause they are.”

His brother sighed a little.

“He’s seven, right?” Wei Wuxian said. “He said – age seven. Is there a reason it’s seven?”

Nie Huaisang buried his face into his brother’s neck.

“When our father died,” his brother said.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian said, and his voice was suddenly awkward. “I’m – sorry. But…how?  He’s obviously been both physically and mentally transformed, although his memories still seem intact…”

“The details aren’t important,” Nie Huaisang’s brother said firmly. “What’s important is that you understand that no one can know.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “I can’t even imagine – if the Wen sect found out –”

“They can never know.”

“Never. I promise.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang’s brother said with satisfaction. Then, a moment later, “Is there something you want to say?”

Nie Huaisang looked up to see Wei Wuxian biting his lower lip. “No,” he said. “It’s – no, it’s nothing.”

“Just say it.” Nie Huaisang’s brother had never had much time for nonsense. “You’ve seen our secrets; you can trust me that whatever you say, I won’t judge.”

Wei Wuxian still hesitated for a moment longer, but another glare from his brother got him to finally blurt out, “Could I have a hug?”

A long moment of silence, that eventually Nie Huaisang broke with a giggle. “See, da-ge,” he said. “I told you your hugs are the best!”

“Never mind,” Wei Wuxian said, his face bright red. “It’s stupid, I don’t –”

Nie Huaisang’s brother sighed, a sharp exhale, and went over to the bed, still balancing Nie Huaisang on his hip. He sat down and wrapped his other arm around Wei Wuxian, pulling him in tight. “And what do you like to be called?”

“…A-Xian,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, pressing his cheek against Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. “Call me A-Xian.”

[vagrantblvrd]

how do din and luke meet in that modern au?

Oooh, so.

I don’t know why but I really like the idea of Din being the handyman at his apartment complex - gets a cut on his rent and pretty flexible schedule to take care of his tiny gremlin kid - but also?

Lends a hand at Cara’s gym or Boba’s bike shop or something and Luke comes in because his bike is acting up and he can’t figure it out?

Like, Luke’s usually pretty good about keeping his bike up to speed and stuff but there’s something wrong with it he can’t figure it out?

Din’s filling in for one of Boba’s guys, only one in when Luke pulls in and it’s like oh, no, he’s ridiculously attractive, and somehow he manages not to make a fool of himself.

He thinks Luke might be flirting with him??? There’s a lot of smiling and even some leaning, Luke in that yellow jacket of his and big old smile and pretty blue eyes leaning on the counter telling Din all about his bike woes and such with this smile like hey, what can you do, right?

Meanwhile Din’s gripping the ballpoint pen so tight the the plastic cracks - one of those clear plastic ones, name of Boba’s shop worn away from use and whatnot, and he is trying, okay, he is trying to be a professional but Luke is making it really, really hard. NO. Difficult. Luke is making it really, really difficult.

He has no idea what he writes down on the paperwork. Boba calls him up the next day trying to make sense of it and Din is like shit because for the life of him he cannot recall anything about the whole encounter aside from Luke. (Well, okay, he does once his brain kicks into gear, but when he’s talking to Boba on the phone it’s static.)

Anyway.

Luke with his big smile and pretty blue eyes and all that leaning and Din goes out to check on Luke’s bike and it’s something that needs a new part, and Luke’s bike is an older model - “It was my dad’s,” he says, this odd smile on his face, something that tells Din it’s better not to ask after that tidbit just yet - and he’ll have to order it. Should be at the shop in a day or two, and they’ll have Luke back on the roan in no time.

Because Reasons it’s not safe to drive the bike, and Boba’s shop doesn’t really do courtesy shuttle service, but Luke came in close enough to closing that Din’s sure there won’t be any more customers and Din does have his minivan, so...

And, okay, it might seem a little creepy, but also common decency since Luke mentioned being new in town and he probably doesn’t know that many people, and anyway. It would be weird to kick him out of the shop and just drive off, right????

Besides, it’s been cloudy all week and the forecasts look like they might be right for once because it feels like it’s going to be a hell of a storm, and he’d feel bad if he made Luke wait for his ride in the rain.

So Din offers to give Luke a ride home or wherever after he closes the shop, Luke tries to tell him it’s no problem, he can call a cab or a rideshare - he has a friend in town, old family friend or something but it’s kind of late and anyway, no need to go to all that trouble?

But Din insists, and it’s not like Luke’s putting up much of a fight about it, and he just hangs around while Din closes up the shop and locks up and then gets in Din’s minivan and it’s not as weird as either of them thought it would be?

They don’t really talk on the way aside from Luke offering up an address and such and Din grumbling about traffic and detours and construction. Mentions offhand to Luke about what to look out for when traffic picks up and so on.

At this point I don’t know if I like Luke staying at Obi-Wan’s place at the moment or not, but you know what would be hilarious?

If Luke gives Din his address and Din is just like ah, yes, I know exactly where that is and they zoom off in that direction only for him to have the belated realization that wait, wait. That’s my apartment complex.

But maybe that come later, you know?

A few weeks, maybe a month or two after their first meeting and Luke’s bike is acting up again and he has to bring it back into the shop and he and Din do this whole thing over again?

Only this time Luke is like, well, hot bike shop guy didn’t react badly to my flirting the first time, why not kick things up a notch? And poor Din is like oh, no, this is terrible when it’s really the exact opposite.

And maybe before he wasn’t really in the frame of mind to be looking at getting into a relationship of any kind? Busy with Grogu and work and other stuff and no real time to consider it, but things have evened out in his life and it might be nice, and then Luke walks back into his life and he’s like hmm, why not?

So double flirting and Din is pretty sure it is flirting this time - Luke did the thing when he handed his keys over, you know the one. Fingers brushing, lingering, intense eye contact and smiles - and anyway, yes.

It’s a few hours to closing, but Boba won’t mind if Din closes the shop early and Luke puts up a token protest about Din driving him home, and this time, okay, this time.

Luke gives Din his address and Din is like okay, great! And it isn’t until they’re actually on the road - the one he takes whenever he leaves Boba’s shop on his way home that he’s like, huh, and not until he’s halfway to their destination that he’s like weird.

Because last time he could have sworn Luke lived in the opposite direction, but he did say he was staying with a friend at the time, what with being new in town and all.

Still.

It’s not until he sees his the apartment complex he lives in come into view that he’s like wait, wait, wait.

His boss told him someone was moving in to one of the apartment units a week or so ago, and while he’d made note of it at the time it hadn’t come up since then.

Din stares at the apartment complex for a moment, and then looks at Luke who is all ??? at his reaction.

“You live here?” Din asks, brain no co-operating with him, so of course that’s the first thing he say.

Luke is still ??? but he’s like “Yeah, I just moved in last week. Still settling in, but it seems nice.”

Din is like. “...” because he’s convinced this is the universe playing a joke on him. (Or maybe his asshole friends, who knows.)

“Uh, yeah,” Din says, awkward as hell.

There’s a little more awkwardness before Luke starts to get out - and stops. Stares out the windshield and Din is like ??? because Luke says in an undertone, “You can do this, you’re a Skywalker,” and rips off a corner of his copy of the slip Din gave him for his keys at the shop.

Gives Din this awkward look and a little “Excuse me,” as he snags the pen in Din’s workshirt and writes his number on that bit of paper. Gives Din this crooked little smile and tips his head before it clicks that oh, oh shit. Luke’s giving him his number.

And not, you know, because of work reasons. Because his bike and Boba’s shop and just. (God, he’s a mess.)

Din takes the paper and Luke beams at him before he slips out of Din’s little minivan with a “Call me sometime!” that’s almost swallowed by the rain because rainy season and Din sits in his dumb little minivan for a long, long time after that with Luke’s number clutched in his hand and brain full of !!! because !!!.

But also, also.

Din hearing about Luke all over the place because he works with that family friend of his - Ben, something? - with some kind of youth program and he went to Cara’s gym about holding classes there or something?

Turns out he and his family friends do something with sword? Or yoga or something, Cara wasn’t clear on it, just wanted to tell him all about these weirdos and what kind of sucker did she look like? (Din rolls his eyes because he knows her, knows she said yes, and probably cut them a sweeter deal than they were expecting and anyway, anyway, he hears about Luke from her which is unexpected to say the least.

And then there’s Boba, who gets this look on his face when he realizes Dins a little moony over this guy he met, someone he met through Boba’s shop, and then it’s -

“Wait, what?”

Because Boba used to be a bounty hunter back before he settled down and opened his bike shop and Din worked with/for him a bit before Grogu came into his life and he realized he needed something steadier for the kid.

Boba’s the one to tell him about Luke being buddies with Han, and after Din sees Luke’s tattoo and hears all about his days with his biker gang back home - “It really wasn’t a biker gang, Din, really” digs up an old bounty on Luke.

Old, old, from when the whole Family Drama was going down and anyway, it was a long time ago and everything’s been cleared up and just. Don’t worry about it, okay?

Anyway, before all that there’s Luke moving a new couch into his place one day and Din on his way back from fixing someone’s sink or whatever and offers to help?

Luke is like, “Um,” because what is Din doing there?

To which Din is like, “So, i didn’t realize it at the time,but I, too, live in this apartment complex and am also the resident handyman.”

:)???

Luke just looking at him over the top of his stupidly heavy couch because what are the odds?

Din feeling a little awkward and about to scuttle on home, but Luke snorts and take Din up on his offer of help and after struggling to get it up to Luke’s place and in the door, they collapse on the couch - stupidly heavy but surprisingly comfortable.

And it’s late afternoon and Luke didn’t have time for breakfast and Din straight up skipped it getting Grogu off to to daycare. Cara’s picked him up, and she likes to keep him with her until Din calls or she leaves the gym which gives him a free afternoon, and anyway.

They order pizza and watch terrible television because they’re too damn tired to do anything else and it’s actually really nice and maybe, maybe, they kind of gravitate towards one another somewhere in there.

Dip in the couch cushions or something and leaning against one another, maybe Din’s arm goes on the back of the couch and Luke’s shoulders happen to be right there, who can say.

(Maybe, maybe, there’s this little moment when Din’s leaving because Cara texted to let him know she’s bringing Grogu back and he has to leave and Luke sees him to the door where they just kind of...look at one another.

Soft smiles and so on, and not quite at the smooching stage just yet - Din helped him move his couch, Luke fed him pizza, a date that is not - and yet?

Luke might feel a little cheeky, might dart in and press a quick little kiss  to Din’s cheek and laugh at the look on his face, might say, “I had fun, we should do it again sometime,” before Din’s phone buzzes again, Cara almost to the complex and Din has to go, and Din, okay, Din is like.

“I’d like that,” and have to run even though he really doesn’t want to, wants to spend more time with Luke, but his kid, and anyway, anyway, maybe they can go on an actual date next time.

(They kind of don’t though, but that’s fine because they have a good time anyway, and they do manage to get to the smooching stage, which is just really, really nice.)

[constellaj]

Have any of the Phandom ever pointed out how it doesn't look good that a good portion of the human bullies are people of color? Like, I want to think it's unintentional on the writers part, but aside from Tucker and Valerie, who started out as a mean girl, every other not white character is a jerk

ok a) yes and this is a hartman hate club but. b)

-the main bully, like THE singular bully, is dash, who is just a rich white blonde man

-kwan is actively shown to be the ‘nicer’ of the bullies, hes forgiving and kind and gentle a lot (’hey im sure it was an accident’ and ‘the fluffy clouds all look like footballs’)

-star is also one of the popular bullies and shes white

-paulinas portrayal is messed up in every way (shes like an irredeemable shallow bitch, shes the ‘sexy latina’ stereotype, etc...) but at least she is a love interest sometimes instead of a straight up villain (for me personally i think her self-centered ‘bitchy’ attitude is actually perfect and i love her for it although i do understand that the writers were probably not celebrating it)

-the only other casper high characters we see are danny, jazz, sam, val, and tuck. danny and jazz are siblings so if one was white the other ‘had’ to be white (eschewing adoption and mixed race kids). sam is jewish (although a lot of ink could be spilled on the shitty implications of writing a jewish character who is secretly rich). val is written a LOT like an ‘angry black woman’ stereotype before she becomes the huntress, but she does genuinely get am arc and becomes a close friend of danny (for a time anyway). and of course tucker is black. 

yes it seems very disproportionate and i dont want to defend it but i think its worth pointing out that we may be conflating the number of characters in Danny’s friend group with the number of characters in the popular kids. we SEE more popular kids by and large because danny only has sam and tucker; dash, star, kwan, paulina, dale(?), other miscellaneous background bullies, valerie, etc etc (its also worth noting that a lot of unnamed bullies are white). when you take the main trio and the main 4 bullies (and we count sam be jewish as nonwhite), dannys friend group is actually only 30% white while the bullies (dash, star, paulina, kwan) are 50% white; and even in that group, kwan is (as previously mentioned) played as more of a big softie half the time

the QUANTITY of characters of color in the popular kids is higher, yeah, but thats because theres a larger group. a group of 200 people will have more poc than a group of 5 people just because thats how numbers work

of course this doesnt excuse the writers for playing into a lot of shitty stereotypes to pull this off (sexy latina, angry black woman, secretly rich sjw jew) (weird how that only happens with women :thinking emoji:) but i dont necessarily think that the villains are disproportionately poc. and thats only considering students at casper high; when you factor in ghosts the ratio tips hard into all-white 

(vlad, betrand, and spectra have human forms that are definitively white; freakshow is white; sidney poindexter (and HIS bullies) are white (/italian, however you count that); technus’s facial structure is very white; johnny 13 (and potentially kitty) are also p clearly meant to be white; the only times you can say a ghost ISNT white is when it deliberately relates to the backstory ie with desiree (which again, is another stereotype but right now we’re only looking at numbers) or hotep-ra. the ghosts are also always bigger antagonists than the humans bc thats the main point of the draw)

like yeah a good portion of the human bullies ARE poc but thats just because we know more bullies than we know friends of danny (loser nerd has no friends lol). im not trying to defend it and say it isnt problematic at ALL per se but i do think its worth noting that in terms of numbers its not really. THE worst it could be. when i started watching dp for the first time i was actually impressed by how many poc attended casper high; i couldnt believe that the main popular girl love interest wasnt white. theres a lot of representation in the background cast too. no it sure isnt perfect and we can definitely do better now (and we probably could have done better than) but i definitely dont think it was malicious.

again also worth restating: the only main recurring irredeemable asshole at the popular table IS dash. paulina’s just a ditz and dannys allowed to crush on her; kwan is baby (literally); valerie has an entire arc. dash, the white boy, is the singular student whos defining trait is being an asshole; even when you THINK hes having development (pirate radio, micro management) he completely undoes it by the end of the episode. i think making the whitest popular kid also the biggest most irredeemable bully was a sick call (also mr lancer is a strong antagonist oftentimes in casper high and he is also white; principal ishiyama isnt white but shes never an antagonist while lancer is)

all in all i like that dp just has a lot of characters of color and its never really addressed like tucker just Is Black and sam just Is Jewish its never like a thing(TM). again i keep saying it but this doesnt excuse it, i just dont think its like, horrible or anything. u can be critical of media and recognize its flaws while also recognizing its successes and not assuming its automatically doing the worst thing it could

[skullrock]

the parents - Steve x Reader

pairing - Steve x Reader

request - Hi! If possible could you write a something where the reader meets Steve parents for the first time (after being cancelled on so many times) and they’re not the greatest which results in the reader standing up for Steve!

word count - 1.7k

warnings - swearin’

a/n: this was CATHARTIC I hope you enjoy <3

===

Steve’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that you’re worried he’s going to break his knuckles.

“Hey,” you say calmly, resting your hand on his thigh. “It’s just a dinner.”

“It’s not just a dinner.” He rakes his hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “It’s a dinner with my… my shitty dad.”

You lean back in your seat with a sigh. Steve had cancelled, and cancelled, and cancelled on his parents. They finally tricked him into coming by with you, and he was not happy. Actually, he was really pissed off.

“Please unclench your jaw. You’re going to break it and you’re too pretty for that.”

He relaxes slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I think you’re pretty.”

He takes a hand off the steering wheel and laces his fingers through yours, squeezing tightly. “I apologize in advance for whatever they have to say. And whatever they do.”

You roll your eyes at him. “It can’t be that bad.”

===

Turns out, it can be that bad.

Steve’s dad is a literal Bond villain. He smokes a cigar around the house and never takes it out. He has a painful handshake and pointed eyes. He just looks angry, even when he is happy. You’re very nervous around him, but you understand where Steve gets his looks.

His mother is beautiful and meek, compared to her husband. She is very doting on Steve, but has some passive aggressive comments. She hugs you, and she smells like perfume that costs too much for what it is. Steve has her brown eyes.

The atmosphere is tense and hangs over the room like smoke, suffocating and thick. You clear your throat and ask questions in an attempt to stop his father from glaring and his mother from wringing her hands, decorated with diamonds and jewels.

“What was Steve like when he was a kid?” you ask, smiling. You bump into him beside you. “Probably a menace.”

“You can say that again,” his father says, his cigar still hanging from his lips. Steve stiffens beside you and you attempt to quell his anger by rubbing your thumb over his, but it doesn’t do much.

“Awe, Steve wasn’t that bad,” his mom says. Her eyes shine. “He was a little troublemaker, but he was a cutetroublemaker.”

“Mom,” Steve hisses, and you laugh genuinely.  

“He liked to get in trouble with the girls, that’s for sure,” his father mumbles. “And how many times have you gotten your ass kicked?”

Steve’s mom slaps his father’s arm, glaring, and you tense up, too, in shock. Your brows furrow and you open and close your mouth. You want to say something, but you can’t. You know it’s probably not a great idea to confront your boyfriend’s father. You can practically hear Steve’s teeth cracking as his jaw clenches again. Your heart aches – there’s nothing you can do to make him feel better except get him out of that house as soon as possible.

“Dinner ready?” you ask, looking directly at his mother, who nods eagerly and jumps up. You follow her to a dining table, decorated with porcelain that must have been imported. She goes to the kitchen to get the food, which leaves you, Steve, and his dad sitting at the table in an awkward silence. You bump your feet into Steve’s repeatedly as a way of silently telling him that you’re here and he’s okay. His mom comes out a second later with a pan, then some pots, and then a pitcher of water infused with fruit.

You feel like you’re at a five-star hotel, if it were run by a Bond villain and a mouse.

Perhaps the worst part of the visit is how everyone sits in complete silence while they eat; or, more accurately, push their food around. You cannot believe this is their actual chemistry with each other; and although Steve is moved out now, you feel horrible that he had to live like this for twenty years. Every night he had to sit at a huge table that could easily sit 8 but is set for 4, watching his father smoke a cigar and read the paper, as his mother desperately tried to get his approval and attention. The thought of it spikes irritation in you, only fueled by the sickly smell of the cigar smoke.

“Like your cigars, huh?” you ask his father, eyes narrowed.

“Imported from Cuba,” he says, as if it’s something to be proud of.

“So, do you smoke while you eat, or?”

Steve chokes on his water beside you and kicks your leg, silently begging you to shut up. You glance at him and smirk – you think it’s kind of funny. His father glares again and slowly sets it on a nearby ashtray, the sizzling of it going out the only sound in the room, aside from forks pushing meat on the china.

“Thanks,” you say sweetly, a shoulder cocking up and back down.

“I like this one,” his father says, pointing a finger at you and smiling. “Does she push you around too, Steve?”

“Sometimes,” you answer for him, forcing a smile.

Steve knows this will simply not be ending well for anyone, and he wants to scream and run out of the room, leaving a Steve-shaped hole in the wall in his wake. He’s nauseous and anxious, bouncing his knee up and down erratically. It makes the table shake, but his folks don’t seem to notice. They’re used to it.

“Steve needs someone to push him around,” his father continues. “He needs someone to give him some motivation.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating if you want to respond or bite back.

You bite back.

“That’s not true. I think Steve needs someone who doesn’t hound him at all hours of the day.”

Steve wants to die.

Steve’s mom wants to die.

“Anybody want dessert?” she asks weakly.

“Well, hounding him all day every day didn’t do much,” his father replies.

“Yeah? I wonder why.”

Steve kicks you under the table again, hissing your name under his breath. He pointedly avoids eye contact with his father.

“Steve must be different around you,” his father says, smiling bitterly. “When he lived here, we couldn’t get him to do anything. It was like he wasn’t capable. Ain’t that right, honey?”

His mother shields her face.

“Steve’s more than capable.” It comes out without thought, and you want so desperately to swallow the anger that rises and sits at the base of your throat, but it comes out in a rush. “Steve’s smart, and caring, and a hard worker.”

His father laughs and your fists clench.

“Maybe Steve didn’t thrive around you because it’s hard to have an asshole as a dad.”

“Y/N,” he hisses, clutching your forearm.

“You know, they always say it’s like father like son. So how many times did you get your ass beat, Mr. Harrington?”

“Too many to count,” Steve’s mom responds, and you stifle a laugh.

“Enough,” Steve and his father say simultaneously, and while his mother slinks back, you sit straight, chin up.

“Don’t like being hounded much yourself, huh?” you ask, and his father’s pupils flare, but he stays quiet.

“Think we better get going,” Steve says, standing up, but you pull him back down.

“I thought your mom said something about dessert. It would be rude to leave now, wouldn’t it?”

Steve is conflicted. On one hand, he hates that you’re talking back to his dad, because he knows more than anyone how it ends. On the other hand, it’s really amazing to have someone see his worth and verbalize it to his biggest critic’s face.

So he decides to sit back down, relaxing at your touch as your fingers swirl circles on his wrist.

“I’ve got a pie in the kitchen –“ his mother starts.

“Let me help you with that!” you say quickly, folding your napkin and sitting it on the table. Steve excuses himself to the bathroom – no way in hell is he going to sit at the table alone with his dad – and you follow his mother to the kitchen while his father follows with his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you start as soon as you get to the kitchen. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable –“

“My husband needs to be told off,” she says, hushed. “And Steve needs someone to tell him he’s worth it.” She grabs your hand and squeezes it, and you swear her eyes are welling with tears. “You’re perfect.”

Over pie, you talk to his mother about Steve, making a point to tell his parents about all the good things he does and everything he is good at. You tell him about how protective he is, how he defended a child from a teenage bully – leaving out the part where he almost got beat to death for it – how kind, caring, thoughtful, courageous he is. Steve blushes the entire time, but he radiates with happiness. For the first time, he feels loved for all he is.

You leave by giving his mother a hug and shaking his father’s hand again, your grip matching his, and while it hurts, it feels good. You smile at him and he frowns. You enjoy his confusion at your behavior. You also enjoy how he hasn’t said a word since you spoke up.

Steve pulls you into a long, tight hug once the front door shuts. It’s so tight that you can hardly breathe. He leans down and kisses you deeply, pulled close to him. Resting his forehead on yours, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” you say cheekily. “And I even have something to celebrate with.”

Steve’s brows furrow and you smile before reaching into your jacket and pulling out a box of his father’s beloved Cuban cigars. Steve’s eyes widen and then he laughs – hearty, fully, happily.

“Let’s go home and trash them,” he suggests.

You stand on your tip toes and kiss him again. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

===

taglist (join here!) - @harrington-ofhawkins @comedy-witch @gothackedalready @wolfish-willow @sassisaluxury @willowrose99 @harringtown @m-blasterrr @whimsicalwoodlands @anerroroccurrrrred @marvels-gurl @the-almond-dinger @ssanjuniperoo @darth-el @sourapplebaby @yall-wildin-like-siriusly

[forgottenpasta]

Baby, You’re Bad | 01

Summary: A drunken, pre-debut mistake comes back to haunt Yoongi when years later you turn up pregnant from the sperm he donated when he was a broke, underground rapper. idol!au, pregnant!reader.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 9.5k

Warnings: overuse of the word sperm lol; graphic depiction of artificial insemination; this is an asshole!Yoongi au; Suga when he was Gloss; use of real-life instances for plot purposes; idk some people might not like that.

“Are you ready, Miss___?

No. Yes. No. 

Maybe the fertility medication they had you on was making you illogically sentimental, but you felt like bawling your eyes out. 

The thin pen-shaped catheter in the doctor’s gloved hands epitomized everything you’d ever wanted. Third time’s the charm, they say. God, you hoped so. 

You nodded a little too vigorously. “Yes, please.”

The kind nurse who’d been assigned to you since the beginning of your treatment chuckled from beside the ultrasound machine. If the doctor was amused at your enthusiasm, she didn’t let it show. She bent her head between your stirruped legs. 

You were beyond any kind of embarrassment now, no stranger to a doctor tinkering with your vagina to get you pregnant. This was your third IUI. If you could, you’d shout it from the rooftops. If climbing the Everest and planting a flag at the summit that said “I want a fucking child!” got you pregnant, you would. If could just blast off to space—

“This might feel a little uncomfortable.”, the doctor, Kim Yeri, warned, adjusting the speculum wedged down there.

“I know.” 

The nurse gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up as she mouthed “Fighting!”. Feebly, you smiled back. In a moment of weakness, you’d spilled all your world woes to her when you’d come for the initial check-up. After two previous failed Intra Uterine Insemination attempts at two different clinics, you had been feeling like the most barren woman on the planet, despite the doctors assuring you that it wasn’t your uterus that was the problem, but “you know sometimes these things just don’t work, it’s all luck and probability.” 

Your bank balance wasn’t surviving on luck and probability though, it was suffering. Your money wasted on absolutely nothing, nada, nothing coming out of your vagina in the next nine months except more periods. You’d started to hate the sight of your own blood, associating with it the feeling of disappointment at your empty womb. 

You twitched slightly as the catheter entered you, willing yourself to not clench your pelvic muscles as the doctor had instructed. 

Ever since you could remember, you had wanted to be a mother. You absolutely adored children, lived for them. Literally. Your job as a children’s fiction writer wasn’t something that just happened, you had decided what you wanted to be during the summer vacation of junior year in high school, when all your aunts would leave you with their children as they went off golfing. That’s when you discovered that you had a special talent with mini people. You could spin intricate, sometimes nonsensical stories that put them in a trance and into a deep sleep in record time. Stories about princesses who turned into pirates, a little mouse’s adventures on other planets, a talking pebble who wanted to be a diamond and so much more. Kids loved you, even days old infants seemed to like being in your presence (their mothers’ words not yours). 

But as much as you couldn’t even dream about being anything else, writing children’s stories was hardly as lucrative as being a doctor or a lawyer. You did good enough for yourself but your job couldn’t support repeated attempts at artificially induced pregnancy. 

As the catheter breached your cervix, you closed your eyes and relaxed back into the examination chair. This was it. If it didn’t work out this time, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Try the traditional method like everyone else.

Internally, you snorted at the thought. One side effect of wanting your own child in your mid to late twenties, no potential partner ever saw eye to eye with you. Men didn’t want to be saddled down with a child this early. Your own pickiness with partners could also be blamed. You weren’t into men who weren’t good with children. One of your ex-boyfriends once scolded a 11-year-old kid for loitering around his new bike, checking it out. The next day you’d dumped him via text. 

Suffice it to say, at twenty-seven you were painfully single and the prospects of a serious relationship in your near future looked as microscopic as the sperm being currently inserted inside you. 

Looking down your hospital gown-clad body, you noted the transparent tube pumping “washed” cryopreserved and thawed semen into you. The clinic where you’d went for your first IUI had explained the procedure. The preserved donor sperm was “washed” off any impurities and chemicals to ensure maximum sperm count per mL. 

As the cloudy liquid travelled down the tube, you briefly wondered about it’s origins. When you were filling the form for donor specificities, Dr. Kim had presented you with the options of having sperm that could result in potential desired characteristics for your child. Such as a donor with green eyes or dimples or tall height or even a specific race. The whole talk had left a weird taste in your mouth and you had quickly dismissed it, writing only ‘healthy’ on the form. This wasn’t a pre-order and you’d love your child no matter how they turned out. 

Now, you let your mind wander off to the unknown person who’s child you would potentially (hopefully) bear. What were they doing right now? What did they look like? Did they have any idea they were likely about to have a biological child out there? You shook your head, anonymous donors sold their semen for money, they probably already had many children out there from women like you or infertile couples. You could never understand how a parent was comfortable knowing there was a child out there who would never know them, but you weren’t about to criticise someone you were directly profiting off of. 

“All done.” Dr. Kim smiled as she sat up straight, slowly pulling the tube out of you and placing it on the tray the nurse held out. 

“Do you think this might be it?” There was a slight wobble in your words. 

Damn hormonal drugs. 

Dr. Kim gave you the signature neutral yet evasive and unintentionally condescending smile all doctors seemed to master when their patients asked hopeful questions with no right answers. 

“If everything goes well from here on out, I can’t imagine why this shouldn’t be it. You have to take care of yourself and keep us informed about any changes in your body. I’m scheduling a check-up in two weeks. But you can take an at-home pregnancy test before that if you miss your period and feel like you might be pregnant.”, she explained, pulling out the speculum as well.

You stayed put, knowing from previous experience that keeping your pelvis horizontal for a few minutes was recommended after insemination. 

“Okay, thank you, Dr. Kim.” You smiled your gratitude at the cheerful nurse too.

“Good luck, Miss __. I’ll see you soon, hopefully with good news.”

Afterward, when you slowly made your way to your car in the clinic’s parking lot, you couldn’t help but caress your stomach. A tender, optimistic gesture. This had to be it. Having a child of your own was everything you’d ever wanted, the dream of being a mother one of the goals you had always been steadfast on. A dream which might finally be coming true. 

~•~•~

“What a nightmare.”

Yoongi’s hushed words seemed loud in the silent SUV. A complete contrast to the din and clamour outside. The car was inching at a snail’s pace, wading through a mob of fans gathered outside Charles De Gaulle. After landing, their private jet had taxied close to the VIP exit and they had left feeling like this might be a rare hassle-free entry into another country. But somehow, someone had been tipped about the cars they were leaving in and a horde of fans had greeted them as soon as they merged into the main exit outside the airport. 

“Shut up, they’re endearing.”, Taehyung griped, peering out the window when some armys started doing fanchants. “A little cringy, yeah, but cute.”

A loud thud against Yoongi’s side of the car made Taehyung and Hoseok flinch, snapping their gazes towards their hyung. In the push and pull outside, someone had toppled against Yoongi’s car door. 

The rapper cursed under his breath, immediately switching to an expression of indifference when phone cameras flashed too close, making him squint. He had thrown his face mask in his handbag and shoved it in the trunk and now he regretted it. The damn car didn’t even have tinted windows. Their jet lagged, irritated faces were going to be headlines in a matter of minutes. 

Ahead of them, the SUV Jeongguk, Namjoon, Seokjin and Jimin were in wasn’t faring any better, a swarm of fans surrounding it like bees to honey. 

Yoongi turned away from the window so they couldn’t read his mouth. “Cute, my ass. Where the fuck is the airport security? Someone’s gonna get hurt out there.”

As if on cue, three blue cars with the words Gendarmerie and flashing sirens atop haul in on the side road in a queue, the officers jumping out to contain the mob. As the fans start to disperse under harshly shouted commands, one girl pressed her hand to Yoongi’s window, gawking down at him with tears in her eyes, showing no signs of moving. 

Yoongi gave her a small smile, reaching up to align his palm with hers through the glass. Cameras flash wildly as he observed the girl hyperventilate. Soon enough the officers clad in dark blue manage to push back the crowd and the cars surge forward. The girl’s hand slipped away from the window and the rapper didn’t look back as he sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the headrest.

Their motorcade sped down the freeway in a line, heading to the Peninsula, Paris. 

His phone buzzed once in his pocket, but Yoongi didn’t care to check it, didn’t even open his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t nap right now, hyung. You’ll feel more tired when we leave for the magazine shoot as soon as we reach the hotel.”, Hoseok advised, not looking up from his own phone. 

“I don’t care. I’ll nap at the shoot too, they can take my photos with my eyes fucking closed. Nobody told them to schedule the shoot as soon we step foot in Paris.”

“Our management did.”, Taehyung supplied helpfully. 

Yoongi snorted. “Of course they did. When do they ever let us breathe.”

Their manager in the front seat cleared his throat. “I’ll be sure to relay that to the higher ups.”

“Thanks.”, Yoongi replied dryly. 

When they reach their hotel, the SUVs parked in the basement. Their keycards were quickly handed to them as they bypassed the front reception, to the private elevators straight to their rooms. Two master suites with connecting doors, four bedrooms in total. As usual, they Rock Paper Scissor it and Yoongi got to room with Namjoon. And as usual the lucky maknae won, sauntering to his room with a smug grin on his face. 

“You have half an hour to freshen up, we have to reach the magazine’s studio at 3 sharp.”, Sejin informed after them. 

Namjoon sprawled on the king sized bed when Yoongi called dibs on the shower, shucking his clothes haphazardly and placing his phone on the ornate bedside cabinet. 

His mind was blissfully blank when he stepped inside the walk-in shower, the control panel allowing him to set the perfect temperature and pressure. Because this was routine, getting to the hotel just to jet off somewhere else, his mind was on autopilot, his body long since adapted to the requirements of someone always on the move. Although he complained and grouched, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. Couldn’t. This was what kept them at the top. 

He was out of the shower in five minutes, toweling his hair dry as he stepped inside the room naked. Namjoon didn’t even blink at him, they had been living together for the better part of a decade now, they’d seen all there was to see of each other. 

The leader stretched out his long limbs languidly, getting up sluggishly to head to the en-suite. “Your phone’s been buzzing.”

Yoongi wrapped the towel around his waist, snatching up his phone to rove a cursory glance over the notifications. He was about to throw his phone atop the bed, dismissing the vague emails, when something stops him short. He peers down at the sender’s address. 

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre. 

What?

He unlocks his phone, thoroughly confused. This was his personal phone and he only got personal emails on it.

When the email expanded to full screen, he realised something. It wasn’t send to his current email address, but the one he used to use pre-debut, the one he’d made in high school. The one which fell into disuse after they had to change all their contact information due to privacy reasons. He didn’t even remember it syncing up through all his phone changes over the years, he never got notifications from it anymore. And sure enough, the last email of import send to him on this address was from five years ago. The spam folder was full though. 

He opened the weird email again, finally deeming to read it. It was succinct, to the point.

Dear donor,

Thank you for your donation dated 2011/03/09. It has been successfully utilised to make our client’s parenthood dreams come true. You are eligible for another donation, please contact us if interested. 

Regards

Sperm Bank Office

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre

**This is an automated message, please do not reply.**

Yoongi’s eyes burned a hole where the phone displayed the date. 2011/03/09. His eighteenth birthday. He took in a shuddering breath.

No no no no no. 

Without conscious thought, he plopped down on the bed, his knees going weak. His heart beat spiked to triathlon levels. Putting the phone face down on the table, he rested his elbows on his towel draped thighs, head in his hands.

He had to think. But there was nothing but static in his jumbled brain, which was still trying to catch up to the implications of the email. 

They made a mistake. They must have. I refunded the money. I told them I didn’t want it used. 

But the date. 

“You’re still not dressed. It’s almost time.”

Yoongi almost had a heart attack at Namjoon’s abrupt voice. “Fuck, dude. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

Namjoon’s frowned. He took out a pair of jeans from his bag, pulling them on as he eyed the other rapper. “I’ve been out here for a few minutes. What’s got you so lost?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He wasn’t lost, he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack at even the minuscule possibility of a stupid teenage mistake coming full circle to end his life as he knows it. 

“Hyung.” Namjoon came forward, now genuinely worried, jeans riding low on his shirtless torso. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

Yoongi had only told one person about the time when he’d hit rock bottom in his life. Namjoon was not him. 

“Can you get Jin hyung for me, Namjoon-ah?”, he asked, his words clear and coherent despite the chaos inside his mind. 

The leader didn’t question it, just got up to do as asked, plucking out a shirt along the way. 

A few minutes later, Jin poked his head inside, immediately entering and closing door at Yoongi’s pensive countenance. He raised a brow at the younger.

Yoongi held out his phone. 

Jin took it, seating himself on the bed as well. 

A few beats passed. 

Jin exploded. “What the hell?! Yoongi?! Is this saying what I think it’s saying?!”

Yoongi ran a tired hand down his face. “ I gave them their money back. Explicitly told them I wanted my sperm thrown in the trash.” The anger which had been slowly simmering, now bubbles to the surface. “What the fuck is this, hyung? I don’t even recognise the name of the clinic. What the fuck did they do with it?”

Jin bit his lip, confused. “What was the name of the place you donated to?”

“I don’t even remember, but it definitely wasn’t that. I should have known they were shady as fuck when they refused to return my sample.”

Jin was surprised. “Yeah, that should have raised several red flags, Yoongi.”

“I was eighteen.”, Yoongi growled. “I was stupid as fuck. Shit, I agreed to donate sperm because my bank balance was riding the negatives, what does that tell you?”

“That you were desperate.”, Jin shrugged. 

“Yes but not knowingly-having-a-kid-out-in-the-world desperate!”, Yoongi was freaking out. “I realised I didn’t have the moral consonance to have a kid I didn’t know and have estranged parents I despised at the same time. It was a stupid drunken whim, which I regretted the minute after and it has been one of the most shameful moments of my life since.”

“Wait.”, Jin scowled. “You were drunk when you donated and they let you?”

Yoongi sniffed. “I was tipsy, yeah. I needed liquid courage to go through with it.”

“That isn’t just red flags, Yoongi, thats red blaring fucking sirens. What kinda third rate, illicit place did you donate to?”

There was a knock on the door before Taehyung pushed it open. Behind him, the rest of the members looked ready to leave. 

Sejin also came into view, frowning at Yoongi. 

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Jin and Yoongi exchanged a glance. Here goes fucking nothing.

~•~•~

“What a fucking liar.”

Yoongi’s glazed eyes drifted over to his roommate, Jaehyun.

“Who?”

He didn’t particularly want to know, but if he didn’t give Jaehyun some sort of verbal response he would likely keep pestering him about “liars who lied about lying”. 

The blonde man took a deep inhale from his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards Yoongi. “That lying rat, Hyungwon. Did you see him strut in here decked head to toe in designer shit I can’t even pronounce the name of.”

Slowly, Yoongi turned around on his barstool, scanning the packed club with lazy eyes. He spotted Hyungwon among a gaggle of scantily clad girls feeling up his biceps.

Yoongi squinted. “Hyungwon? Wasn’t he asking you to set up a gig for him last month?”

“Asking? No, the bastard was begging.”, Jaehyun sneered. “Said he didn’t even have enough for his next meal. Now, look at him. The lying fucker.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Don’t tell me you actually took pity on him.”

“He was pretty fucking convincing.” Jaehyung signaled for two shots, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray atop the bar. “I even introduced him to our underground regulars, told them to give him a chance.”

“Is he any good?”

Jaehyun snorted. “Raps like a bubblegum pop princess.”

Laughing, Yoongi glanced back at the man in question, doing a double-take when he saw Hyungwon making his way towards them. “Ah shit. He’s coming here.”

Jaehyun blanched. “Hide me, quick.”

Too late.

“Hey, guys!”

Hyungwon hopped on the empty stool beside Yoongi, ordering a whiskey on the rocks, before turning towards the two men. “How have you been doing, Jay-T?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “And you, Gloss?”

Yoongi threw up in his mouth a little. 

Jaehyun groaned. “I told you not to call me that if I’m not on stage.”

Hyungwon grinned. 

Yoongi perused his attire. A gaudy jacket with square prints made up of the letter F, leather jeans that didn’t look like it came from a discount store where Yoongi got his from, ugly spiky sneakers with red soles. Although the outfit was hideous, he did seem to appear loaded all of a sudden. Usually, Yoongi wasn’t one to pry, but this bastard made him uncomfortable so he guessed he could return the favour. 

“Weren’t you broke last month? Did you rob a bank or something?”

Hyungwon smirked. “Nothing that extreme. I just happened to get lucky overnight.”

“So you won a couple games of poker, then?”, Jaehyun questioned. 

“Nah. Not that kind of luck.”

Both Yoongi and Jaehyun stared at him expectantly. The smug fucker just laughed.

“I paid off all my back rent, plus two months advance. Got presents for my three girlfriends and made the first deposit on my Royal Enfield.”

“You wanna rub it in?” Jaehyun scowled, his middle finger saluting him as he picked up his shot and downed it. 

“Jaehyun helped set up your first gig.” Yoongi guilt-tripped. Normally he wouldn’t care about some random fucker’s get-rich-quick schemes but these were desperate circumstances. “You owe him.”

The bartender brought Hyungwon’s drink. He paid for it in cash, noticing for the first time that Yoongi was neither drinking nor smoking. “Ah, why don’t you just admit it out loud? You need money. Can’t even afford a drink, can you?”

Yoongi flushed, squirming in his seat. 

Hyungwon raised a brow, feigning surprise. “Aren’t you one of the best underground rappers out there? The next big star?”, he snickered. “Dreams not quite panning out?”

“Shut up, loser.”, Jaehyun snapped. “He’s got a big audition coming up in a few months. When he gets in, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“With what company? SM, YG?”

Jaehyun grit his teeth to stop himself from strangling the man. “Bighit.”

“Never even heard of it.”

Yoongi cut in, not liking the two men talking about him as if he wasn’t there. “Not your concern. Just tell us how you made so much in a month.” 

Hyungwon took a small sip of the whiskey, swallowing leisurely. He eyed the two men down as if they didn’t quite hold up to whatever judgments he was imparting in his mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you both are a bunch of pussies. 

Jaehyun, infamous for his short temper, bristled. “What the fuck did you say, you cumstain?”

Yoongi held his arm, halting him before he stood up. 

If they had put up with the asshole for so long, he was going to damn well make sure they got something out of it. Besides, he NEEDED to know how to get some quick cash. Jaehyun wasn’t aware of the extent of Yoongi’s destitution. What little money he made doing odd jobs and occasional gigs went to school fees and rent, whatever was leftover, if anything, went towards his music. Pretty soon even his daily diet of ramen was gonna go out of his budget. 

“What do you mean a bunch of pussies? Are you selling your organs or something?”, Yoongi pressed.

Hyungwon snorted. “Close enough.”

Okay. Yoongi wasn’t that desperate. “What the fuck, dude!”

Jaehyun’s eyes went wide and sorrowful. A complete 180 from his ire two minutes ago. “Bro. You don’t have to do that, there are always other options. Selling your body isn’t the answer. Let me set up something for you, spare your kidneys, please—

“Shut up.” Hyungwon scowled. “I’m not selling my internal organs.”

Yoongi was confused. “What are you selling then?”

Hyungwon took an unconcerned sip. “My sperm.”

Yoongi was shocked into silence, while Jaehyun scrunched up his face like he’d just tasted the sourest lemon. “That’s equally as fucked up.”

“It’s not. It’s just cum.”, Hyungwon defended. “I’m getting paid handsomely to cum in a plastic cup. If that’s not the easiest money, I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah and that cum is probably in some middle-aged woman’s oven, baking your fucking babies.”

Hyungwon shrugged, not in the least bit concerned. “They’re not mine. Biologically maybe, but I got nothing to do with them apart from that. I’m not an idiot, I read all the terms and clauses. Legally, I’m not gonna be a father until I fuck a baby into someone.”

Jaehyun shook his head, not convinced. “That’s still fucked up.”

“Whatever.” Hyungwon rolled his eyes, finishing his drink. “As I said, a bunch of fucking pussies.”

Yoongi was in deep thought as he listened to the two argue intently. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing out his opinion, “That’s gonna be on your head forever, always at the back of your mind. That you’ve got kids out there who don’t even know you exist.”

“They’re not my kids.”, Hyungwon reiterated, done with the conversation as he spotted a busty bottle blonde leaning across the bar seductively. “Now if you pussies are done, I gotta go dole out my thousand dollar cum for free tonight. Charity turns me on.”

Jaehyun watched him approach the blonde with a grimace. “What a sleazy asshole.”

“He is.”, Yoongi agreed. “But I hadn’t ever thought you could make so much selling semen.”

“I don’t think the government recognised sperm banks offer so much. He must be going to some back alley place.”

Yoongi hummed. “Must be.”

A month after the encounter with Hyungwon at the club, Yoongi had never felt more downtrodden in his life. If he had sinned in his previous life, karma was working overtime. His pity party had been going on for a week now. Right from when he’d been kicked out of his apartment for nonpayment of three months’ rent, to when he’d turned up at his usual hangout with the underground scene just to find out his upcoming gigs had been given to a new rapper he hadn’t even heard the name of, to his bank calling him for payment of pending bills, to here. In a line with the homeless for some free food at a soup kitchen and shelter. 

When he’d left home to chase his dreams, he’d never imagined that the road would be easy. He’d been prepared for ups and downs. But these weren’t just downs, these were never ending canyons that seemed to stretch on forever. He’d long since sold the music equipment he’d bought with his hard earned money to pay for school. With graduation so close, he hadn’t wanted to be expelled on top of being homeless. Jaehyun had offered to pay either his rent or tuition but Yoongi knew the guy was barely hanging on by a thread himself. He couldn’t ask for money from someone who barely had any to spare. 

He heaved a sigh when the line finally moved. The woman in front of him, who looked like she’d been on crack for decades, gave him a glare for the impatient noise. He wanted to flip her off. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday when the kind acquaintance who’s sofa he’d been crashing on had offered him a sandwich. Moreover, in about half an hour he had an interview with a pizzeria for a delivery guy position. He didn’t wanna pass out in front of his potential employers, his ticket out of homelessness. But if this line didn’t hurry up, he’d have to forego a meal, he didn’t want to be late. 

Which was exactly what happened. Twenty minutes and the line barely moved a few feet, the bored volunteers taking their time serving the cold soup and stale bread. 

After a few more minutes Yoongi cursed, his old wristwatch told him it was 3:56 pm. If he didn’t hightail it out of there he could kiss the job goodbye. 

Fuck it.

Breaking the line, he sprinted out. The pizzeria was just two blocks away, he could make it in time if he ran. He didn’t have the money to catch a taxi anyway. And if he jaywalked a little, he could even have a few minutes to spare to change into the button down in his backpack. It was just a delivery position, but for him everything depended on it. He wanted to make a good impression. 

And jaywalked he did. Right into the bumper of a speeding car. 

The first few seconds, the lights were knocked out of him. When he came to, he did a mental survey of his body as he lay there on the pavement, a crowd forming around him. He didn’t feel any wetness, no blood then. Not a lot of excruciating pain either. Could it be that his stupidity had been spared or was he in hell already?

The murmurs of the crowd registered. A kind elderly man’s voice spoke somewhere above him. “Young man, are you okay? The ambulance is on its way. We don’t wanna touch you in case anything’s broken.”

Ambulance.

A sudden electricity zinged through his body, and Yoongi sat up, flinching when his shoulder screamed. There’s the pain.

“No ambulance.”, he grit out. He couldn’t have medical bills on top of everything right now. 

As he reached up to push back the hair in his eyes, his watch gleamed. 4:09pm.

His shoulders sagged in defeat. 

That night he sat with Jaehyun in his former apartment, drinking cheap soju his friend had scrapped together for him somehow. He’d told himself he deserved it after the day he’d had. Hell, the week he’d had. But somewhere inside him was a feeling of self loathing for wasting precious seconds not actively seeking to remedy his situation and stop relying on others. 

Jaehyun had picked him up that afternoon when he’d refused any medical help. So now his arm was in a makeshift sling, painkillers and alcohol doing the job doctors were supposed to. He was pretty sure he’d torn a ligament or something. He didn’t know, he slept through all his biology classes. 

On top of it all, it was his birthday tomorrow. He was turning 18, a legal adult. Not that it mattered, he’d been on his own since 15. Why did his life feel like it was ending when it had barely just begun?

“What if I do it?”, he hypothesised out of the blue. “Its gonna be quick and I just need to forget afterwards.”

Jaehyun frowned. “What are you talking about, my man?”

“Sperm donation.”

Jaehyun choked on his drink. “Yoongi! No, what the fuck!”

“Why not?”, Yoongi asked, his mind working overtime to justify something he’d never thought he’d need to. It was a given. “Its not like anybody would know. Well apart from you and me.”

“That’s not the point. You wanna have kids so young?”

Yoongi scowled into his glass. “I’m not the one who’s going to be having them.”

“Look, man. I think its just the alcohol talking—

“I’m not drunk.”

“—but I’m not gonna stop you if you think this is the only way out. Just know that you’re gonna regret it later.”

“Later.”, Yoongi muttered softly. “How I wish it’d be later already.”

Later that night, he dialed Hyungwon.

~•~•~

“Jaehyun was right. I regretted it the second the hangover dissipated. That was one of the worst days of my life, not counting the string of shit shows preceding it. I rushed back to the place as soon as I could. I returned the money, I hadn’t even taken it out of the envelope. They said the sample couldn’t be returned to me, but they’ll make sure it was out of the system.”

“Well, they lied.”, Sejin deadpanned, eyes narrowed as if figuring out a thousand ways around this situation already. 

The rest of the boys, barring Seokjin, stared at Yoongi in awe. They sat around him on the living room couches, while he stood by the window, gazing at the Parisian skyline.

A far cry from the broken pavement, busted in windows and dilapidated buildings, the landscape of his late teens. 

The boys had known the rapper had struggled a lot before joining bighit, but for it to be laid out in so much detail. A new respect for him shone in their eyes. 

When Yoongi turned to face them, he was surprised to see no judgment on their faces, but he shouldn’t have been. 

“So,”, Jin straightened up, clapping his hands. “Let’s lay this down, shall we? Yoongi donated sperm to a shady place in 2011, but returned the money and demanded it not be used. Since this sperm bank was likely illegal in the first place, they didn’t care to actually go through with his request. Then it somehow ended up in the fertility clinic he got the mail from. Which leads us to now, according to the mail, someone is probably pregnant with Yoongi’s child.”

“No, don’t say that.”, Yoongi shook his head, refusing to come to the obvious conclusion. “Don’t even imply it. I don’t have a kid out there but I do want all traces of my sperm out of any kind of bank.”

Namjoon peered at Yoongi with sympathy. “Hyung, they’re saying you’re eligible for another donation. Your previous sample was used already. According to my guesstimates, there’s 50% chance the woman they put it in, is pregnant.”

“Fuck your guesstimates.”

Jeongguk scratched his head. “But it’s been years since Hyung was 18. How is it getting used just now?”

Sejin answered him, not glancing up from his phone. “Google says preserved sperm can be used for upto 20 years after donation.”

Yoongi cursed. 

Jeongguk was still confused, brows scrunched. “How? Won’t the baby be—“

“Don’t say it.”, Yoongi groaned.

“—20 years old then?”

A slap to the back of the youngest’s head sounded. Yoongi didn’t look to see who’d done the public service.

“What are you going to do, hyung?”, Jimin asked worriedly. “You could just let it be. Ignorance is bliss and all.”

Taehyung gasped in outrage. “How can you even suggest such a thing, Jimin? It’s his kid we’re talking about! He could be a parent!”

Yoongi growled. “Don’t say that.”

But Taehyung wasn’t finished with his sermon. “Even if there’s a minuscule chance of this actually being true, it’s his duty to care and provide for his offspring. Even if he or she is unwanted.”

Yoongi gazed at the darkening sky for divine intervention.

“Hold your horses, Taehyung-ah.”, Sejin stood up. “I messaged the magazine studio about a reschedule. The photoshoot will be before the concert tomorrow.”

No one said a word, everyone too preoccupied to be focusing on trifling things like photoshoots.

“As for this problem.”, Sejin continued, giving Yoongi a reassuring look. “Let me handle it. I’ll run a check on the place you mentioned and the fertility clinic. We can’t publicly sue anyone because one, donating to an illegal place would incriminate Yoongi as well and two, we can’t afford to have a word of this get out. But an anonymous tip to the police should do the job.”

“What about...”, Taehyung trailed off, not knowing how to mention the person who might be carrying Yoongi’s child. 

“I’ll pull some strings, find out who it is. First, we need to know if they’re pregnant or not. We’ll go from there.”

Yoongi sighed, nodding. He supposed he could only hope and pray now. 

~•~•~

“I can’t believe it. All your hopes and prayers came true. I’m so happy for you, noona.”

Taeyong gushed as he arranged his Staedtler coloured pencils on your desk, lining them on the upper edge of his sketch book perfectly. The illustrator was obsessive about having all his stationary in perfectly designated places before drawing. 

“It still feels like a dream. When the doctor confirmed it yesterday, I almost passed out.”, you grinned, lovingly flipping through your manuscripts to the scenes you wanted illustrated.

Your friend turned to face you with a pout, his ethereal face glowing from the sunlight streaming through your windows. “You should have taken me with you, noona. I don’t like that you went alone.”

“It’s alright, Ty.”, you addressed him with the nickname he loved so much. On cue, his cheeks flushed adorably. “I was fine, just jittery with excitement.”

Taeyong grinned, mischief in his eyes. His boyish youthfulness struck you and not for the first time you thought about basing a playful character on him. He was a college student, an art major. You hired him because you loved his whimsical sketching style and his watercolour realism. Also, because you didn’t have the money or the patience to get more “professional” artists. From your previous experience, they often turned their noses at any extra input from the author. Taeyong, on the other hand, loved to have you by his side as he set about bringing your characters to life. 

Most importantly, you hired him because he was kind of your muse, though you never let him know that. He teased you enough as it is.

“I will let you off the hook if you declare me his or her godfather.”

And you loved to tease him back.

“You’re 19 years old, you’re a kid yourself, Ty.” You giggled as he flew off into an outraged rant. 

“Noona, I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not a kid! You’re not that much older than me, I don’t know why you gotta put on motherly airs already. It’s been a day since you found out you’re pregnant. Pump the breaks. And don’t you dare try to experiment your parenting skills on me, I’m warning you—“

The ringing of your phone from your bedside table cut him off. You stretched to reach for it, still guffawing lightly at your friend. 

It was an unknown number. You picked it up. 

“Hello.”

A man’s voice answered you. “Hello, is this __?”

“Speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Miss.__. I’m Park Beomgyu from Tangent Publications. You might have heard of us. We are a graphic novel and manhwa publishing company, but we’re starting to venture into children’s fiction as well. Your work has caught our attention and we’d like to partner up with you for your next project. That is, if you’re interested.”

You stared wide eyed at Taeyong, who was starting to look worried at your dumbstruck expression. 

Work had never come to your doorstep. You’d always had to go chasing for it.

“Miss, are you there?”

“Y-yes! I’m here. And yes, I accept.”

The man chuckled. “Not so fast, Miss. Let’s discuss it first. If you’re free tomorrow morning, can I set up a meeting with our editor at 10 am?”

You spoke before he could properly finish. “Yeah, totally. I’m free. Just let me know the address.”

“I’ll message it. Looking forward to meeting you.”

“Yeah, same here.”, you said lamely as he hung up, your heart beating crazily in your chest.

“Who was it?”, Taeyong questioned, coming to sit beside you.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal.

~•~•~

You weren’t surprised when the address led you to Gangnam’s busiest area, office buildings and corporate suits abound. Though you did feel nervous in your light blue tea-length chequered dress. You didn’t own any suits or even pencil skirts, always feeling a little insecure with figure-hugging attire. 

You had done your research last night, having never heard of Tangent Publications before. Sprawled on your couch with your all-time favourite animation, Finding Nemo playing on your tv in the background, you had set up your laptop on a cushion. Not perching it on your stomach like you usually did, paranoid about harmful rays reaching your baby. 

You were surprised at the search results. As the man on the phone mentioned, they did only publish manhwas and even webtoons, but these were about idols. Their most widely sold comics being about BTS’ concept storylines. 

A little further digging revealed that the company was partially owned by Bighit entertainment and STIC investments, which also had stakes in the entertainment sector. 

What mattered to you was that they were successful, which looking at their net profit, they were and they had good editors, which your searches confirmed.

You were feeling extremely lucky and happy that they chose you for their next venture. At the right time too, the first installment in your new series was almost done. 

The friendly receptionist greeted you with a smile, immediately telling you the right floor when you gave her your name. You checked your appearance in the elevator mirror, making sure there was no food stuck in your teeth or wrinkle in your dress. 

You alighted on the eighth floor, where another lady at the front pointed you to the right door. You knocked at exactly 10 am, feeling satisfied at your timing. 

The heavy oak door opened, startling you. You thought someone would call you in. 

A tall man in glasses smiled at you, opening the door wide. You stepped in as he introduced himself. 

“Good morning,__-ssi. My name is Sejin.”

“Oh, good morning.” Not the editor google mentioned, but of course, there would be others in a big publishing company. “Are you one of the editors?”

Sejin closed the door, motioning you to the seat in front of his desk, answering you only when you both had sat down. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Thank you so much for offering me this opportunity. I’m so flattered you chose me for your first foray into children’s literature.”

“Your work speaks for you, __-ssi. You’re incredibly talented.”, Sejin praised, leaning forward to set his elbows on the table and interlace his fingers. You interpreted the body language easily, he was all business. 

“We’d like to offer you a 5 book deal. A complete series if you will. You can negotiate for more if you feel like 5 won’t be enough. We will leave the story’s concept, art and every other creative decision to you, except of course the editing and research help you’d require. As well as get you the illustrator of your choice.”

“I already have an illustrator, I’d like to retain him.”, you interjected though everything he said left you reeling. Was this a daydream?

Sejin nodded. “No problem. As a starting point, we’d like to offer you 100 million won per book, negotiable down the line and not including sales profits.”

Your jaw dropped. “Is this a prank?” You turned in your chair, looking for cameras. “Am I being pranked? If so, I don’t appreciate it.”

Sejin gave you a calm smile. “No, ma’am. You are not being pranked. You heard me correctly. 100 million won per book, not including profits.”

You laughed. A disbelieving sound. “I’m sorry but either you don’t know how to do business or you’re really sure these books are gonna sell like hot cakes. And although I do think I’m really good at what I do, children’s literature is no fantasy or science fiction. It doesn’t have a fanbase readership to buoy every new installment that comes out. I have learned this the hard way.”

“You didn’t have us before. With the right marketing, anything can sell well.”, he simply replied, dismissing your concerns. 

“Okay.”, you took a deep breath, a sudden pressure on your shoulders, something nagging at your brain you were too preoccupied to figure out. “I’d like to see the contract first.”

“Sure.” Sejin produced a thick document from the desk drawer, flipping through it as he casually spoke. “You can take it home, mull it over, take your time coming to a decision. You’re pregnant, so I wouldn’t like to keep you here for long.”

You froze, blood leaving your face. 

“What did you say?”, you whispered.

Calmly, Sejin looked up from the papers, briefly glancing behind you before meeting your eyes. He didn’t repeat himself, showing absolutely no reaction.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, your voice fearful as you asked, “How did you know that I’m having a baby?”

“Because it’s mine.”

Jumping out of the chair in fright, you spun around. 

A stunningly attractive and familiar face was leaning against the closed door. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in. 

Glancing back at Sejin, who’d stood up as well, you slowly extricated yourself from the tangle of chair legs, moving to the middle of the room to have direct access to the door, but the newcomer was blocking your exit. 

Sejin approached him, whispering something you couldn’t hear. The man nodded, not breaking the critical gaze with which he regarded you. 

He let Sejin leave, locking the door behind him. 

“Is there a reason why I’m alone in a room with you? I will bring this whole building down with my screams if you don’t unlock that door and step away from it right now!”, you threatened.

He rolled his eyes. “The room’s soundproof.”

“You—”, you paused your scathing diatribe before it had even begun, cogs whirring, memory catching up. “You’re Min Yoongi.”

“Congratulations.”

Bewilderment swamped you. What the hell was going on? “What do you want from me?

“Absolutely nothing.” Yoongi ambled towards you with indolent grace, his eyes never leaving your befuddled ones. “You have something of mine, unwillingly given.”

“I have never even met you before. I don’t even like your music.”

Maybe that add-on wasn’t necessary, but you were feeling caged and on the defensive. 

Yoongi pursed his lips, his censorious gaze roving up and down your form. “Yeah, we don’t make music for the likes of you.”

You bristled. What the heck did that mean? You didn’t want to ask. “Thanks for sparing me. I still don’t see how I could possibly have anything of yours.”

“You’re pregnant and it’s mine.” 

“I’m pregnant, yes, but what’s yours?”

Yoongi scowled. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Say what?”

“I’m the father. You’re carrying..”, he seemed reluctant to continue but did, scowl deepening. “..my child.”

You faked a laugh, amused but more concerned for the unhinged man in front of you. “No, I’m not. Maybe you have amnesia or something, this is the first time I’m seeing you in person. Usually, your tetchy self only greets me from magazines and subway ads.”

“Don’t try to sound smart.__. You don’t.”, he parried. “The thing with artificial insemination is that the lonely women who get it, often don’t know who’s baby they’re carrying.”

For the second time, you tensed with trepidation. They had entirely too personal information on you. It didn’t make any sense, none of what he was saying did. “Why do you know that?” 

You glared at him when he smirked.

“Ran a background check on you. Single, 27-year-old, children’s fiction writer, who’s been trying for pregnancy at different clinics for a year now. Bank balance is at an all-time low, the previous publisher isn’t picking up any of your new work. A string of failed relationships behind you because of your desire to have a child so early. Most of the time you hang around some college-aged kid who also does artwork for you, apart from that you don’t have many close friends. You stay at—”

“Shut up!”, you fumed, feeling really violated. The nerve of this man. He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered with his words. “You’re a celebrity, aren’t you? Don’t you guys scream privacy at every unsolicited photo, every personal detail revealed to the public? Your hypocrisy is alarming.”

“I will let you know one thing. Guilt is not an emotion I feel. The two situations aren’t even remotely comparable.” He stepped closer, his all-black attire striking against the white of the room. He looked like an irritated bat who’d been disturbed from his hibernation. 

“Don’t interrupt me.”, he commanded. “I had to know what type of person my sperm had been,” he coughed, gaze drifting away for a second. “..used on.”

“Your...?”, you trailed off, still not connecting the dots. What he was implying was preposterous, it couldn’t possibly be that.

It was exactly that. 

His voice was dispassionate when he explained, his countenance inscrutable, he was a master at masking every emotion. “A sample of my semen which was sent for regular health checkups was misplaced by a lab technician, accidentally labeled for donation to a sperm bank. I got to know about it when your fertility clinic sent me an email.”

You swallowed harshly. “They put it in me?”

Yoongi scrunched his nose. “Unfortunately.”

Did he have to sound so repulsed? You stepped back, only speaking when you’d somewhat processed your predicament. 

You gave him a sympathetic frown. Best to go with understanding, you didn’t want a confrontation. It was a delicate situation which, if you wanted to weasel out of, you’d need some tact. 

“That is unfortunate. I’m sure you must feel very frustrated. But I signed very hefty paperwork, before going in for treatment. And it said that the donor would have no legal right over the child, unless there’s a mutual agreement. I’m sorry but I have no obligation towards you and this is my child only.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to the hand you placed on your belly. He bit the inside of his cheek and you had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t give a flying fuck what your obligations were. 

“I’m going to make myself very clear ___. I don’t want your apology. The people responsible for this mess are paying for it, don’t worry. But if you think that I’m gonna roll over politely and let you scamper off with what’s mine, you have another thing coming.”

Your blood boiled and you hurled towards him. He didn’t show any surprise when you poked his hoodie-clad chest angrily.

Fuck tact. 

“I didn’t ask for this, you asshole. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire fucking life and no dickwipe with a huge ego just because he can spit some words is gonna fuck it up for me.”

Yoongi blinked. “You swear too much for a children’s author, no wonder your sales are tanking.”

“Shut the fuck up!” You dug the pointer finger deeper in his chest. 

He winced, clasping your wrist. “Okay, is this the right time to tell you that I was gonna suggest an abortion in exchange for the book deal?”

Panic swamped you, anger disappearing for a huge dose of terror. You clutched the fabric covering your tummy, a clawing need to run and protect your baby blanketing you. No one was going to take him or her away from you, not when you’d toiled your last penny and pinned your every hope on this baby. 

“Hey.” Suddenly Yoongi crowded you, gently grasping your shoulders. “Hey, breathe please.”

His words made you aware of your lungs screaming for air, short, staccato breaths making you lightheaded.

“Breathe in for me.”, he guided and you obeyed, looking into his worried eyes to ground yourself. “And breathe out. Again. Just like that. You’re alright.”

A hand at your back guided you to the chair you’d previously occupied and you flopped down on it gratefully. Yoongi hunched over you, roving his searching eyes over your face for more signs of panic. 

“I was joking. Partially.”, he bit his bottom lip, and strangely you found the action alluring. “I knew someone who worked so hard to reach this point, wouldn’t even entertain the notion.”

You glowered at him, annoyance dimming for surprise when you noted how close he was, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. He didn’t seem to notice it though.

“It’s very highhanded of you to even think about such a thing. No amount of money can replace a life.”

His eyes softened, the first genuine smile from him peeking through. If you didn’t know how much of an asshole he was, you’d think he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. 

“You’d be surprised how many people would disagree.”

“I’m sure you would.”

He nodded, having no problem admitting it. “Can you blame me? I’m at the peak of my career right now, this has all the makings of my fall from grace. Besides, I didn’t want children, ever.”

“Didn’t?”, you questioned his use of past tense.

He shrugged, straightening up and letting you relax a little from his heady presence. “You gotta roll with the punches.”

You hadn’t unclasped your hand from your dress, the fabric covering your stomach wrinkling horribly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You dreaded it, but what he said wasn’t unexpected.

“I want shared custody.”

Never.

“No.” You brought down the hammer.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna be an absent father, __”

“That’s alright.”, you threw back, absolutely done with this conversation. “You don’t have to be any kind of father.”

Slowly, so gracefully you didn’t even notice it at first, Yoongi hunched back over you, now impossibly closer. You leaned back as far as possible but you could tell two things, that his cologne was expensive and it smelled delicious as fuck. 

“Then who’s gonna be the father?”, he asked quietly. You gulped.

“I- the- I mean no one. Single moms do just fine.” And because he started to move off of you and you were secretly a glutton for punishment, as well as for men who smelled mouth-watering, you added, “My future husband...”

You trailed off at the tick in his jaw.

He raised a brow. “How fucking cute. Too bad your domestic dreams are never coming true,__. What’s mine is mine. No other man is going to be the father of my child. Over my fucking dead body.”

You almost said, “then perish”, but he stood up, grasping your upper arm to help you up as well. He was incredibly gentle with you, a stark contrast to the verbal barbs he inflicted every time he opened his mouth.

For example:

“We’re also going to have to get a DNA test done.”

Before you could implode in his face, he interlocked your fingers with his, tenderly releasing your death grip on your dress. His other hand came up to push a strand of your hair behind your ear and hook your chin up.

You were blindsided. Rage and fluttering heart palpitations a weird combo. 

“Don’t lose a fuse over it now. I think you’ve got enough on your mind already. Go home, sleep it off, we’ll talk when you’re feeling more level headed.”

It really shouldn’t have surprised you that he’d turn this into some sort of reverse psychology “I’m only looking out for you” situation, making you the unreasonable one for feeling, very justifiably, enraged at his imperiousness. 

But you did really want to sleep it off, your newly changing body demanded you recharge from this draining encounter already. You sagged in his arms, letting him support you.

Yoongi smirked at your body’s compliance and you wanted to slap it off. 

“How did you get here? Did you drive?”

You shook your head. “Took the subway, then walked.”

Yoongi peered at the heels on your feet, irritation flaring on his face. “For someone so adamant on having a baby, you’re already putting your health on the line, huh?”

There he fucking goes again. 

“It’s none of your business.”, you said curtly.

He raised a challenging brow. “The baby you’re carrying is my business.”

His high handedness knew no bounds. 

He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call a driver to take you home.”

“No need.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

You grit your teeth, biting your tongue as he led you to the door. Just a few more seconds in his presence, then TO FREEDOM. 

He opened the door.

And three men tumbled inside on top of each other, the momentum making them fall on the floor in a heap. 

You winced.

“What the fuck?!”, Yoongi growled, his resting death scowl back with a vengeance. “Were you three fuckheads eavesdropping?”

The men immediately stood up, fixing their clothing. The one at the bottom of the heap winced when the one above him used him as support. 

You recognised all of them. His bandmates. Although you weren’t their fan, you were still a little starstruck. The cameras didn’t do their faces justice. You shrunk behind Yoongi, a little intimidated at so much testosterone surrounding you. Prime specimen of the male species too. If you weren’t already pregnant, your ovaries would be tingling with primordial urges. 

Then they all spoke at the same time. 

“You wouldn’t let us come with you!” Taehyung.

“It’s all Taehyung’s doing hyung, we just wanted to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble.” Jeongguk.

“We?! What the fuck, don’t include me in your schemes. You guys dragged me here!” Jimin. 

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and you prepared for another of his already infamous searing rebukes. You wanted popcorn to watch these three guys get thoroughly chastened. 

Taehyung just held up his hand, stopping the elder even before he began. “Calm down, hyung. We’re not here for you.”

Your jaw dropped. He shut Yoongi up with a hand. You wanted to worship at this guy’s shrine. 

Then he peered around Yoongi to look at you, giving you a shy smile. “Hello,__. I’m Taehyung.”

Wow, Yoongi and his bandmates were night and day. This guy reminded you of Winnie The Pooh while Yoongi was Cruella de Vil personified. 

When you didn’t say anything, Taehyung frowned with worry, turning accusing eyes at Yoongi.

“Hyung, you upset her.”

Yes, he did, Pooh.

Yoongi raised an unconcerned brow. “And? Why the fuck are you here again?”

“Would you stop with the swearing, there’s a child in the room.”, Taehyung reprimanded and your worshipful impulses grew. 

Jeongguk scowled.

Jimin nudged him. “Not you, idiot.”

Taehyung came towards you with a placating smile, likely sensing the damage Yoongi had done. “I can drop you home. There’s a really good gelato shop a block from here. If you want we can stop there. Ice cream fixes everything.”

You nodded immediately, letting your guardian angel lead you out of the room with a hand at your back. 

You didn’t spare Yoongi’s disbelieving face another look. 

A/n: Taehyung will make a more proper appearace in the next chapter. Do let me know what you thougt, feeback keeps me writing.

[flourchildwrites]

Six years after their escape to the human world, the Grace Field children live together in a happy, harmonious home. Twenty-one-year-olds, Ray, Norman and Emma, have folded themselves into modern society and work tirelessly to provide for their younger siblings, putting the greater good of their family before their personal needs. But as children turn to into teenagers, new house rules come into play. Norman, convinced that Emma will never remember their unique childhood bond, makes a bold proposition — to prohibit romantic relationships between the Grace Field children and end his hopes for something more with Emma once and for all.

Ray knows all too well how dangerous it is to reignite a spark, but for the happiness of Emma and Norman, he's always been willing to burn.

Fandom: Yakusoku no Neverland | The Promised Neverland (Manga)

Relationships/Pairings: Emma/Norman (Endgame), Emma/Ray (Fake Dating), Norman & Ray, Emma & Ray

Genre: Post-Canon (Spoilers for Anime-Only Fans), Fake/Pretend Relationship

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,930 words (incomplete 3/5)

A/N: Oh, hi! So it's been a while, but I have neither dropped off the face of the Earth nor given up on this fic. Sometimes, I just have to wait until I'm in the right state of mind to write a chapter. Until next time....

Chapter 3

The cuckoo clock on the wall of Norman’s study is an ornate piece of artistry.  It does its job fashionably and without complaint, keeping time with as much precision as its pendulum can muster.  Norman likes to lose himself to the details of the carved wood.  The dancing animals and crisp steeples that surround the clock face never fail to interest him when his thoughts turn sluggish at the end of the day.

Norman would happily wile away his evening hours waiting for the clock’s melodic chime to sound at the top of the hour, but this is not the gift’s purpose. Instead, it is meant as a constant reminder that time itself is a precious commodity.  Mike Ratri gave him the clock upon his admission to law school.  And though Norman’s enthusiasm for the present has dissipated, he cannot disagree with the principle behind the clock’s coded message.

Time can be a beautiful, but unforgiving mistress; yesterday’s opportunities are lost in the past, gone forever.

Perhaps, Norman muses, for his next graduation, he will receive a high-end watch from the Ratri clan.  Then he, along with his time, will be literally and figuratively shackled to the course the family’s scion has mapped out for him.  Norman knows he is regarded as the best of the bunch, the poster child amongst the extraordinary children born and raised in the demon world.  Ever rational, he cannot disagree with that conclusion.

Still, he rakes a finger under the collar cinched around his neck to loosen his tie and fusses with the first few buttons of his pressed shirt.  The emblem of Lambda 7214 peeks out from underneath the scoop neck of his undershirt, and not for the first time, Norman traces the tattoo’s hard lines where they are exposed.  Compared to this marking, the numbers on his neck are practically forgettable.

Norman isn’t like the other Grace Field children, not since Peter Ratri’s malicious experiments.  Neither can he lump himself in with the other Lambda survivors.  Though Barbara never shies away from advocating for the latter.

“Are you even listening?”  Barbara’s voice is shrill as it comes from the cellphone wedged between Norman’s shoulder and ear.

In the background, he can hear boxing gloves rhythmically pound against a punching bag.  Norman doesn’t like lying to Barbara; he knows what the woman is capable of when she’s feeling feisty.  But after hearing the juicy gossip from the younger children in his house, concerning a date between two certain someones, Norman’s mind refuses to focus on administrative matters.  Still, he tries to soldier on as if nothing is amiss.

“Of course,” Norman fibs.  “You’re concerned about the benefit, just like you are every year.  And every year, it turns out fine.  We get our funding; the Ratri family keeps their moral high ground.”

The sound of hard punch startles Norman, and Barbara pauses, slightly winded, before responding.  “But the problem is that they want Zazie to attend this year.  Zazie!”

The thought causes Norman to pause.  He is wont to recall Zazie as he once was — a child stuck in an overgrown body with a paper bag hiding his face and twin swords strapped to his back.  But Zazie, like his brothers and sisters, has grown into his shaggy hair, and in his case, his mental strides are much more impressive.

“What does Zazie think about attending the benefit?”

Barbara scoffs.  “He’s fine with going for a little while as long as he isn’t on his own, but why should he waste his precious words on that family ?  They don’t fund his therapy out of charity; they pay for it because his hardships, all our hardships, are their fault.”

Normally, Norman would play devil’s advocate.  He would remind Barbara that Mike isn’t like Peter and point out that most of the advances made on behalf of the cattle, Lambda and farm children are funded by the donations of the benefit’s attendees.  But tonight, Norman has no such fight in him.  He has four cases to read and brief, an argument to draft for his legal writing class and a Ray-and-Emma-shaped problem that seems to become more bizarre by the minute.

“I’ll talk to Mike and see if we can defer Zazie’s involvement,” Norman capitulates, rubbing at his neck as his to-do list grows longer.  “He may look like an adult, but he’s still a teenager.  It can be easy to forget.”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other side of Norman’s cell phone connection.

“Are you feeling alright, boss?”

A part of Norman wants to laugh, a great big belly laugh that would draw the kind of attention the household head does his best to avoid.  Of course, he isn’t alright.  It was a relief when he first made the decision to impose a fraternization ban, but then, Ray went and asked Emma out just to spite him.

Clever, impulsive asshole.

How could Norman go through with it after that?  Either he would have seemed like a heartless roadblock or a jealous cockblock to his siblings.  And neither alternative comes close to the truth, an inconvenient conundrum that’s been eating away at him for years.

Norman exhales, long and slow, and because he can ordinarily be (somewhat) honest with Barbara, he doesn’t lie to her this time.  He won’t divulge the whole, messy truth.  For that, he wouldn’t even know how to begin.  Heavy the head that wears the crown, or in this case, Norman thinks it’s more along the lines of a cape.

“No,” he responds, “I’m not alright.  But I’m sure I’ll be fine after exams.  I just need some time to rest and get my head on straight.  No need to be concerned.”

There’s a flurry of movement coming from Barbara’s side of the connection, and when she speaks again, her voice sounds unflinchingly clear. Norman braces himself when he realizes she’s paused her evening workout and taken herself off speakerphone.

“Far be it for me to suggest that you shouldn’t be living with the Grace Field kids, but you’re also one of us — a Lambda experiment.  We have different needs, and Lambda House could provide you with much more support or at least a break from being in charge.  Come live with us and let someone else run things over there.  We all miss you, boss.  Maybe someone could help you for a change.”

A lump sticks in Norman’s throat, and he swallows it, ready to make excuses that never arrive.  Words fail him for the umpteenth time in a handful of days.  Suddenly hot, he scratches the back of his neck and shrugs off his collared shirt entirely.  The top of his Lambda 7214 tattoo remains on full display.  Sometimes, he hides it so well that he begins to believe his own lies, but there are moments when the truth corrodes his carefully constructed facade.

Norman may be the brightest child from the demon world, but he’s also damaged goods, marked in ways that Ray (for example) is not.

He could live at Lambda House.  Correction, he should live at Lambda House to better avail himself of the on-call therapists for his night terrors and have his medication managed with more regularity.  But then, there would be no reason for Norman to oversee the Grace Field children’s home.  He wouldn’t be able to drag himself down to breakfast each morning to find her, Emma, sipping her coffee and joking around with the younger children, or feel his heart flutter when wishes him well in the evenings.

Norman stays because she’s worth all the small inconveniences and then some.  The time in between, the numbing hours spent studying, problem-solving and balancing the books, are a means to an end.  Emma always tips the scale in Grace Field’s favor.  Even with an anti-fraternization rule, Norman doesn’t expect his feelings to change.

Nevertheless….

“I’ll think about it,” Norman hears himself say, and he ends the call promptly with promises to be in touch soon simply to put the matter to rest.

Read the rest on AO3!

[sunlightdances]

Public Relations (Bucky x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Prompt: “I’m a woman with a brain and reasonable ability” Author’s Note: Written for @captain-kelli​’s 500 Fam Writing Challenge! Congrats, Kelli, and thank you for hosting! Takes place post-Endgame, but with some adjustments to canon (Tony and Nat are alive, Steve stayed). This has a lot more dialogue than I initially planned! Hope it’s not too choppy. My love of commas is also evident in this piece. *shrug emoji* Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky, Marvel, or any other related characters or events. The other details of the plot are mine, including the characterization of the “reader”. Please don’t post my work on any other sites without my permission! If you liked what you read, please consider reblogging to help my work be seen. I would love you forever!

Let’s clear one thing up straight away: Bucky Barnes is not an asshole. He has a chip on his shoulder, sure, and it’s also true that he can be grumpy from time to time.

But can you blame him, really?

His life after age 26 has been one giant shit show that he’s just starting to get back on track, so he thinks the world at large could forgive him if he’s not super nice to the reporter hanging around outside the coffee shop or if his resting face sometimes looks like he wants to punch someone.

Still - he’s working on it. Trying to appear a little softer around the edges, trying to remember how to be the person he once was, not because he thinks it’s healthy to try to go back to that time, but because that’s the last time he actually remembers liking himself.

But, again, he’s not an asshole. Or, he tries really hard not to be. A fact he has to keep reminding his friends of (and he uses that word loosely, sometimes), especially when you’re around.

Everything just comes out of his mouth wrong when you’re there.

Probably because you’re around all the time, and you’re smart, and funny, and pretty, and-- nope. He’s not going there. Because reminding himself all the reasons why he likes you just makes him feel more guilty about the way he acts around you. He’s just too chickenshit to admit that he likes you, and ends up being a dick.

As soon as he walks into the Tower, you’re there.

After Thanos, the Avengers returned to New York City. There’s not much left of the Compound upstate to live in right now until the rebuild is done, and he’d been thinking about Brooklyn anyway. Manhattan is different, but he feels better in the city. He thinks the rest of the team likes it here too - it reminds them of the old days, or whatever.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greet him coolly, matching his stride as he heads towards the elevator. “There’s a meeting in fifteen minutes in the main conference room.”

Bucky makes a noise of acknowledgement, stepping into the elevator and hitting the button for the tenth floor. “Do I have a choice to attend?”

“No you do not.”

“Great.”

He thinks you’re trying not to smile. He grinds his teeth.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY’s voice comes through the overhead speaker. “Captain Rogers requests that you, and I quote, don’t even think about it.”

You snort, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Punk,” he whispers. “Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Captain Rogers I said, and I quote, to shove it--”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” you interrupt, “Thank you so much.”

The few remaining minutes in the elevator are in silence, and you push your way out of the elevator before he can even take a step when it stops. Bucky follows you reluctantly to the conference room where some of the rest of the team is waiting.

Nat looks barely awake (she has trouble sleeping after literally coming back from the dead when Steve returned the stones, what a shocker), Sam is spinning in his chair, and Steve is patiently listening to Peter prattle on about some project he’s working on for biology.

“We’re just waiting on Tony, Bruce, and Scott,” you say, heading towards the head of the table. “Wanda is on a mission with Clint, and Thor is off world. No word from Carol in a few days, either.”

Steve waves you off. “Don’t worry about it. We can fill them in later.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Wait, this is your meeting?” He asks you. “What was the point of the AI-assisted lecture from you--” he pointedly glares at Steve.

“Because I knew you’d try to get out of it, so I asked for some help.” You smile sweetly at him.

The rest of the team files in over the next few minutes, and Bucky watches as you shuffle through a few papers before turning on the overhead projector. He has to admit, while he absolutely despises public relations, he has a lot of respect for what you do.

He knows it’s not easy wrangling Tony’s ambitions plus whatever manic situations the team get themselves in on a daily basis. Trying to do press for the Avengers is probably akin to wrangling cats, he supposes.

“So,” you clap your hands together, “the event at Children’s Hospital is in two weeks. Can we please, please avoid any earth-threatening situations that might take precedence over this? We missed it the last few years, obviously, so we need to get out there and make some kids happy.”

A murmured agreement goes throughout the room, and Bucky tips back in his chair, counting down the minutes until he can go literally anywhere else. It’s not you, really. It’s the idea of public appearances. He hates them. People still think of him based on who he was, not who he is now. Despite the fact that Steve and the rest of the team have publicly vouched for him and are working on clearing his name, he sees how people look at him.

You’re tied to that feeling, even though he knows that isn’t fair. He has a hard time separating you from your job.

“The next thing -- and I don’t want to hear about it --” You look around, eyes landing on him meaningfully, “-- there’s a magazine feature for the anniversary of the Battle of New York.”

“Well, that’s me off the hook,” Bucky says flippantly, grinning smugly at Sam, who high fives him.

“No, it absolutely doesn’t,” you argue.

“I wasn’t there, in case you forgot.”

You glare. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“Guys--” Steve tries to interrupt.

“You have to participate, because this article is about the team and how it’s grown since the inception of the Avengers.” You say, almost sounding bored. Probably because you and Bucky have this argument at least once a week.

“Bucky, it’s an hour.” Steve says gently, trying to barter.

“Whatever.” Bucky grumbles, “You know what they’re going to ask,” he says, suddenly angry. “Where was the elusive Winter Soldier during the Battle of New York? Do I remember it happening, or was I in the middle of being frozen or wiped for the thousandth time?”

You shift your weight, looking down at the floor. He feels guilty for a half second. “I won’t let them ask.”

His heart thuds weirdly in his chest at how earnest you sound, but he just can’t help himself, apparently. “Because you’re so sure they’re going to listen to you.”

Hurt flashes across your face so quickly he thinks he’s imagined it, but he knows he hasn’t. Again - he’s not usually an asshole. He still hates himself for it, though.

“Alright, we’re done here.” You say quietly, gathering your paperwork. “I’ll email you all the details.”

Sam elbows him, and across the table, Steve is giving Bucky a look that he’s come to associate with a lecture.

He sighs and rolls his eyes before getting up and heading out of the room, his friends at his heels.

“Wow, a five minute meeting,” Sam is saying, sarcastically. “Gotta be a new record, don’t you think, Rogers?”

Bucky’s new plan is to ignore Sam at all costs. It’s not a plan he thinks is going to work out in his favor, but it’s what he’s sticking with.

“You can’t ignore me forever.”

“Are you a mind reader?” Bucky asks, hitting the button in the elevator for the residential floors.

“It’s two events, Buck.” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can handle it.”

“Yeah? Why don’t I let you field the questions I normally get, and we’ll see how you like it.”

“I’m not doubting you. I just don’t understand why you always have to take it out on her.” Steve’s voice is so disappointed, Bucky almost wants to laugh. When his best friend turned into such a mother hen, he’ll never know.

“Don’t be late!” Sam calls as Bucky gets off on his floor, leaving the other men in the elevator.

Flipping him off over his shoulder, he hears Sam’s chuckle and Steve’s sigh before the doors close, and finally he’s alone with his thoughts.

.

.

.

Turns out the interview happens before the hospital visit.

Bucky is in an uncomfortable chair, a reporter across from him, and you behind the reporter, fidgeting slightly. He feels almost relieved that you seem to be as nervous as he is.

“Mr. Barnes,” the reporter begins, a smile Bucky already hates on his face.

“It’s Sergeant.” You say quietly from behind him, and Bucky meets your eyes briefly, seeing the resolve there.

“Of course.” The reporter says smoothly, offering another smile to Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes, you weren’t in New York for the Chitauri invasion, were you.”

“No.”

If the reporter thought he’d elaborate, he doesn’t let on. Bucky saw these questions coming a mile away, and isn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of saying something he’ll regret. Well, he won’t regret it. But it’ll be a pain in the ass for everyone if he can’t keep his cool.

“This was the first official Avengers event. Do you remember hearing about it?”

Bucky wants to laugh. “Do I remember-- no. I don’t think I was awake for much of 2012.” You fidget again, shifting your weight, and Bucky sighs, grinding his teeth. “I’ve been fully briefed on the invasion and know that what the Avengers did that day saved the world.”

The reporter looks at him for a long moment before shifting the papers on his lap around a bit. “The Avengers have changed a lot in all those years since that first mission. Can you tell me a bit more about your role with the team?”

Bucky relaxes a bit. This is the part he prepped for, the part he could recite in his sleep if he had to. Whatever instinct he had back in the day that allowed him to lead a unit and report to his CO is still there, especially for questions like this. “I work mainly with Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson to coordinate missions and do strategic planning. Recon and research are my main areas of focus, but I go on missions too if needed as backup, or if it’s an all hands on deck situation.”

“So you’re not handling any weapons?”

Bucky blinks. Over the reporter’s shoulder, you frown.

“All Avengers team members undergo weapons training.”

“During the War, you were a sniper with the 107th, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you’d say that you’re pretty proficient with a gun?”

Your eyes are flashing now. “I’m sorry - none of this was on the list of pre-approved questions.” You interrupt, and the reporter holds up a hand to stop you, causing you to make an affronted face.

Bucky would laugh if he wasn’t feeling so sick at this turn of questioning. Every time. No matter who they vet, no matter how many times reporters insist they aren’t trying to catch him in a question he can’t or doesn’t want to answer… this is why he hates interviews.

“I’m just saying -- you’re one of the world’s most accomplished assassins. I guess I wanted to know why you’re doing research and recon when you could be on the front lines with the team? Are they worried you’ll have a setback?”

Bucky barks out a laugh.

You start, taking a few steps forward. “That’s enough. We’re done here.”

Bucky’s already standing, pulling out the chair from behind him as you come around to follow him out, until the reporter stops you, a hand firm on your elbow. You freeze, and Bucky’s eyes narrow on the point of contact, an unfamiliar feeling surging through him.

“Do you know who I work for?” The reporter hisses. “You told me I’d have a half hour.”

“That was before I knew you were going to ask questions that have nothing to do with your article.” You reply, face darkening when he still hasn’t let go.

Bucky waits, waits for one more sign that you’re uncomfortable before he steps in.

“If you ever want to get another high profile piece done on your team you’ll let me finish here.” He threatens, hand tightening.

You sigh, almost looking bored, and in one swift move, you’ve shifted enough of your weight to turn, pulled the elbow he was holding out of his grasp, and driven it into his ribs, simultaneously kneeing him in the groin.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, and you look at him, rolling your eyes. “What?”

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he says, letting a smile slip out so you know he’s kidding.

The reporter is doubled over, still making threats, but neither of you pay him much attention as you walk out the double doors of the conference room in the unfamiliar magazine office, heading towards the lobby.

In the car that’s waiting for you outside, Bucky watches you carefully as you roll your shoulders a bit, clearly smarting from the move you pulled back there.

“If I would have known you could do that, I would have been a little nicer,” he teases, but there’s an undercurrent of truth to his words. Not that he thought he’d ever piss you off enough for you to hurt him, but that he wishes he was nicer to you in general.

You glance at him, face neutral. “It wasn’t that hard. Everyone who works for the Avengers goes through basic self defense training, and I’m a woman with a brain and reasonable ability.”

Bucky nods. “Still. Thank you, by the way, for putting an end to that.”

You sigh, sitting back in your seat, all the fight leaving you. “It’s nothing.” You dig your phone out of your pocket and he watches as your thumbs fly across the screen before you hold it to your ear. “Hi, Steve.” A pause, “No, that’s cancelled. You’re not doing it. Tell Tony I’m cancelling the rest of the interviews. We’ll find some other place to get it published.”

He knows he’s staring and he knows he should stop before you notice, but he just… can’t take his eyes off you. The way you stood up for him, the way you promised him you would even when he was being a total asshole… he has no idea what he did to deserve it, but he’s damn grateful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, your tone softer than he’s ever heard it.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his feet. “No reason. Just-- sorry I’m such a dick sometimes.”

You laugh, and he immediately wants to hear it again.

“I mean it,” he continues, “I don’t mean to be. You don’t deserve it.”

“Bucky.” Your voice is even softer, quiet, and he struggles to think if you’ve ever called him by his name before. You wait until he meets your eyes. “It’s fine. We’re all-- just trying to get through this.” You shrug. “I know it’s not easy for you. Just… Trust me sometimes, will you?”

“I do trust you.” He replies immediately, absolutely sure of himself for once.

It’s your turn to be a little surprised.

He rubs his hands together, a nervous tick he’s never gotten rid of. “I’ve been trying to distance myself because I like you. And that honestly scares the shit out of me. I don’t know--” He stops, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do this anymore. And all I keep thinking about is what could go wrong.” He takes a chance and glances up at you, and the look in your eyes… it’s more than he expected. He feels his heart take off in his chest.

“We’re both so stupid, Bucky.” You tell him, but your words are light. “You should have said something.”

He rolls his eyes. “People always say that. But when has a conversation like this one ever been one that someone wants to have?”

“Maybe when the other person feels the same way?”

Bucky can’t breathe. He never even considered it. It was always a forgone conclusion in his mind. He thinks you’re beautiful, and you never think about him at all. That was always the truth that he thought he knew. “Go out with me.” He blurts, and then feels his face redden. “I mean-- let me-- will you let me take you to dinner?”

The car stops in front of the tower and you’re opening the door before you say anything, making him panic a little. A look over your shoulder, “I’ll see if I can pencil you in somewhere.” You say, and then with a wink, you’re gone, leaving him scrambling to get out of the car to catch up to you.

Before you can, Steve is there, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Not now--”

“Can’t help it. She called a meeting.”

Bucky stops in his tracks, and laughs. “Did she.”

“She must know how much you love them. Come on.”

Upstairs he finds his usual seat next to Sam and across from Steve, but when you gather your notes and meet his eyes, yours absolutely sparkling, he finds he’s not dreading this one at all. He still wants to take you to dinner though, so he might have to try to break his own record.

A 5 minute meeting so he can convince you to go on a date with him? He thinks he can swing it.

End

[ohmightydevviepuu]

the red queen [1/1]

to @profdanglaisstuff​ for the suggestion; to @katie-dub​ for the gut-check and encouragement; to @thisonesatellite​ for existing.

happy (belated) birthday to a beloved friend.  i feel so lucky that we have found each other.

this is a continuation of my space pirates AU, sanguine, adj. ‘hopeful’.  (it also means bloody).  if the earlier parts were a premise pilot...think of this as a procedural.  shamelessly inspired by “the train job” (firefly 1x02) and “the three-card monte job” (leverage 3x09), because i think i am hilarious (sometimes) and i have a writing crush on john rogers.

proximity alert cell block 1138 a good day

AO3

The man was tall and dark. Broody type, scruffy-looking, but he walked into the bar like he owned it. Slid onto a barstool, let the length of his battered greatcoat hang behind him and looked around with piercing blue eyes that missed nothing. Within two seconds he was followed by a woman, tall and broad, beautiful with black hair that curled and hung nearly to her waist, just above the gun she kept holstered there. Their movements had the ease of old reflex: he walked ahead, ready to encounter whatever might come at them first. She stayed close, but behind, ready to watch his back.

The bartender eyed them warily, watched the man’s gaze take in everything. He turned to the woman and asked, “What’ll you have?”

“Whisky,” she said. “Straight.”

He turned to the man and repeated the question.

“Actually, mate,” the man said, with a wink directed not at the bartender but squarely at the vidcam placed over the bartender’s shoulder. “Is it okay if I just sit here until a gorgeous blonde walks in?”

Will Scarlet spit out his drink, drops splattering on the commscreen in front of him.

Where he was watching them, of course. No way was he letting that cheeky asshole off coms or off cams again. Ever.

Ursula snorted.

The bartender rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, mate,” he said, pulling a bottle from the counter to pour Ursula’s drink. She threw an extra couple of credits on the bartop and shook her head in commiseration.

But the door opened and in walked an objectively good-looking blonde woman. Her hair was shorter than Ursula’s, a bit awkward really, not that Will knew anything about women’s hair, but it was still closer to Federation regulation-length than anything else and it was tied back in the sort of tight tail that the Feds encouraged for anyone with long hair.

She had green eyes and she stopped when the man’s landed on her, cocking her head and smirking.

“You’re kidding me,” Will muttered, taking another sip of his drink. “Smug bastard.”

“Hello, beautiful,” the man said. The woman stepped up to the bar and the man took her hand in his, bending over it to place a kiss in her palm. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service. Can I offer you a drink?”

The bartender’s jaw dropped.

Ursula shook her head and took another sip of whisky, ignoring the scene playing out next to her.

The woman’s eyes glittered. “Listen, Jones--”

“I prefer ‘Captain’,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I bet you do,” she murmured, leaning closer to him until her head was just above his ear. “Touch me again, Captain, and I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

“Is that a threat?”

The woman brushed her red leather jacket so the flash of metal at her hip gleamed and Will saw the bartender take notice. “It’s a promise.”

So did every other patron of the bar.

“Dammit, Killian,” Will groused.

Emma Swan turned and, with a wink of her own, nodded at Will in the camera. The bartender poured her a shot and turned back to the Captain.

Emma drank off the shot and left.

Will exhaled.

“How’s it going?” Robin Locksley walked up behind him, taking a seat in the co-pilot’s chair of the cockpit.

“You know, the usual,” Will muttered.

“Oh god, oh god, we’re all gonna die?” Robin smiled.

“Not yet,” Will said. “Give it time.”

Killian Jones, Captain, looked at the bartender. “A shot of rum, if you please,” he said, and the bartender sighed. Killian was fiddling with something in his hand as he fumbled for the requisite credits and then all of the blood seemed to drain from his face as he went very still, and very pale.

Next to him, Ursula tensed. Reflex.

She looked quickly to the camera and shook her head and Will drew in a deep breath.

“What’s up?” Rob asked, leaning toward him.

“Dunno.” Will shrugged. “Nothing good. You had to go and jinx it.”

From the end of the bar there was a sound.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

It was slow. It was the dripping water of a faucet.

Killian’s jaw muscle twitched and he turned.

The man had long hair, down to his chin in waves, run through with silver. His moustache and beard framed his mouth and tapered off at the sides.

He had piercing blue eyes.

“Hello, Dad,” Killian said.

Will was silent, his mouth hanging open. Next to him, Robin was still.

Emma’s voice crackled over the comm. “Did he just say--”

“Fuck,” Will said.

--

“Hello, dad,” Killian said, keeping his voice calm but feeling the twitch in his jaw and the itch in his fingers. He willed himself to be still, to look the man square in the eye for the first time in--

“I got a out, you know,” Brennan Jones said. “A while ago, in fact.”

Twenty years.

That’s how long it had been since his father left.

“Didn’t see you, though, at the prison colony spaceport waiting to pick me up in that fancy ship of yours,” Brennan said.

Twenty years since Brennan had left, twelve years since he had got caught running cons and games on rich marks on the central planets. The Federation, as Killian knew only two well, did not take kindly to larceny and thieving unless they were the ones doing both and Brennan had been caught, tried--and shipped off to ‘Neverland’.

They said it was a place where time stood still for its inmates, stuck while the world passed them by.

Twenty years.

“Yeah,” Killian said. “Yeah, I was kind of busy. Visiting my mother’s grave, you know. Visiting Liam’s grave.”

Brennan clucked his tongue in a noise that made Killian cringe. A noise that haunted his dreams on his bad nights, of his father’s disapproval, his indifference. Killian hated that noise and hated even more that it still held sway over him.

“All your life,” Brennan said, “you thought you were better than me. Never showed any respect.”

“What, exactly, did you do to deserve respect?” Killian said.

Twenty years, but Brennan still knew about the Jolly Roger, knew where to find him, knew exactly what buttons to push and strings to pull to make Captain Killian Jones feel like an angry child.

What else did he know?

Brennan turned to Ursula and said, with a tip of his head in affected gallantry, “Would you give us a moment? I’d like to talk to my son, here. My good-form, never-break-the-rules-son. Look at him now, yeah? Nothing but his own personal balls-and-bayonets brigade, living off the raggedy edge on the wrong side of the law. Nothing but a pirate, a criminal like his old man.”

Ursula ignored him, looked at Killian. Killian nodded. “Head back. We still have a job to do.”

His hand tightened around the crinkled piece of paper Emma had passed him.

The one with the name of their contact on this job.

Brennan Jones.

He thought of her and he tried to summon the feel of her fingers against his skin as if it would give him strength or hope or succor.

Maybe it did. Ursula’s eyes were black stones of judgment as Killian ran his hand through his hair and met her gaze and then, finally, she nodded.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Brennan called to her retreating back. “Now, about that job--”

--

“Run it,” Killian growled, his voice low and weary.

Emma looked around the cockpit, from Will to Robin to Nemo to Ursula and even to Ariel, who fidgeted visibly, more uncomfortable than Emma had ever seen her.

Whale stood off to the side, his arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Maybe we should discuss it first,” Emma said. “I know I feel a little weird--”

It was more than weird. It was downright uncomfortable. For the first time since she’d stayed with Killian, with the Jolly Roger and its crew, she was unsettled.

(Former) Federation Operative Emma Swan did not do unsettled.

“I don’t.” Killian bit down on the consonants, hard, each one clipped and harsh and as if they were spoken by a stranger. “Come on, Scarlet.”

“Sir--”

“Killian, sometimes you just need to stop and question--” Emma and Will spoke at the same time but then he stopped and looked at her. Emma took a breath and said, “Sometimes you just need to stop and think for a minute--”

“What is this, mutiny? An insurrection?” His eyes hardened. “Don’t ever tell me what to do on my--” Emma hissed, a warning, and Killian took a deep breath. “It’s a job like any other.”

If keystrokes could have emotions, Will’s were angry.

“Stop looking at him as my father,” Killian said.

“Can you?” Emma asked, walking up to him and putting her hand on his cheek.

He jerked away.

“But this isn’t, as you say, a ‘job like any other’,” Nemo pointed out. He was the only one in the galley who looked relaxed, his posture upright as always but with an air of ease that Emma desperately wished she felt. “And not because of who he is. Because of why he’s here.” Nemo gestured at the screen Will had projected on the wall and turned toward Emma. “What’s your professional opinion here, Operative Swan?”

Will had brought up a list of the charges against Brennan Jones: theft, fraud, bribery, smuggling, all across multiple systems.

Child endangerment.

Child abandonment.

Emma looked at Killian.

Killian looked away.

“No way he’s out of Neverland after only twelve years,” Emma said. “So--” her eyes were still on Killian “--trap?”

“Aye,” he said. His eyes flashed with relief and his jaw muscle relaxed. “Set up by someone else to do the dirty work. Blackmail, maybe. That’s how a lot of the big syndicates do things now. Quasi-government entities, some of them. Don’t want the dirty work putting them on the Feds’ radar and interfering with their legit scams. Keeps the blood off their hands.”

“So what’s Brennan’s game here, Captain?” Ursula asked.

Robin scrubbed a hand down his face and drew in a deep breath. “I imagine he’s got a chess board set up just like yours, sir.”

Killian’s answering look was murderous. “More like three-card monte. Keep the cards moving until he’s ready for you to see the queen.”

“Nah, he’s the one on the move.” Will turned around in his chair.

“How in the bloody hell do you know that?” Killian snapped.

“Facial scan, sir.” Will glared. “I tagged him and put my web-crawlers to work on the Cortex. And he just got a call. Sounds like he’s got sources planted across the world, and this one’s tapped into a Fed outpost. Core access across the entire sector, including SOS, maintenance, alarms. Brennan’s pushing him to tamper with it, cross the signals or some such.” Will squinted at his screen and crossed his hands behind his neck. “Your dad, he is not a nice man, is he? Must run in the family.”

The galley was, for one interminable moment, silent.

Robin smacked Will across the back of his head.

“Captain? What’s our play?” Ursula asked.

“Um, I have a question?” Ariel raised her hand. Emma stifled a laugh, and Ursula sighed. “If Brennan did all of these terrible things, blackmail and the like, why did he come here and hire us? If he’s so bad--”

“--what are they using against him,” Emma finished. “Against us. You.” Everything Killian cared about--was here. On the ship.

It was Nemo who answered. “This is about Liam?”

“Isn’t he--” Robin started to say, but stopped.

Dead. Liam Jones was dead, killed in the operation that Killian had fled with the Jewel of the Realm.

Slowly, minutely, Killian nodded.

“You think someone has your little brother?” Nemo spoke slowly in a soothing tone, as if for a small child.

Whale nearly fell over. “The hell--?”

Emma felt her mouth open. She closed it.

Unsettled. She did not like it. She did not like not having all of the information queued up and ready for her and this was something she should have known.

Something Killian should have told her.

A quick glance around the galley suggested that she was not the only one for whom this news was a revelation. She looked at Ursula, who blinked in surprise and looked at Will, who shrugged and looked at Robin, who shook his head. In unison, they all turned to look at Nemo.

“Younger,” Killian corrected him softly, almost as a reflex. “Aye.”

Nemo had eyes only for Killian, his eyes full of care and concern and quiet authority.

“Killian,” Nemo said. “It’s not your job to take down your own father.”

Emma took two steps across the galley and reached for Killian again.

This time, he did not pull away.

“You’re right about that,” Killian said. “It’s my gorram pleasure.”

His fingers tightened around Emma’s until she couldn’t feel them anymore.

--

“Killian, I don’t think we have enough information on your fa--on this guy. Not yet,” Emma said.

There were other things she could say. Maybe too many other things.

How Brennan had found them.

Killian’s younger brother, Liam Jones.

What Nemo knew that she didn’t.

But she didn’t say any of them. Not yet.

They stood out on the pavement in the middle of the city, or near enough--a city that was just big enough to boast the kind of multi-level skyscraper that was normally more prevalent across the Core worlds, but not so big that any of the buildings were in particularly good repair. They stood in the middle of a fair bit of traffic--pedestrians, land speeders, even personal shuttles buzzing in the sky for the gentry who wanted to show off, but not so much or so little that the five of them and their two Mules were memorable.

Emma, Killian, Ursula, Ariel and Robin stood in front of a building rendered completely invisible by virtue of its resemblance to every other building.

“We don’t even know if this is the right place,” Emma said.

Will’s snort made the earpiece crackle and Emma winced.

“I’m sure,” Will said. There was a beep in the background and Will’s voice was serious this time. “Okay, I think I may have an ID on a potential bad guy.”

“We’ve got the bad guy, Scarlet,” Killian said.

Which was part of the problem, as far as Emma was concerned. Brennan had backup and Killian’s instincts seemed to come from a pretty deep gene pool and that made Brennan one very dangerous guy with potentially more dangerous allies. Emma looked at Ursula, who shrugged.

Ursula was always going to back Killian’s play; well, so would Emma.

“Whatever you say, sir, but this guy Jefferson Chepalier has an interesting story to tell. They say he’s some kind of magician, just making things disappear from one place and appear in another. Weapons, credits, pharmaceuticals--you name it, he’s moved it.”

Nemo’s voice chimed in. “I’ve heard of him. Even the Federation is one of his clients.”

Robin’s eyebrows went up in silent admiration and Emma sighed. “I’ve heard of him, too,” she said. “He knows a lot of the right people in a lot of the right places.”

What did Nemo know?

Why hadn’t Killian told them?

Why hadn’t Killian told her?

“Well, seems like they had a bit of an ugly breakup,” Will said. “Busted last month and lost twenty million in merchandise.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy who could get someone out of Neverland,” Emma said.

“Sounds like the kind of guy who needs a big score,” Robin said. “Guys that desperate--”

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Emma agreed.

“Speaking of bad,” Will said. “Here’s some bad news: the system here is old-school. Too antiquated for me to tunnel in and hack.”

Emma rolled her shoulders and moved her neck from one side to the other. But this was nothing they hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t know some of these specs even existed anymore.” Will sounded offended, as though he expected more from his adversaries. “Getting into this would be like hacking a museum exhibit.”

“Which you’ve done,” Robin said.

“Nothing you can prove,” Will said. “In fact--”

Ariel giggled.

“In fact,” Killian interrupted, “it means we’re not going to able to stop him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It means we’re going to have to help him. Just like he planned.”

“We’re on it,” Ursula said as Emma pulled a pair of cuffs out of her inner jacket pocket and stepped toward Robin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Will said. “You just--happened to have those on you?”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Do you always have those on you?” Will asked. “Because--” he paused, presumably watching Emma put the cuffs on Robin “--you are weirdly comfortable doing that.”

“Don’t I know it,” Killian muttered.

Ariel’s mouth dropped open.

“Ariel.” Ursula brought her back to focus. “You’re going in the back. Hook us in manually.”

“And Scarlet,” Emma said, “you keep your mouth shut unless you want me giving Belle pointers when she gets back from Persephone.”

There was an intake of breath over the comm and Killian said, “Shut up, Scarlet.”

“Okay, but--” Robin was resigned as the cuffs clinked into place “--what are we doing here, exactly?”

“All the alarms for the entire Andromache system run through this building,” Will said. “Banks. Private homes. Government systems. Transpo networks. Everything. My guess, Brennan wants to control which alarms get through and which don’t.”

“It’s what I would do,” Killian said. He did not look happy about it.

“It isn’t,” Emma said. “You wouldn’t have gotten us here in the first place.” She wanted to reach for him, to take his hand, to press a soothing palm against his cheek. But she had Robin Locksley in her handcuffs and, apparently, the fate of Killian’s heretofore-unknown younger brother in their hands.

Killian didn’t answer. Didn’t look at any of them, just stared upward at the facade of the building they were about to infiltrate.

“Sir?” Ursula prompted. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We’re the only ones who can,” he said. “Anchors aweigh.”

Emma looked at Ursula, who nodded and gave Robin a shove as they went through the doors.

--

Not only was (former) Federation Operative Emma Swan weirdly comfortable using handcuffs, Robin Locksley was weirdly okay about being cuffed. The whole thing was really weird, Will decided.

At least until--

“Can we hurry up? Being handcuffed in a Fed outpost is a recurring bloody nightmare of mine.”

Never mind, Will thought.

“Scarlet,” Ursula said. “How do we look?”

Will tapped a few keys and leaned forward to peer at the screen. “We will rule over all of this land,” he said. “And we will call it--’This Land’.”

Ariel chirped, “That’s a good thing, right? We’re shiny?” She was breathing slightly heavily from inside a crawlspace, where she had physically tapped the network while Emma, Ursula and Robin distracted the Feds.

“Means we’re tapped into every piece of wire and tech running through that place. We can block alarms, we can set alarms, we can track alarms, all through our own comms network. Nice work--very shiny.”

Ariel clapped her hands in glee.

“Now get the bloody hell out of there--”

The comms broke squelch with a burst of feedback so sharp Will had to shut down the system for eighty-three seconds.

And Killian, that rat bastard, did it on purpose.

Urusla’s voice was the first to break through when he got them back online. “Scarlet?” She was, as ever, sharp and focused. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone,” Emma said, sounding certain.

“Seriously?” Robin said.

“He’s gone,” Will confirmed.

--

“So,” Killian said, “let me tell you what I did.”

He was back in the bar, where Brennan Jones did not seem at all surprised to see him. Papers were spread out across a table in the corner and the bartender kept deliberately not looking their way.

Brennan smirked. “Oh, I already know what you did,” he said. “You let my repairman loose, fine. You think I don’t have another contact? You really think you can beat me? You’re not tough enough. You’re not ruthless enough. You don’t have what it takes, even with your interference--”

“Using a civilian was a dumb brute-force move.” Killian pulled his earpiece out of his ear and a small black box out of his pocket and held them up. “Rigged to the Fed systems. I control it now. I can destroy it. You were saying?”

“Well.” Brennan looked, for the first time, surprised. “That’s--well.”

“You’ve done your homework. You know that I stole the fastest ship in the fleet right out from under the Federation’s nose, so you should also know that I broke into Robert Gold’s space station and broke back out again. Severed his hold on the Federation council. Walked away after he tortured me. If I can do that, imagine what I could to you.”

All of that was true and yet--it had been easier to be tough in front of Gold than it was in front of his own father. He’d been doing that for Emma.

He wished she was here.

They were better as a team.

But she didn’t need to be a part of this. Not this. Killian didn’t want Brennan Jones even looking at her. More importantly, he didn’t want Brennan’s allies--whomever they were--knowing who she was.

“I did my homework too, dad. Where’s Liam?”

Brennan cleared his throat. “You’re being a wise guy with me?”

“What was it you used to say? ‘You’re too much of a planner, Killian. You have to be tougher to survive’. You’re so tough, prove it.”

Besides, Killian Jones always had a plan.

Behind him, Killian heard the sound of an old-fashioned revolver being cocked. He was, for a second, disappointed.

So predictable.

He looked around, started to turn--

Was stopped by an elbow to the back of his head.

After that, blackness.

--

“How long until we hit Paradiso?” Killian asked.

The train whipped through the countryside on the mag-lev track and Emma checked the map on her screen. “Another twenty minutes,” she said. “You should be at the foothills in five.”

“You’re sure?” Robin asked for the twentieth time. “You’re sure this was the plan?”

“He’s sure,” Emma and Ursula spoke at the same time, for all that Ursula was down on the train with Killian and Emma was in the cockpit of the Jolly Roger.

She wanted to be with him.

They were better as a team.

But that wasn’t the plan, and she was part of something now--part of a crew.

“Saw the maps,” Killian reminded them. “Had blueprints laid out for house party on Boros--some gentry have got a Lassiter there.”

“I’ve always wanted one of those,” Ariel said wistfully.

“Next time,” Killian said. For the first time in days Emma thought she detected a smile in his words. “And then there was a set for a hospital on Athens,” Killian said.

“Too much work. Not enough payoff,” Nemo murmured.

“Exactly,” Killian said.

“Three-card monte,” Emma said. “He wanted you to see.”

“Exactly,” Killian said again, and smiled this time.

“What’s the cargo?” Ursula wanted to know.

“No clue,” Killian said. “But since Chepelier was there--save the speech for later, Scarlet--I’d reckon it’s something that will get him his twenty mil back. And I’ll have some words for him about hitting me when we meet.”

“Something that requires an entire Fedsquad sitting on this train,” Ursula said.

“Not an entire squad, Ursula,” Killian said. “Just a few. Just enough to make it fun.”

“When those alarms go off,” Emma said, “it’s gonna be Armageddon.”

“That’s the idea, love,” Killian reminded her.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Only I think you have a bit of a problem with your brain being missing.” She paused for a beat and then said, seriously, “Killian, it’s not too late to sit this one out.”

Behind her, Emma felt Nemo’s hand on her shoulder. He squeezed.

Killian didn’t answer. He said, “Start flying with the hatch open. Keep her steady, Locksley.”

There were no guards in the train car, just stacks of crates and baggage. Killian went in first and Urusla followed, sliding the door mostly shut behind them but leaving it slightly ajar as Ursula turned to fiddle with a canister she pulled from her satchel and the wires hidden in the door panel. Killian moved toward the center of the car, waiting for Ursula to hand him the screw gun.

He stopped and examined a particular stack of crates and then began to climb them, gently, stopping when he could reach the ceiling. Three corrugated iron panels stood between them and the open sky and soon there was not even that, as Killian put the gun to one of the rivets in the center panel and triggered it.

It made a sickening noise and Killian winced.

“Find the cargo,” he said.

“Thanks for the reminder, sir,” Ursula said.

Killian smirked and pulled the gun down, removing the rivet stuck in it before starting on the next, moving methodically from one to another until the last one is free and he lowered the panel as gently as the could.

It made a bit of a clatter, and Killian winced.

“Sir--” Ursula called, pointing at a stack of boxes.

“Shiny,” Killian whispered. “Brilliant. Get it over here.”

He had barely finished speaking when the net dropped into the hole in the roof of the train.

“Fifteen seconds,” Emma said.

The canister popped just when the wire pulled.

Immediately, there was a ringing noise that echoed through the train car.

“Alarms are set,” Scarlet said, his voice grim. “Feds on your door and Brennan--”

“I’ll worry about Brennan,” Killian said as the door opened fully and the gas released by Ursula’s canister blinded the Fed sent to investigate. With movements both precise and brutal, Killian disarmed him and had him on the ground, unconscious, in seconds.

He and Ursula closed the door behind them just as the comm started blaring and the train began to slow as they pulled into Paradiso.

--

Brennan Jones walked up to the makeshift processing site outside of Paradiso.

It was utter chaos.

Every person around him was screaming into a comm. “What do you mean, we’ve got another alarm call--a third one?!!--multiple code ones at the following sites--roll out--send backup--every available unit!”

It was the house party full of gentry on Boros that sweetened the deal. Feds wouldn’t normally roll out for a bunch of hicks coming in from Hancock. Alarms going off on Boros, on Athens, across Regina--that was a different story.

All hail the might Federation, though it was a shame about the Lassiter. That would fetch a tidy fortune on the black market.

Next time.

--

(Former) Federation Operative Emma Swan walked into the makeshift processing site the locals had set up outside Paradiso.

Where the train had stopped.

After some thieves put a hole in the roof.

It was utter chaos, every person around her screaming into a comm, Feds literally walking in circles--

Except for the poor, understaffed local constabulary, who had been left to deal with the passengers.

Killian and Ursula were off to the side, cuffed and under the watchful eyes of someone who looked like a local sheriff. He looked tired, and frustrated--was likely both of those things, now the Feds were off the train and in his backyard--and did not manage to keep his sigh inaudible as she approached.

Emma flashed her badge fast enough that the lawman wouldn’t be able to get a good look at the code designation that was now invalid. She gave him a half-grin as she did so, carefully calculated.

Empathetic. Brisk. Efficient.

Not here to ruin his day.

She was here to save it, in fact, but he had no way of knowing that.

“You Nolan?” she asked, and he gave her a wan smile. “I’m Swan.”

--

Brennan watched the scene playing out before him.

“No, I can’t send confirmation,” a particularly harried ensign snapped. “This is an all-network alert! Cargo theft--”

Brennan hovered genially near the harried-looking ensign, a petite woman with her hair tied in a regulation-style knot, and smile the kind of smile that was warm enough but completely unmemorable as he waved a datapad in the air with a kind of ‘what can you do’ shrug.

The ensign barely spared him a glance before waving him away, his presence already accounted for and forgotten, and Brennan inched closer to the train, where he was met by a tall blonde man in a uniform who asked, bored, “Status?”

Brennan handed the datasheet over, a transfer order flickering across its surface.

“You’re expecting me,” Brennan said. “Evidence transfer.”

“That’s right, you bastard,” Will muttered at his tablet. “Captain, are you sure--”

“You know the plan, Will.”

“We could just tell the Feds--”

“Oh, I’ve got him,” Killian said. “Gonna look him in the eye when he goes down.”

“Evidence transfer,” the blonde man said, frowning as he looked at the datasheet. “About that--”

He stopped as Ariel, her hair out of its knot, came up behind Brennan Jones, tapped him on the shoulder, and punched him.

Victor Whale pulled off his uniform cap and winced. Ariel was tiny, but she packed a right hook like a freight train.

“Ooooooof,” Will murmured.

--

Emma thought she heard the sheriff mutter about gorram time but not loud enough she had to acknowledge it. “You know there’s a whole spate of robberies across the system today,” she said casually. “Alarms going off anywhere.”

Implied: you’re lucky I showed up at all.

“Rumor has it they were after millions,” Nolan said. “You here for evidence holding?”

Emma only just managed to keep the sneer off of her face.

“Evidence holding”. That’s what the Feds were calling it now.

Emma shrugged. “Above my paygrade. I’m just here for those two.” She nodded with her chin at Ursula and Killian.

“I knew something about his story smelled,” he said, shaking his head and checking his datapad for the passenger manifest.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Emma said, sending a surreptitious wink toward Killian. “It’s not the only thing about him that does.”

In her earpiece she heard him chuckle.

“They’ve been bound?”

“Not yet,” Nolan said. “I--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma said. “You just get the rest of these citizens back on this train and on their way. I’ll take care of them.”

--

Ariel shrugged and ducked as Brennan made a pass at Whale and she pulled out a tranq gun--

“That’s enough, Ariel,” Killian said, walking up behind them, a cuff dangling from one wrist while he worked the other free. “It’s going to end right here, dad. You ready? Let me tell you what I did.”

“How did you know?” Brennan looked--bemused.

Almost impressed.

Killian reached into his greatcoat pocket and removed a small black box wired to an earpiece.

“Let’s try this one more time, shall we?”

--

“What’s the trick to three-card monte?” Killian asked, advancing on his father. “The red queen’s never even on the table. But it was a nice move, dad, knocking me out. Letting me deduce your plan. I didn’t even need this--” he held up the black box, pulled from his pocket “--to get inside your head. And all the time, you’re playing me. Playing my crew.”

Ursula, Ariel and Whale stood behind him and Will laughed at the screen. Big damn heroes.

“You tried to make me a pawn in your game. You tried to make Liam a pawn in your game. But here’s the thing, dad: you’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played. And I always know. You taught me that.”

“Twenty million is a lot of money, Killian,” Brennan said.

Killian exhaled a laugh through his nostrils. “It’s not about the money. It never was. You’re not working for Jefferson Chepelier. You’re working around him, trying to get the bigger score. Get his merchandise to a better buyer, the kind of buyer who will pay top dollar and let you sail off into the black forever. A buyer like Cora Hart.”

Brennan stilled and Killian smiled.

“My people are going to take down Chepelier and Cora Hart. We have your cargo. What was it you always used to say?” Killian’s mouth contorted as he imitated his father’s voice. “‘You’re too much of a planner, son.’”

Killian leaned forward, his hands resting on his belt.

“The cargo is already on the way to a contact of ours,” he said. “Because if you’d done your planning, father, you’d have known that I have certain understandings in place between my crew and the Federation Council. And Regina Mills. You’ve heard of her, right? Cora Hart’s daughter? She was thrilled to get her hands on this kind of leverage against Cora.”

“What about your brother?”

“What about him? He was never in danger, not from you, and not from Chepelier,” Killian said. “Just another jack being shuffled--a distraction--but he’s safe. Far away from you and now with the protection of a pirate--” Killian bit the word “--and a Federation Councillor. You’re never getting near him again, and any minute now, the Feds are gonna come and--”

“--arrest both of us,” Brennan said.

“What for?” Killian held up his still-cuffed wrist. “I’ve sent the cargo on already and I have an alibi.”

“I’m not going back to Neverland,” Brennan said.

“That’s fine.” KIllian pulled a gun from his jacket pocket. Ariel made a sound like a sad cat, mewl. Whale swore under his breath.

“You can’t do this,” Brennan said, and chuckled. “I could, but you’re your mother’s son.”

Killian cocked the gun at the exact second Ursula said, simply, “Sir?”

And he looked at her.

Looked at Ariel, at Whale.

Looked up into the camera and Will sighed.

“Let him go, Killian,” he heard Emma whisper. “I’ve got your back. We’ve got your back.”

Killian hesitated; his hand shook and Emma wished so desperately she could take it in hers, put her thumb against his wrist and press a gentle, calming circle there.

“Killian,” Emma said, “be a better man than your father.”

--

Brennan Jones stood at the edge of the station along the train tracks but the train had, literally, already left the station.

Emma Swan walked toward him with Nemo keeping stride, Sheriff Nolan walking ahead of them both.

“Brennan Jones,” Nolan drawled, “you are bound by law.”

Brennan’s eyes widened in startled recognition as he looked at Emma and he smiled.

“Am I though?” he laughed. “Am I really? Check your codes again, Sheriff. She’s not a Fed, or whatever she says she is--she’s a thief.”

“Ran it twice,” Nolan said. “She’s clear.”

“Go ahead, Sheriff,” Nemo said. “One more time. We don’t mind. Authorization code one-zero-two-six. Scorpio.”

With a put-upon shrug Nolan swiped across the datapad and held it up. Federation Operative Emma Swan flashed across the screen with a photo and an arrest warrant. Emma enjoyed watching him as it hit him, the blood draining from his face and his tongue darting out to lick his lip. Brennan ran a hand through his hair in a gesture uncannily like Killian.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in quite the robbery, Mr. Jones,” Sheriff Nolan said. “I’ve got orders here to put you in custody and send you back to--” his eyes widened and he clucked his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head “--Neverland. Well.”

“I didn’t do it,” Brennan said, pointing a finger at Emma. “I’m innocent.”

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically and shared a smirk with the sheriff. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Everyone’s innocent in Neverland.”

“Sheriff,” Brennan was pleading. “She’s not who she says she is. She’s a--”

Nemo grabbed his arm and twisted it, making Brennan wince.

“My own son,” Brennan said. “More ruthless than me. Crueler than me.” His eyes hardened and something unpleasant glittered in his irises. “You tell my son,” he muttered. “You tell my him--”

Emma turned away, waving at Nolan to step forward with the cuffs.

“--tell him I’m proud of him.”

Emma turned back. “Enjoy Neverland.”

--

Killian exhaled as he turned the ship’s wheel, piloting the Jolly Roger out of orbit and closer to the surface of Persephone. Emma stood behind him, looking out the cockpit windshield. The sun was setting and it refracted through the atmo.

“Well, that’s a joyful sight,” Killian muttered, looking up at Emma.

“Gotta love a sunset,” she sighed.

“That too,” he said. And winked.

“Almost like coming home,” Emma said, her fingers scratching and lazy at the back of his neck. He shivered.

Home.

She was his home. This was his family.

“We sniff the air,” he reminded her. “We don’t kiss the dirt.”

“Noted, Captain,” she said. “But I wasn’t planning on the dirt-kissing. Sir.”

“I wouldn’t stand for it anyways,” Killian said. He locked the wheel into place and pushed back in his seat, smiling up at her the entire time as lightness rushed through his body. “Jealous man like me.”

“Hey--eyes front, please,” Robin said, walking in and making a face. “Planet’s coming up a mite fast. You’re coming down too quick. Likely gonna crash and kill us all.”

Killian stood up and pulled Emma’s hand into his. His eyes never left hers.

“That happens,” he said to Robin, “let me know.”

--

“Hey,” Emma whispered, pushing the fringe off of Killian’s forehead as he opened one bleary, sleepy eye and stared at her. They were a tangle of limbs and sheets in the berth. “You were some kind of hero today, Jones.”

He nuzzled into her hand and wrapped her more tightly against him. “Mmmmm.”

It was not agreement.

“Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column,” Emma said, bending so her lips brushed against his ear. “Killian?”

“Mmmm?”

“Will you tell me about him, someday?” Killian’s eyes opened, both of them, and he stared at her in surprise. “Your younger brother?”

He stilled and then exhaled, a brush of warmth against her palm. “Aye, love. Someday. But not today, yeah?”

Emma snuggled herself against him, dropping her head to his shoulder. “Someday,” she agreed.

They had all the time in the world.

--30--

@quirkykayleetam​

[bbaronpiper]

Trouble

This is a project I did with @artsaree​  You can read hers here

well, I’m so nervous about this since we all know how good she is at writing but I really did enjoy writing this. haha so basically we had the same theme, setting and character traits. 

Arón x reader

Usually, you spent your Sunday nights locked inside your home. Enjoying the calm before the storm people call Monday. Reading and researching about random stuff. At a young age, you always had this unusual, intense curiosity inside you which by the way leads you to your current situation. You turned your head to the side only to see Arón smiling cheekily at you. For some reason, being behind bars was like a joke to him.

Yep. You are locked behind bars instead of your room on a Sunday evening with your boyfriend who looked like he was having the time of his life, grinning at you like an idiot.

It was a week ago when Arón woke you up from your sleep. Poking on your cheeks lightly. You slap his hands away hoping he’ll stop. “Y/N! someone’s at your door” he whispered close to your face.

“Go get it, cabron.”

“You get it. This is your house Y/N. It was you he was calling for” probably just too lazy to get up as well

“Uugghhhhh!” You then pull the covers out of your body annoyed at whoever this person is doing at your door at 2 am. Dragging your feet across the floor lazily until you reached it. Yawning before unlocking it. Revealing a tall man with broad shoulders and a beard probably the same age as Arón. You didn’t recognize him at all. You had to rub your eyes to get the sleepiness out of your system.

“Y/N/N!” the mysterious man who interrupted your sleep said excitedly as he proceeds to hug you while you just stood there dumb founded. It took you a while to come to your senses and push him away.

“umm, sorry, who are you again? And how do you know my nickname? The only one who calls me that was-“ you cut yourself as you examine him closely. You watched as he smiled cheekily at you knowing you already recognized him.

“aaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Marco!” you screamed excitedly and covered your mouth once you realized you had neighbors.

You heard rapid loud thuds coming from the bedroom coming closer to where you’re at.

“Woahh!!! The fuck are you doing with that bat, Arón?” raising your arms up trying to stop him. You would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the bold look he had on his face.

“I heard you screaming so I came as fast as I coul- are you okay? Who’s this? He said pointing to the man standing next to you, raising his eyebrow.

“This is Marco, my cousin. Marco, this is Arón my boyfriend” pointing at Marco then at Arón introducing them to one another. “Come in! come in!” you said squealing like a little child.

To cut the story short, Marco asked if he could stay with you and Arón for a few weeks until he finds a place to settle in. You haven’t seen him in 10 years. His family moved away when you were 8 due to some family feud and never saw him until today. Marco was your favorite. he was the only guy cousin you had, the rest were all girls which you didn’t get along too well. You were different than them you didn’t like tea parties and all that shit. You and Marco almost did everything together despite the 6 years age gap.

You spent the first nights staying up late with him catching up, telling stories reminiscing your childhood completely leaving Arón alone in the other room doing his work. This night, you decided to have a few drinks on your backyard.

“Ohh it’s still here?” Marco asked. Pointing at the old basketball ring hanged up on your wall. It was the same ring you two played with when you were kids.

“Yep!” you said popping your lips at the word. “You remember how you used to lift me up just so I can shoot the ball?” you said smiling to yourself at the memory.  

“What? Like this?!” Marco stood up abruptly walked behind you, trapped you inside his arms and lift you up. Your distinct crazy laugh was heard everywhere when you realized he trapped your arms as well so you can’t possibly reach for the ring. Once Marco realize this, he quickly let go of you making you fall to the ground laughing along with you. “You… stupid.. asshole!” you said in between laughs.

“Ahem, ahem!!” You heard someone clearing their throat. You instantly looked up to see Arón staring down at you with his arms crossed. Jealousy evident in his eyes. Marco was about to help you get up when Arón beat him to it. “I got her” he said through gritted teeth as he bends down held you by the waist and helped you get back to your feet like a child.

“Gracias” as you said nervously. Your face was close to his making you look straight into his eyes. You’re fully aware he’s pissed by the looks of him. He made sure you knew it. It was one of Arón’s bold personality. He speaks up and acts on it. He wasn’t afraid to show or say what he’s really feeling. “Time for bed?” you smiled innocently and smacked his ass. Trying to lighten the mood but he just nodded in return.

The walk inside the house was quiet with Marco following you both close behind. You can feel Marco’s not comfortable but kept his mouth shut. You said your goodnights once you reached the door of your own bedrooms.

You are now laying in bed with Arón with your head against his bare chest. You then reached to your side table and got a marker. You started drawing on his chest trying to connect his moles to each other. It’s your own way of showing him affection and sometimes just to mess up with him as an attempt to make him smile. You did it even to your own moles on your arms sometimes, you’re not sure where you got this weird trait but you figured it comes in with your eccentric personality. You always tried to connect the dots physically and even in real life situations. Arón usually let’s you do this to him except for tonight as he sat up on the bed leaving you confused.

“What was that?!”

“What was what, Arón?” sitting up as well pretending not to know.

“That! you let a random man live with us, ignoring me the whole week and now he’s touching you?” he said clearly annoyed.

“First of all are you jealous? Second, he’s not a random person he’s my cousin! And lastly, baby, I am not ignoring you!” you defended trying to make your point.

“Y/N you haven’t seen this guy for a decade! How do you know he’s your cousin? Just because he called you by your nickname?” Arón clearly stating the facts “also, so what if I’m jealous?! I’m your boyfriend and I don’t want anyone else to touch you like that!”

You burst out laughing as you just straddle onto his hips, facing him. “Bebe, I asked for his birth certificate” you kissed the tip of his nose as you laughed even more finding this argument stupid. “oh, you think this is funny, now?” he said sarcastic.

“I’m well aware you didn’t like him by the look on your face that night he came. But please just give him a chance, Arón. He’s really nice” your opinionated self, argued. “And besides, you have nothing to be jealous about. It’s not like I’m gonna fuck my cousin.” Wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Arón knows he’s gonna lose this argument. You were always the one who’s outspoken about your beliefs and opinions and fights for it. so, he just let it go for now.

“Oh right, but I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight making sure he knows who you belong to” he smiled cheeky at you as his hands gripped on your waist lifting you up away from him and slamming you onto the bed.

---

The next night was different, you spent it with Arón on your backyard trying to make up for the nights you ignored him as he likes to say. He was puffing a smoke while you sat on his lap tracing your fingers on the moles on his chest connecting it like you usually do. He was wearing a shirt but you do this often you know their placement by now.

You heard the door opened and closed followed by the sounds of keys hitting the counter top knowing Marco arrived home from his house hunting. You heard him called your name and you yelled back at him saying you’re out back. Within a few seconds, you saw him poking his head out the door.

“Have you guys had dinner yet? I brought some food”

“Okay we’ll be right there in a few” and with that he disappeared and went inside.

Arón took one last puff from his cig, turn his head away from you and exhaled the smoke. “Oh now, I’m starting to like this guy” he said laughing a little. You smacked his chest in return and walked with him towards the house.

“So, how’s your house hunting?” Arón asked Marco. You kicked his foot from under the table knowing exactly what he meant by this. This ass was excited to get rid of your cousin.    

“oh it was okay, I actually have my eye for this house just 2 blocks away from here. I might get it.” he shrugged taking a bite on his food not looking once at Arón. “By the way, Y/N/N, I drove past the house we used to sneak out to when we were kids. Do you remember? The one with the swing on the backyard? You always ask me to take you there before”

You felt Arón shifting in his seat, clearing his throat. Uh oh.  “Oh yeah, but the owner moved away years ago and no one lived there ever since. I wonder if the swing is still there”

“We wouldn’t know for sure and I wouldn’t dare go and check it out. It looks like a haunted house now.” Marco answered. “okay I’m going to bed, quite tired. Goodnight guys!” he informed us maybe just trying to avoid Arón’s glares. But before he completely disappeared from our sight, he turned around and said “ And oh, if you two are gonna get it on tonight please try to tone it down a little?” Marco winked at you both trying to hold back laughter. You then proceed to slap Arón on his arm while he’s smirking knowing he did that on purpose.

“Let’s go check it out” Arón suggested.

“Now?” smirking at him. Arón’s bold personality and your eccentric ones doesn’t mix well at times like this. You know it would turn ugly. He was always willing to make a move despite knowing the risk. While you on the other hand who has intense curiosity about things and will never be afraid to get involved, always get the two of you in trouble. But you did it anyways.

You are now climbing the fences with a huge sign written with private property on it while Arón waited for you on the other side. “Catch!” you said as you jumped onto him earning a low groan from him. He caught you by the waist and put you down on the ground. The light from your phones are the only source of light, everything else was dark. You held his hand as you excitedly drag him to the back of the house almost running. “Slow down Y/N! I swear I’m gonna laugh at you if you land on your face” Arón teased you.

You raised your hand showing him that your fingers are intertwined with him. “Well, I’m taking you with me, cabron” as you laughed in his face.

It was not long when the dark surrounding was illuminated with red and blue lights.

“Joderrrr” Arón remarked as soon as he saw it. You giggled a bit trying to hide your nervousness as he let go of your hand, raising both of his up in the air when he saw two police officers getting out of the car and starts walking towards you.

“Do you know that this is a private property?” the lady cop asked. “And we would like to see your hands too ma’am, please raise them up slowly” she added referring to you.

Nodding your head yes to the officer as you did what you were told looking at Arón while he tries to suppress a laugh. You widened your eyes at him warning him to keep it together before you pissed these two officers even more.

“Since you both are aware that this property is off limits and you intentionally broke the law, we have to arrest you” The other police officer informed you.

Your eyes widened for the second time now as the lady cop is now securing the handcuffs around your wrist. Your heart was beating fast knowing this is now damn serious.

“Sir, she has nothing to do with this, this was my idea” Arón tried to save you. His protective side taking over. The officer ignored him, grabbed both of his arm, placed it on his back and secured it with a handcuff. “She’s here with you, therefore she’s an accomplice”

“Couldn’t you just let us off with a warning. We’re not thieves. There’s nothing to steal here anyways” Your outspoken self, added while you are now both being led to the police car. The cop just raised his eyebrow at you cockily “Ma’am, There’s no exceptions to the law.”

You are now sitting beside Arón inside the police car while the two officers roam around the property checking for more possible accomplice.

“We should make a run for it” Arón confidently suggested looking at you. “Yeah that’s a great idea no?” he questioned you. You looked back at him like he’s some crazy person while shifting at your seat trying to get comfortable with your arms behind your back. “No one in their right mind would do that”                      

“Well, that’s the real question here. Are we on our right minds?” He said. It wasn’t a question at all.  You stared at each other for a while before a small smile slowly form into your lips. Arón burst into laughter and you joining him. Oh boy how you are deeply in love with this man. You thought to yourself.

“I told you our personalities get us in trouble when mixed” you scooted closer to him as he did the same. You pecked his lips but he seems to want more. So he leaned in again and kissed you deeply this time. You had your eyes closed, your lips moving in sync with him not caring that you’re currently at the back seat of a cop car.

“Hey, don’t blame me! You were the one who’s so curious about that swing you and Marco used to love!” Arón then said after pulling away rolling his eyes playfully as he said his name.

“Fine! I’ll blame your stupid jealousy instead!” you fought back. You then saw the police officers walking back to the car.

“Well at least I’ll have you all alone to myself now” Arón grinned and winked at you. You nudged him using your shoulder as you both laugh at the thought that the only way to get you alone with him nowadays without your long-lost cousin in the view is to get you locked up in a jail cell with him.

[chris-evanslover]

Captain Patrotic: Part 2

Summary: Chris and OFC Samara go on their breakfast date:)

Requested by @thatoneperson5000

Word Count: 1.8K

Read Part 1 in my Masterlist!

I always found the expression ‘Running around like a chicken without a head’ funny, yet that was the perfect way to describe my frantic state. I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table which is flashing the time ‘9:49’ in bright red block numbers. I had rolled out of bed just 15 minutes ago, after accidentally snoozing my alarm one too many times. Shit I cannot be late for this. Chris was gonna be here any minute to get me for breakfast.

In record time I threw my curly hair into a somewhat decent looking low bun with a few loose strands shaping my face, some light makeup to conceal the under-eye bags I was sporting. I grabbed my bag threw my wallet and phone in before heading downstairs to look for a jacket and some shoes.

On my way down the stairs I noticed my keys sitting on the kitchen counter, Imagine I forgot those, would’ve been pretty hard to get your car from the stadium huh Samara. As I threw them in my bag I heard a knock at the door and froze. Get it together, Samara! It’s just a date.

“Coming! One Sec!”

I slipped on a pair of adidas sneakers and a jacket and opened the front door ushering Chris inside. “Sorry for the mess, I woke up late and i’m a little all over the place and I almost forgot to grab my keys and I am rambling i’m so sorry” I sighed and looked at him, and I mean really looked at him. It blew my mind how someone could look this good at this hour. Dressed in a grey sweater and jeans he still managed to look straight out of a Vogue shoot. When my eyes finally wandered up to his face I noticed he was smirking at me.

“Are you ready for the best breakfast of your life”

“I sure am” we laughed and made our way to his car after I locked up my house. Ever the gentleman, Chris opened the passenger side door for me, Thanking him I got in and bucked my seatbelt and then we were off.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope” he smiled at me

“Not even a hint” I put on my sweetest smile and the best puppy dog eyes I could muster but I’m willing to bet it didn’t look nearly as cute as I hoped it did. He laughed and said “it’s a surprise, I really think you will like it”

After making light conversation for 20 minutes, the car came to a stop outside an adorable cafe on the water, It was quiet and dainty and secluded yet perfect. “Wow this is-an amazing view Chris, how'd you find this place?” “I’m glad you like it, Scott and I found it a couple years ago just driving around the area, I come here pretty often when I’m in Boston i’m kind of a regular” he laughs, a little nervously “I’ve never brought someone here though, besides Scott but we can pretend he doesn’t count”.

He’s never brought someone here? Clearly he likes it if he considers himself to be a regular. He also seems a little nervous, maybe it’s not just me then.

“Come on, let’s sit, they have everything you could want here” “Well it’s no iHop but it’ll do” i smiled at him to make sure he knew I was playing around. He scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah I wanted to take you there but the only one around here is in the city and I was worried I would get recognized too much, I didn’t want that to ruin this” The Lizzie McGuire in me swooned at his answer. “That’s very thoughtful of you, I’m excited to eat here, now cmon I’m hungry” taking a little leap of faith I grabbed his hand and dragged him with me to the entrance.

We were seated right away, the hostess recognizing Chris, she brought us to a secluded corner table with a fantastic view of the water. She gave us each a menu with a “Your server will be with you shortly” and went back to the front counter. I opened the menu which could’ve been mistaken for a book, it had so many options.

I decided on getting the French Toast with a side of Bacon and a cup of coffee, Chris ordered an omelet with a side of bacon and a coffee. The waiter took our orders and menu’s and was off to the kitchen.

“I see why you love it here so much, it’s lovely but not too over the top” “It’s my favorite place to come when I’m feeling overwhelmed or need to clear my head. The view, the atmosphere and the food just makes for a prefect de-stressor” he laughed. I nodded my head and looked around the room at the decor, the restaurant had an indoor-outdoor design with tones of orange, gold and brown throughout. The huge doors opened completely out to a beige stone terrace that wrapped around the building, looking out onto the ocean. If the harbor water was a bit bluer I would’ve mistaken this place for the South of France.

“So tell me about how you became the worlds biggest patriots fan” Chris dived into his upbringing and how his father used to bring them to games and just being from Boston forced him to love the sport and the team. He also talked about how when he was in high school he tried playing football but he deemed he enjoyed it better as a spectator. I found myself getting lost in his blue eyes, which lit up as he talked about his favorite sport, hours could’ve passed and I wouldn’t have had any idea.

“Enough about the pats, what about you? What’s something you’re so passionate about you can’t contain yourself when talking about it?”

“Would have to be writing, I became a teacher because I love kids but I’ve always had a passion for writing and the escapism it brings. I think some of the most powerful stuff is written down in a good book and there’s no better feeling than hours of time passing while you’re getting lost in a novel.” I smiled shyly realizing how big of a nerd I must’ve sounded like.

“I completely agree with you” wait what? “Reading a good book is the best medicine to anything, I have a library room in my house and it’s probably my favorite part of the house, besides the kitchen, I love to eat as well”

I stared at him shamelessly “y-you have a library? in your house? are you serious that’s only like my dream” I stuttered out of complete shock. “I do, you’d love it it’s got all the classics. Maybe sometime next week you can come over and check it out? I could make us dinner if you would be up to that?” “Name a day and I’ll be there” we laughed.

Our food arrived and it was downright the best breakfast i’ve had in ages. The food was absolutely intoxicating and mouthwatering I didn’t want to finish it because it tasted so perfect. However, We scarfed down the food and asked for the bill. Chris insisted on paying but I wasn’t gonna let that happen, between taking me home yesterday and taking me out for breakfast paying for the meal was the least I could do.

When the waiter brought the check I quickly swiped it out of his hand before Chris could react, put my card in and gave it back to the waiter, smiling at Chris the whole time.

He sighed and shook his head “I said I would pay for it” “Gotta be quick around here Mr. Evans. It’s the least I could do for you” “Sam, I asked you out to breakfast” “Yes, which I thoroughly enjoyed, you also gave me a ride home yesterday and are taking me to my car so think of this as a thank you” “You really didn’t have to” “Yes I did” the waiter returned with my card and a receipt which I signed, leaving a tip. Standing up, I ushered Chris to follow me as we walked back to his car.

We pulled up to the stadium laughing about how I nearly face planted in the parking lot yesterday after the game. He pulled up next to my car and parked, ever the gentleman he opened my door for me, walking with me to my car, i unlocked it and threw my bag in before turning to him.

“I had a great time today, seriously thank you for bringing me there I can tell that place means a lot to you and I appreciated you-” Chris cuts me off with a kiss and before i know it I’m kissing him back. We pull away for air and he says “You’re cute when you ramble” I blushed hard and looked at my feet not knowing what to say, all my thoughts in overdrive by the kiss. He lifts my chin with his finger and looks down at my lips as if to ask permission to kiss me again. I slowly nod my head and his lips are on mine once again.

I swear my knees would’ve given out on me if I wasn’t being held up between my drivers side door and Chris’ body. The kiss turned a bit heated before he pulled away and smiled at me. He backed up a couple of steps before taking out a small piece of paper from his pocket and slipping it into my hand, closing my fist around the paper.

“Thank you for breakfast, text me about our library dinner date next week. Get home safe, Samara” “But I don’t have your number!”

“Yes you do” he winked before getting in his car. Opening the crumpled piece of paper in my hand was a 9 digit phone number. Chuckling I waved at him and got in my car. As soon as I arrived home I put his number in my phone so I wouldn’t lose it. Debating if I should text him now or wait. If I text him now, I don’t want to look desperate, we just said bye like a half hour ago, But at the same time I didn’t want to wait.

‘Hey it’s Samara, Just letting you know I got home safely, hope you did too!’

‘Who?”

Shit. Did he give me the right number? What if he thinks I don’t want to see him again because I don’t have the right number? Should I text Carly?

‘i’m messing with you, I did get home safely and I’m glad to hear you did as well. How’s Wednesday night for dinner?:)”

‘You asshole!!!!! My stomach dropped, but yes, Wednesday’s perfect’

‘Hahah! I couldn’t help myself I’m sorry, I can’t wait for Wednesday’

Chris and I texted sporadically throughout the rest of the day, Once again a smile never leaving my face.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this, maybe I’ll make it into a short series who knows. Gimme your thoughts💓💓

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[jpegjade]

bottles - Spencer

i want to say that it was actually kinda hard to write this and harder to clean this up. writing (and existing) has been hard lately so this kinda happened at a tipsy 2am a couple days ago. I kinda actually hate it. it’s tame and i barely touched on anything. possible delete or re-write.

warnings: talking about drinking. 

______________________

“Are you drunk?” Spencer asked, walking in the apartment. He saw your head swaying side to side and you were humming loudly and off key. 

“Are you high?” You snapped. It was an automatic response.

You hated when he did that. No greeting, just straight to the point. It pissed you off and when your system was more relaxed, you lost most of your filter. 

“No but you’re snappy.” Spencer put his satchel next to the door, kicking off his shoes. 

“Because you didn’t even greet me, asshole.” You stood up, walking over to hug your boyfriend.

The walk was a little difficult but you kept it together. You knew how this worked. The more drinks you downed, the more you needed to concentrate on being deliberate in what you said and did. No need to embarrass yourself again. 

“I’m worried about you.” He said, wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

It had been a hard day for him and judging by the three empty green apple smirnoff bottles and the half empty wine glass, you had it just as hard. He wondered what could’ve possibly happened or what you were feeling that needed that much alcohol in one evening. You had only been at his apartment an hour before him and you soared through those bottles. 

Spencer didn’t keep alcohol at his place for himself but you brought something over once every now and then for yourself. He didn’t drink unless he was with you and even then, it wasn’t a lot if any. He knew you used it to help you wind down after long days but most recently, it started to seem like every day was getting longer. 

“You shouldn’t be.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck while you stood on your tip toes, smelling the coffee and fresh detergent scent radiating off of him. “I’m okay, baby.” 

He pulled back, hands on your waist, looking directly into your eyes. Scanning your face, he noticed you weren’t really focusing on him. You weren’t really focusing on anything. You had a relaxed demeanor but your appearance and the room around you read anything but calm. 

“You’re not okay, you’re self medicating.” Spencer said with a sigh. 

“What I’m doing is trying to have a good time and you’re killing it.” You pushed him away gently and walked towards the couch to get the glass you hadn’t finished on the coffee table. 

Watching you sit down, Spencer sighed again and walked over to sit next to you on the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer said, putting his arms around your shoulders. 

“Nothing. I really just want to relax.” You said, holding onto your glass. One swallow left, or two if you made them small but what was the point in doing that? You downed it with a satisfied sigh.

“Come on, y/n. You really drink in public to relax. If you really wanted to relax, you would have called one of your friends and chatted over a single glass of wine. And if you actually, genuinely wanted to relax, you would’ve been on your knees at the door, waiting for me.” Spencer smirked but it wasn’t exactly funny. He just really liked seeing you like that, especially when he came home from a long trip and he missed you. 

“I thought about that, I really did. But I’m fine, really.” You were nodding your head a little bit too much for it to be convincing. 

“Please don’t make me pull it out of you. You have been doing this more often. It’s hard to watch you like this.” Spencer said, quietly. 

“Like what, Spencer?” You weren’t sure whether you were angry or not. Your emotions were heightened but sometimes, they could be confusing. 

“Like this. When was the last time you were completely sober for more than 18 hours. No drinks, not even a sip.” Spencer asked, looking at you. 

You were looking down. You didn’t want to meet his eyes because you didn’t remember. When you had to work, you were always clear headed and sober. You knew your limits so you never went too far over. If you happened to tip into bad hangover territory, you always made sure you were prepared with your hangover kit in a place you could reach: the floor next to the bed. You knew he had a point but you didn’t want to deal with it. 

“Spencer, please don’t do this. Fine, it’s a problem but I don’t want to talk about this right now.” You said, frustrated. 

You put the empty glass on the coffee table and leaned forward on your elbows. Rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, you were just trying to relax after everything that happened earlier in the day. 

“When can we talk about it? You can barely go a couple days without ‘taking the edge off’ when the edge is literally every feeling you were meant to experience.” Spencer said again. 

“Spencer. I can’t handle this. I wanted to forget today and I was almost there.” You finally looked up at him. You looked so tired and his heart broke for you. 

“What happened?” He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

“Life. Life happens. Every day, life happens and it doesn’t stop for anyone. So when I’m off the clock, I’d prefer to clock out of life in general to the extent that I can. Quarantine has been fucking hard. I can’t go out. I can’t see my friends. I can’t get any hugs from anyone I do see. I am miserable and it hurts on the inside. The pain inside of me is destroying me faster than alcohol ever could. I really just need this to make the pain less sharp.” You felt partially humiliated, having to explain yourself to someone who didn’t drink. 

Spencer was silent. It was hard to put into words what he wanted to say. 

“When I was… When I wanted to escape as a kid, I read. I used to find different worlds to transport myself into and I would stay there for a little bit. When I was dealing with my drug addiction, I had an escape for a little while. I had something that I used to calm my anxieties and really make the edges blur together into something that felt ethereal.” Spencer said, pulling you closer to him. 

“So glad you understand. Can we wrap this up? I want to dance with you.” You said, the last bit of alcohol hitting your head. 

“We can dance but we’re still going to talk.” He smiled, knowing you always wanted to dance when you were drunk and feeling warm inside. The next phase is horny then falling asleep. 

Spencer stood up, pulling your hand up with him. Settling into a swaying motion, you put your head on his chest and started humming quietly. 

“But here’s the problem. You’re the only one who feels the high but you're not the only one who experiences your pain. Pain reverberates. Addiction is an emotional dependence on a substance which is, in your case, alcohol..” Spencer held your hand, thinking about how small you felt in his arms. 

“Spencer, I am trying so hard to run away from all of my problems, taking every breath to push myself forward. I want to be free of this burden and wish my problems away. But they’re not going anywhere so I won’t stop running any time soon. But maybe you can guide me. I will hate saying this tomorrow when I have a headache but I don’t want to be this way all the time. I like drinking but it’s not fun alone. Nothing is fun alone, not even existing. And right now, I feel so alone, baby. I’m so alone.” You went back to humming to yourself like you didn’t just release months worth of internal issues. 

“I know baby. I’m sorry I haven’t been around more. But you can’t expect me to stand by and watch you struggle to keep your head up. I can’t let you drown in drinking. You can barely walk and drink.” He chuckled, his laugh reverberating through his chest and sounding like music to your ears.

“Listen. I’m sure I’ll be struggling to walk tomorrow, too.” You said, smirking. 

Spencer sighed, holding you in place. 

“We’re going to talk about this again tomorrow, when you’re sober and I have the day off. And we’re going to try to do this the right way, not the way you want to but the way that I had to learn to do it. Clear headed and pushing through every hard emotion and everything we struggle to process. And I do mean we because it’s you and I. We have to slowly get you off of this and try to replace it with something more constructive to your development.” He said, looking at your dazed face. 

“I know something that I’d like to develop.” You said, smiling. 

“Let’s get you to bed and we’ll figure things out there.” Spencer said, guiding you to bed.

[beyoncesdragon]

title: tongue tip trip

➳ pairing: harry styles x reader, best friends to lovers trope but a bit different. 

➳ summary: Harry eats edibles and you come to the rescue...despite almost four months of no talking and zero communication. 

➳ warnings: Harry eats edibles, swearing and some fluff, it’s also fan fiction so its ✨unrealistic✨ okay, also its 1AM I wanna sleep 

➳ a/n: I love this one tbh. but please don’t do drugs children 

Jeff hardly ever called you. Even when Harry and you had still be close, him calling you was a rarity. But when he then did, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried at the sign of his user ID flashing up on your phone. This time was no exception, but besides worry there was also surprise and a whole bunch of uncomfortable memories and unsaid words. You hadn't heard from him (or Harry) in weeks. Sure, Jeff and you still sometimes texted a bit, you also were still in good contact with Claire and especially Mitch and you still got along. Harry and you...well, that was a different and longer story.

Harry and you used to be very close friends. Means, helping him what socks to choose before performing-close friends. You had met a year in Harry going solo, you a simple assistant engineer and him the highly praised Popstar. The two of you had quickly bonded over a few glasses of chilled white wine in the humid air of Jamaica and soon your friendship blossomed in the most beautiful ways. Well it did until you, obviously, started to feel a bit more for the singer. Now, that alone wasn't a problem itself, the fact that Harry knew (you had told him after a few weeks of awkward suffering) wasn't either. The problem was that Harry acted like a dick to anyone you brought around, up to the point where you seemingly couldn't ever date again. Of course Harry wasn't a straight up asshole to them, he still had a reputation to maintain, but he knew how to get under their skin. Just toying with their self-confidence and subtly making them feel like the biggest losers. Oh and, the absolute worst part, all whilst having a girlfriend himself. Which eliminated the possibility of him having feeling for you as a reason why he acted like a jerk. And that angered you more and more and it all escalated in a big, nasty and hurtful fight, around four - five months ago. Since then you hadn't talked, texted or seen each other.

It had been a big change of habit not to get up and first check the phone for messages of him, or simply FaceTime him to check up on his schedule. No spending time at cafes or at the studios with him and the rest of the team. Lucky thing you had other jobs running, on other albums and in other studios around Malibu than his.

He was currently recording music at the Shangri-La studios in Malibu, maybe ten minutes from your flat by car. Which had been described as a "lucky and obviously unplanned extra" by Harry himself, followed by a cheeky grin. You had just rolled your eyes, but secretly happy that he had cared about you being near during his writing process. But now it only left a sour aftertaste in your mouth.

With a sigh you pulled the key out of the ignition and picked up the phone. You figured you could also wait in the parking lot for a few more minutes.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart? Jeff's here..." you hummed softly, leaning back. 

"Hello there Jeff. Everything alright?" you could hear him cough slightly, before he answered with a weird lilt to his tone. He sounded somewhat stressed out. "Yeah, everything's fine...how have you been?" you shrugged lightly, inspecting your nails. 

"Fine. Working and stuff. I guess same for you?" he was quick to agree, again with that weird cough. 

"Everything okay Jeff? Something happened?" you finally asked, tired of his obvious tip toeing around the real issue. He knew that you weren't so stupid to believe that Jeff had just called you to check up on you at five in the afternoon.

"Well not...quite. I - uh...it's because of Harry. Now, listen, I know the two of you did not part in like, the best ways but..." you couldn't help but close your eyes with a slight wince, "...but you've got to believe me, it's an emergency, kinda." You just sighed. 

"Kinda?" he hummed, saying nothing for a few seconds. "Do I need to talk to him?" you asked into the silence. Jeff was quick to say no however. "Uh...rather not, actually." You blinked surprised. 

"Rather not? Is he drunk?" not that this would be a first, Harry being drunk caller by nature. If he was lucky he then would find himself calling someone like Paul, his old bodyguard, few months ago maybe you, just not one of his exes or someone else you probably shouldn't call anyways – especially not drunk. But this time it didn't seemed to be like that, since Jeff answered hesitantly. "Not exactly, no." your frown deepened at his words, feeling slight annoyance creeping up. "Jeffrey! What's the matter? Is he hurt? In an accident? Called his ex? Called Zayn? What is it? Just tell me already!"

Jeff sighed deeply. "He's high." A relieved huff left your lips. That wasn't half as bad, wasn't it? "That's it? Little weed hurts no body, besides I would've been more concerned if he would've drank. Besides, he almost never does weed..." Jeff interrupted you quickly. "Not exactly weed sweetheart. You remember the uh, edibles I told you about, the ones we stored in the fridge..." A deep groan escaped your lips.

"Are you kidding me?" you groaned, shaking your head. "Well no. However, he accidentally bit of his tongue tip, few minutes ago." Your hand dropped from the steering wheel and smashed down and you accidentally honked, immediately getting confused and outraged looks from the cars passing by.

"He did WHAT?" you meant to hear a smile in Jeff's voice, underneath all the layers of just mild concern. "Yeah's a little unfortunate." you just huffed. A little unfortunate, if that's what they decided to call it, then fine. Nonetheless, Harry should probably visit a doctor. "Can he still sing?" you asked, somewhat defeated. The noise behind Jeff increased, you assumed that he was entering the studio again. "Hold on a sec...can you hear him?" And oh how you could hear him.

He was singing, no yelling on top of his voice, trying to outmatch the speakers that were thumping Paul McCartney's "Too Many People", though unmistakably mumbling a little. Just the sound of his voice made your heart clench in pain a little.

"Yeah I can." You mumbled, wishing for Jeff to talk over Harry's voice again. "So his career isn't in danger right? Means I can just..." Jeff sighed deeply, pleadingly. 

"Y/N, please...he needs medical care." You pouted displeased, spinning the car keys in your fingers. "And you cant drive him because...?" this time he definitely laughed. "What do you think? Harry being the only one on drugs?" you shrugged. "You don't sound like you would bite your tongue off..." he just huffed. "That's because I only had a glass of white wine, but never drink and drive..." you let out a loud laugh, starting your car. "Oh sure! And don't mix drugs with alcohol, right?" he chuckled softly. "Course not. We're that responsible, you know." you just hummed unconvinced, sighing again.

"Okay fine. I'll pick him up." Jeff released a long breath before thanking you warmly. "Thank you so much, angel...how long will you take, you think?" your eyes darted from the rear-view mirror to the road behind the parking lot, before you shifted the reverse gear again to leave the parking.

"About 10 minutes? Maybe?" you guessed, eyeing the traffic suspiciously. It wasn't rush-hour just yet, but there were still plenty of cars on the road. "Okay...oh hi Harry." You immediately tensed up, swallowing hard when you heard Harrys deep voice again.

"Who y'takin to?" Harry spoke as if he had a full mouth, trying not spit out its content. "Oh just...Y/N." Jeff answered truthfully. Harry then said something you couldn't quite understand before Jeff ushered him to go away again with the words; "She'll come in a few minutes anyways." It made you swallow heavily; had Harry asked to talk to you? You stopped the thoughts and focused on the road again. "I'll see you in five." And with that you hung up.

❦

Harry and Jeff were already waiting in front of the studio when you pulled up, Harry having a bloody cloth pressed to his mouth. They looked like father and son, right off the principal's office for starting a fight on campus. It almost made you laugh. Then your eyes met and the amusement left your body as quickly as it came. You were not ready to face him again, even after all those months.

"Thank you so much Y/N, I owe you...you good H?" Jeff asked as he opened the passenger door. "Yeh, m'fine, fanks." Harry mumbled, eyes darting up to meet yours, just to look away immediately. "We'll be back soon." You sighed, not yet ready to properly greet Harry. Or look at him, for starters. To be fair, he wasn't doing any better. "Sure. I hope he doesn't bleed on your seats." Jeff joked, well aware of the weird tension. You just shrugged, waving him goodbye. "See you in a few Jeff." Or not, but you didn't know that yet.

The ride was almost completely silent expect for the time where you asked if he was okay and he mumbled a "yeh". The radio was filling the silence and you were glad for it. The songs weren't that good at the moment, you just wanted something to be loud and talking, even if it was just the obnoxious radio host who kept cutting off the songs. That was until "Change" by RM and Wale started to play and you perked up immediately. A happy smile crept on your face as you recognised the tune. You yourself had helped with the song and you proudly acknowledged the credit they gave you. You hadn't expected it to be played over here in America, but you were happy it was. Harry had obviously noticed your change of behaviour and carefully peaked over.

"Y'know tha'shong?" you nodded, momentarily forgetting that Harry and you hadn't interacted the last ten minutes. "Helped write it. With Namjoon, aka. RM and Wale." Harry nodded slowly. "Ish Namjhoon f'om...?" he tried and you nodded. "BTS? Yeah." He just nodded again. The next second Wale already mentioned BTS in his verse and Harry huffed. "Oh."

"I've sheen - seen the pictures of you n'him." you quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, he was nice." Harry nodded again, another stolen glance into your direction. "Lishten..." he started but you cut him off. You already knew what he was about to say anyways.

"Let's not have this conversation now Harry. Please. Let's talk when there isn't blood gushing from your mouth." He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. After all, he was glad you were up to talk, even if it wasn't just right now, but a bit later on. He had time anyways. He peaked over again, taking in the sight of you. Your hair was now longer than last time and your face somehow sharper – maybe you had lost weight. Also, there was a soft frown etched in between your brows, and there wasn't this soft glow you've always carried in your eyes. Long story short: You looked worn out and stressed, and Harry couldn't really tell if it was because you were sat in the same car as he was, or if it had to do with something else that was going on.

"How're ya?" it slowly got painful to speak, the edible was definitely wearing off now, but Harry still tried. He had missed your voice after all, it didn't matter how cold your tone had become. Just at the mentioning of that Namjoon you had sounded more like the Y/N he knew.

"I've been okay. Had lots of work...different countries and continents. S'been a busy few months." You felt unsure as how to talk to him, of you were fully honest. Should you say that you had absolutely hated working in Malibu since the fight? Should you say that you hadn't slept properly because you hated having fights with friends? Especially close friends? He probably knew anyways. Harry always knew somehow.

"I wont ask you about yourself until your tongue is patched up again, though. So you better shut up Styles." He chuckled softly, and the hint of the old Harry and Y/N relationship seemed to spark up again. The last five or so minutes were spent in silence again, but comfortable this time.

❦

Luckily Harry did not go recognised by anyone else than the Doctor. And the doctor probably only realised fully, because she asked for the name. Harry, still not fully functionable, had then looked over to you, expecting you to do the talking. Which made sense, of course, but truth behold, he had just forgotten his middle and last name. And the address of the place he was staying at (the studios) was completely wiped from his memory. He was lucky you were with him. It also turned out that he had completely bit off a few millimetres of tongue, a clean bite. You had almost gaged at those words and Harry had supressed a grin. It meant that Harry needed no stitches (apparently it was sort of possible to stitch a tongue back together), but daily check-ups and cleaning or cleansing of the mouth was mandatory.

"Check the injurie daily for changes in appearance or feel. Wounds in the mouth that are clean and healthy may appear light pink to white." She had started to almost exclusively talk to you, aware of Harry's partly delirious state, giving you all the information you needed to patch him up a bit. You nodded slowly.

"Alright. Just...how do you cleanse the mouth?" The Doctor gave you a kind smile. "Very easy. Rinse the mouth with a saltwater solution after eating to ease pain and keep the wound clean. That is very important, so the wound doesn't infect. The saltwater solution is just one teaspoon of non-iodized salt mixed in one cup of warm water." You nodded slowly. "One last thing: if the colour of the wound changes, starts bleeding again, swells up or you notice a visible deformity, immediately come back. Also, if the pain intensifies and does not improve within two hours of taking over-the-counter pain medication, such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen, have somebody call us, or better come around. That is all we can do right now."

You were almost happy when you could leave the hospital with him, especially because Harry now grew tired and needy. You weren't sure if the disappearing edible had that effect or if you had just forgotten how clingy Harry could get, but you had troubles getting him to let go of your arm and sit into the car. And your deeply hidden and buried feelings for him slowly made an unwanted comeback, and you were not quite excited for that. You should've known that they would come again, after all, you never really got over him in the first place.

Harry insisted on you staying the night. He blabbed something about risk of getting kidnapped and abused at night alone (not entirely wrong, sadly) and him not letting his friend leave at hours that late and also he apparently needed you if something happened again. He just wouldn't admit that he couldn't let you walk out the door because he feared you wouldn't come back. as if you could just do that after today. But whatever it was, you did stay. In one of the three bedrooms of the Studio you had claimed a bed, and even got some spare clothes for sleep from Claire herself. You had called her, asking for them, as they had all already left.

Just when you thought you were done for the day, teeth brushed and dressed in Claires 1975 shirt size XL, you hear a knock on your door. "Come in?" You knew it was Harry, that wasn't the part that surprised you. the part that surprised you, was that it was Harry with a tray and on that tray were cups and kettle and it smelled like camomile tea and honey. And cookies, with chocolate chips even and some grapes.

"Hi." He just whispered, embarrassment written all over his face. "Hi?" you weren't sure how to react to this but quickly patted on the bed next to you. "Wanna sit down? Or wait, sHit down, as you would say it." He giggled softly, before he nodded and carefully sat down opposite of you, balancing the tray carefully between the two of you.

"I figured it would be better to talk now in peace? If you're up to, f'course." You couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face. "Shure." You mocked his lisp and he huffed at that, swatting his hand into your direction. "Shtop it really hurt." You just rolled your eyes at him, motioning towards the tray between the two of you. "That's very cute by the way. I love camomile tea with honey." He grinned smugly. "I know." The tea steamed softly when he poured it into the cups, his brows furrowed in concentration to not spill it on the sheets. You watched him with a fond look in your eyes. You hadn't been fully aware of how much you had really missed him in all these months. Right now it felt like the feeling was overwhelming and would crush you out of a sudden.

"Everything a'ight?" Harry's concerned voice ripped you from your thoughts and you blinked quickly. Your eyes had started to water and you looked away embarrassed. "Yeah...guess I just missed you." his eyes immediately went soft, and he set the cups down on the tray. 

"I missed ye too." He said, sounding a bit helpless. You cleared your throat, shaking your head quickly. 

"Okay so what happened that day; Harry I want to sincerely apologise. What I said went too far." He just smiled softly. "I should've went first. S'my fault after all, let's not beat around the bushes. I am sh-sorry. I shouldn't've said all those things, it was truly horrible. You're not clingy, you don't ever bothered me and also, the men you brought around weren't all dicks. And yes I did ruin it purposely." He couldn't even look at you anymore, shame so obvious in his face and voice and body language. "It's fine...I could've dated anyone anyways that time." You tried softly, swallowing down the "Still can't, believe me, I tried." He just shook his head. "No, really Y/N, that was extremely hurtful and inappropriate and I was the biggest...dick to do all that. I am so sorry. You had all right on earth to walk out like that. and to call me a heartless, self-absorbed douche, I guess I deserved that...that and all the other things you called me." that did make you laugh a bit.

"Arrogant son of a bitch? That one?" he grinned softly. "Exactly that one. I uh, used that, by the way. In a song, I hope you don't mind." Your eyebrows shot up at that. "You called yourself an arrogant son of a bitch?" He nodded sheepishly. "An arrogant shon of a bitch who can't admit that he is shorry, and I quoted that." you laughed now, loudly. "Bit harsh, innit?" he shrugged, coquettishly raising the tea cup to his lips. "Heard it from shomewhere." You just hummed softly, lifting your cup as well.

A deep sigh rose your chest as you looked at him again, that bright flicker in his eyes again, that lopsided smirk he wore so well. You knew that your crush was back on fully, but right now you didn't even minded it. Harry gave you a small smile, the mischief slowly draining from his green eyes. he seemed to catch on to that shift of your emotions and carefully placed his cup down on the tray, before then carefully placing the tray on the floor and opening his arms. 

"C'mere?" you did, immediately.

And for the first time in months you could fully relax. Surrounded by Harry's scent in Harry's arm and listening to Harry's heartbeat. Completely absorbed and surrounded by everything you loved. "Sorry." You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, feeling how his arms tightened around you. "Me too. I fucking misshed you." you chuckled softly. "Misshed you too, shon of a bitch." His laughter sent vibrations through your body.

"About that Korean dude..." Harry suddenly asked, making your peak up to him. "Namjoon? What about him?" he cleared his throat. "Just...did you like, date or something?" you grinned softly. 

"Pretty sure he had something going on with a girl the time I was over there. Maybe he still has. Why? You wanna scare him off again?" he just laughed. "I don't do that anymore. I was just...curious you know. You've always had a thing for these Korean men." You grinned softly.

"Are you now talking Stray Kids or Bangtan or EXO or GOT7..." Harry groaned, "so what. You got something to say about that?" he shook his head. "Course not." You hummed. "And what do you mean, I don't do that anymore? Why did you even do it, like in the first place?" Harry sighed very deeply at that.

"I guess because...okay, promise you listen to the end and don't get upset with me too much, yeah?" you frowned, a bit mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to follow. 

"Okay? Promised."

"Alright, now...I think I couldn't just...let you be and date who you want because I am a very selfish person? I know I know, you probably think: but selfish about what and I can only confess...probably you? No, not probably, I am sure." The words were bubbling out of him as if someone flipped a switch and now he couldn't stop anymore. "I couldn't see you date someone else and...give them all of your attention. And I know, I myself was in a relationship during that time, I know, but I just...I can't describe it." Your eyes grew wider and wider with every hasty rambled sentence and your lips were slightly parted. "It was as if was...jealous, which is weird because I wasn't into you then, no offense please, I mean I had a girlfriend..." 

"Hold on, what do you mean, wasn't into you then?" you cut him off and Harry literally froze. His eyes went wide with realisation and his mouth opened, as if he would try to reply something; but there was no sound. All he could think of, was one word, all in capital letters and blinking red: fuck.

"I uh, did I say then?" you clicked with your tongue, an amused grin flitting over your face. 

"You did." A blush now covered his cheeks and he cleared his throat eagerly. You moved away from his embrace to get a better look at the man sitting in front of you. 

"You did say then. Something changed?" your tone was joking but hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm there was a flicker of something else...hope.

"I...I mean I don't...would it be like...do you still feel the same?" you didn't immediately answered, trying to process what you were hearing. After weeks of pinning and then months of not talking at all, he was confessing – or somewhat confessing – that there was a chance that he now actually liked you back? How was that even possible?

Harry however read your silence as something else than confusion and being overwhelmed with the situation. His face fell from nervous to disappointed and hurt, though he tried to mask those emotions quickly. "Which is of course fine and like, obviously you don't, I mean..." he spoke, and it wasn't entirely clear if he was talking to you or himself.

"I didn't even answer H." you mumbled, tilting your head. "Of course you di- wait what do you mean?" there was this same spark of hope in his voice as there had been in your voice. "If I told you, that nothing changed, what would that mean?" you breathed after a second of hesitation and staring into his wide eyes, filled with fear, nervousness, hope and...vulnerability. At your words there was a small smile that started to tug on his lips, like a light igniting his eyes. 

"It would mean that I...uhm, I would then shoot my shot?" you couldn't help it.

"Was that hard to say?" he blinked confused. "Shoot your shot..." you teased and he groaned loudly. "Oh hush, you are unbearable." You giggled, winking obnoxiously. "You decided to eat those edibles. Also, I am worth a shot, no?" he huffed, leaping forwards to pull you back into his arms. "Oh definitely..." you grinned up at him before your breath hitched in your throat at the realisation of his sudden closeness. Eyes flickering to his lips you just waited. But when he leaned in you cleared you throat softly, making him halt. "Before you do that...just please tell me why now." He never moved back just pressed his lips together for a second, thinking of the right choice of words. "In those month where we didn't talk, I had a lot, and I mean a lot of time to think and reflect about the whole situation. About you, about how I felt about you and your partners, how your confession had changed the way I saw or felt certain things...also, Jeff's talked a lot with me about it. The fight and stuff. And then when I saw you again I just...knew? I don't know..." you cut him off with a short nod. 

"Okay that's good, now kiss me please." He just laughed before finally, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

And your lips on his made him feel better, lighter and higher than any fucking edible could've ever made him feel.

here are flowers for u, if u rly read this ily 💐💐💐

➳m.list �� ➳h.s. m.list   ➳wattpad

[dreamyjoons]

arrogant // ksj

Synopsis: he was an arrogant, self-important rich kid. And as hard as you tried, you couldn’t hate him for it. Not one bit.

Warnings: basically pwp, smut, slight angst, a lil fluff, semi-public sex, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, alcohol mentions, swearing.

Words: 7k

A/N: hello! Another lil oneshot for you. I hope you all enjoy this - it was super fun to write. Enjoy!

“Tell me why we’re here again?”

“To let loose a little, Y/N. College can suck it for the night.” Your friend Tali grins, and you roll your eyes.

“We can ‘let loose’ anywhere. Why does it have to be at Seokjin’s place?” You whine as you both push through the crowd of people to get to the kitchen.

“How often do we get to party in a mansion?” She laughs, throwing a wink back at you as you make your way through drunken students.

It was true. Jin’s place was a mansion. His parents apparently lent it to him and his friends to live in throughout college - because everyone has a spare mansion or two, obviously.

The sprawling house had eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, two lounges and a bunch of other rooms that you’d never seen. You’d been here before a number of times: occasionally for parties, sometimes for your friends that lived there. Always for Jin - and you resented him for it.

Speaking of Jin, you have no idea where he is. His loud laugh can be heard bouncing off the walls over the music and chatter of the party, and you roll your eyes. You and Tali grab a drink from the fridge (Jin always stocked his parties himself - perk of being a rich bitch, you guess) and make your way into one of the rooms where the music is blaring.

You both stand and laugh as Jimin and Hoseok (two of the other residents of the house) seem to be having a dance battle in the middle of the room. The expensive looking sofas and ornaments have been pushed to the edge of the room, the lights dimmed low and the pale wood floors already littered with solo cups. The room is full of people and the air is heavy with alcohol and bodies, but it’s warm and surprisingly inviting for a college party.

“I’m not dancing because I don’t wanna show them up too much.” You hear beside you, and you turn to see Jin standing there, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, that’d be a car crash no one could look away from.” You smiled sweetly, and he looks shocked at you for a minute before schooling his features into a smooth indifference.

“Whatever, you can’t handle me anyway. Also, you’re supposed to be calling me Oppa. I’m older than you.” He sighs, winking at you before letting his eyes trail across the room. You hold back a groan as you take the opportunity to really look at him.

His black hair was swept back slightly, And he was wearing a simple white shirt tucked into some black jeans, but he screamed luxury. Balenciaga was stitched on the pocket of his shirt, and a small grey label sat proudly attached to his expensive trainers. Your eyebrow raised at that.

“Why is there a label on your shoes?” You ask, but he scoffs.

“It’s just a thing, you wouldn’t understand.” He brags, sending you a sickly smile. Your heart flips a little but your brain is angry.

“Wow, you’re such a dick.” You breathe, looking to Tali, but you realise that she’d disappeared and you inwardly groaned.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” He winked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. You could feel the heat rising on your face, and you push him off you.

“What are you doing? Not in public.”

“Who cares, Y/N? We’re not a couple, just two kids having some fun.” He smiles, and you shake your head.

“You’re going to ruin my reputation. I don’t associate with rich selfish babies.” You snap, and he rolls his eyes at you.

“You’re normally happy to ‘associate’ when my face is between your le-”

“Jin, shut the fuck up.” You warn, eyes darting around you.

It was true - you and Jin were sleeping together. It was a friends-with-benefits kind of thing, although you weren’t friends. Not really. You don’t even remember how it started, although you had a vague feeling it was when you were drunk at a party and you had begin challenging his ego. You asked that if his ego was that big, then how big was his-

“Whatever, come find me when you’re needy.” He laughs, before blowing you an exaggerated kiss and walking away, leaving you standing with your mouth open.

You stand gaping for a minute before you get a hold of yourself and walk off to find Tali. You find her outside chatting with some people from your class, and you stalk up to her and smack your forehead into her shoulder and groan.

“Have fun chatting to Seokjin?” She chuckles and you huff before standing straight. She waves off her friends before she turns and walks to sit you both by the pool.

You slide your sneakers and socks off and dangle your bare feet in the water. You sigh as Tali stares at you, and you try to avoid her for as long as possible but you can’t take it. She was the only person that knew about you and Jin, and the only person you can trust with your feelings - if you ever wanted to admit them, that is.

“What?”

“You need to tell him you like him.” She states blankly, and you gawp.

“I. Don’t. Like him!” You gasp, but she simply shakes her head.

“Sure. So whenever you two chat I have to watch you fawn around like an idiot and watch you pine after him when he’s nearby.”

“I don’t fawn. I call him a dickhead in like every sentence.” You protest.

“I know you, Y/N. That’s your kind of flirting. And he loves it when you call him out.”

“But he’s not into relationships, Tali. He always says that he’s never gonna develop feelings for anyone so don’t fall for him. He legit said that like we’re all living in a romcom. It was gross.” You sigh, kicking your legs in the water and staring up at the house.

Your eyes drifted to where you knew his bedroom was. The light was on, and you suddenly wondered if he was in there with anyone. The thought made your heart heavy, and you dragged your eyes away to look at the ripples that echoed out from your feel in the pool.

“If I tell him I like him - which i’m not saying I am!” you correct quickly, “hypothetically if I tell him he’ll either stop sleeping with me or he’ll not care and continue to break my heart - hypothetically.”

“Well, ‘hypothetically’,” she sighs, and throws up air quotes, “You’re screwed either way. So why not find out once and for all?”

“Wow, way to break it to me gently.” You sigh, tipping your head back and sighing.

“Sometimes you need it straight. But you need to decide what you want to do about it soon. I don’t like seeing you torn up - you can’t hide your feelings around me all that well.” She smiles, and you look at her, mouth pricking up in the corners.

“Okay, but if this blows up in my face then you’re buying me alcohol and ice cream for a year at least.” You yelp, standing up and dotting a kiss into her hair before you tug on our shoes.

You tuck your socks in your pockets and head back into the house. With a deep breath, you walk through the house looking for Jin. He’s not by the dance battle and he isn’t in the kitchen. Soon you’re wandering around parts of the house you don’t know, and you’re lost. You curse Jin and his stupidly wealthy family. With a harsh sigh, you spin and go to head back to Tali, when you crash into someone’s chest.

“Oh, sorr-”

“Ugh, finally. Come one.” Jin mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs.

You let him lead you to his room, and he drops your hand just for a second to fish out a key and unlock his door. You snort.

“Who has a key for their bedroom?” You ask.

“I have things in my room that cost more than your entire apartment complex. Of course I’m going to get a lock for my door.” the throws over his shoulder, before whispering, “and Jungkook keeps trying to sneak in and tape me to the bed ‘as a prank’.”

You laugh, and you can see the tips of his ears turn red. He finally gets the door unlocked and pulls you in. He shuts the door behind you and before you can say anything, he pushes you back against it and smiles, his face merely an inch from yours. It takes all your willpower not to let him do whatever he wants.

“Jin, listen, I wanna talk about something.” You say in a quiet voice, and his eyes flicker across your face, lingering on your lips more than anywhere else.

“Y/N-ie, please.” He whines, grinding his hips against you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You bite your tongue as you feel him press against you, and you momentarily forget what you wanted to talk about.

“C- come on Jin, seriously.”

“Y/N, I want this, you want this. We work because you think I’m an asshole and I think you’re rude. It’s why we work so well in bed. Don’t try and put anything on this, let’s just have some fun.” He smiles, and your words turn to ashes in your mouth.

“Wow… You really are an asshole.” You mumble, and he laughs.

“That’s why this is always fun.” He smiles. He runs a thumb along your cheekbone, and your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“If it makes you feel any better… you’re my favourite.” He whispers.

And there, you’re stuck. In just a few seconds, he puts to bed all the hopes that you’d built up for yourself over the past few months. So you had to make a choice. Tell him and let things end, or keep it quiet and keep getting to feel his skin touching yours?

Your eyes flicker shut as you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him forward, your eyes fluttering closed as your lips collide. You can feel him smile into your kiss as he threads a hand into your hair and another grips your hip, holding you pressed against him. His plush lips moved against yours, a slow kiss moving towards a fast pace, the pair of you fighting for dominance in the kiss.

Suddenly you’re knocked forward, sending you and Jin to crash onto the floor. You both break apart on impact, causing you to yelp. You turn and face the door, only to see Jungkook and Hoseok supporting what looks like an unconscious Jimin. Jin sits up next to you, a hand placed protectively across you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jin shouts, his words firing rapidly.

“I’m sorry Jin-hyung, but the alcohol and the dancing’s messed with Jimin.” Jungkook explains, his face reddening as he avoids looking at you.

“So? You each have your own rooms-”

“There’s people getting it on in ours, Jinnie. Mine and Jimin’s door is locked from the inside and Kook’s… well, I’ll never look at Tae the same way again.” Hoseok states, shivering.

They walk Jimin to the bed and lay him down, tucking him in the bed. Jungkook sits next to him, worry on his face. Hoseok pats him on the shoulder before walking out of the room, but not before giving you a bright smile.

“All the other rooms are locked, sorry Jin-hyung.” Jungkook sighs, and Jin draws a deep breath before getting to his feet and holds out a hand to you. You take it and let him pull you to your feet before you cast an eye over Jimin.

“Want me to stay?” Jin asks, rubbing your hand with his thumb. You bite your lip as you look at Jin before looking back at Jungkook.

“Nah, I’ve got it. He just can’t handle his vodka. As soon as his room’s free I’ll drag him there.” Junkook shrugs, casting a quick look over Jimin before looking back at Jin and giving him a small smile.

Jin nods once, before turning and dragging you out of his room. He closes the door behind him and begins pulling your though the house, down the stairs and back out into the night air. You cast a quick look around at the few people that remained outside, and you’re thankful that Tali isn’t one of them. If you see her you know you’re resolve would crack and you wouldn’t be going through with this.

But she isn’t here, and Jin’s large hands feel too good linked with yours to say no. Your lips still tingled slightly from the kiss from before, and you were already hooked.

“Where are we going Jin?” You ask, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.” Is all he offers as he pulls you past the empty pool and towards the wooden gazebo that sits near the back of the property.

He drags you up the steps and pulls you under the cover. You glance back over your shoulder at the house - it’s not very far at all, although the gazebo and the rose-covered fences surrounding you do provide a little privacy. The area you’re standing in is big enough for two little benches to face each other, and small fairy lights are strung out from post to post. Simply put, it was romantic as hell. And it made your heart flutter.

He finally turns to face you, and your breath catches in your throat. The lights that line the gazebo offer little light, but do cast a faint warm glow falls across his face. His eyes shine in the light, and the shadows that fall across the face make him striking. A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and you realise you’ve been caught.

“I know I’m handsome, but you can always remind me.” His smirk is blown wide, and you scramble to find something to say that doesn’t portray how lovesick you actually are.

“I don’t know about handsome. Weird, ogre-ish, maybe. You definitely look like a dick, though.” You smile, and you watch as the smirk drops off his face. But after a moment of gazing at your face, a small smile creeps back onto him.

He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you closer, and you reluctantly let him drag you in. Soon you’re both pressed against each other, and his lips are back on yours, kissing you softly. He lets go of your hands and slides them across your waist and hips, and you sink yours into his hair and to rest on his wide shoulders.

His tongue swipes at your lower lip and you part them, letting him lick inside your mouth. You flick at him too, fighting for control of the kiss. This is what usually happens: a battle. You are both fire that the other one cannot extinguish, though you’ll both try.

Jin breaks apart the kiss and walks you back, biting and sucking his way along your jaw and down your neck. The back of your legs his the seat of the bench, but Jin keeps you standing, his hands sliding to squeeze your ass. You yelp in his arms and he smirks as he continues to leave marks trailing down your neck. Jin’s hands finally move, tracing over you to begin unbuttoning the shirt you had tucked into you denim shorts. Your hands fly off him and stop his hands, craning your head to look behind you.

“Jin are you insane? Someone will see.” You rasp, and he chuckles lightly, before pulling away from your neck with a wet suck and grinning down at you.

“Not so brave now, are we? Come on, no one will find us.” He winks, and you muse for a minute. “But we can stop whenever you want.” He adds quietly.

“Fine, but you better make this worth it or I’ll never lay a finger on you again.” You snap, and his shoulders shake as he laughs.

“Trust me baby, you’ll like it.” He smirks, his voice sinfully low. You feel your stomach drop at the pet name, and for a moment you’re thrust back into inner turmoil, screaming that you shouldn’t be doing this. You needed to talk to him.

But then his lips are back on yours and you push it all away, simply letting yourself get lost in him. Your top is finally fully unbuttoned and he runs a gentle hand over the soft skin of your stomach before cupping a breast over your thin bra. You gasp into his kiss before he pulls back once more to smile down at you.

He grabs your hips and pushed you gently so that you’re sat down on the bench. He sinks to his knees in front of you, his hands moving to the button of your shorts. He hold the button and looks at you, waiting. You take a deep shuddering breath before nodding. He smirks, before undoing your shorts and sliding them down your legs and dropping them beside him.

He runs a feather-light finger across your panties, running up and down your slit, and you shiver at the contact. He smiles, before pressing gentle kisses along the apex of your thighs and down across the lines of your underwear. Gentle kisses were placed over your clit, and you sucked air in between your teeth at the torturous pleasure.

“Jin I swear to god-”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands, Y/N. I think you’re at my mercy.” He smirks, and you gulp.

“You’re such an arrogant pr-”

“If you want me to get you off, you might not want to finish that sentence.” He looks at you through his eyelashes as he goes back to pressing kisses against you and you groan.

“You’re the worst.”

“You love it.” He laughs, his eyes scrunching. It was like a dagger through the chest - he had no idea- no idea how much you loved it at all. How much you loved him.

He finally slips a finger into the waistline of your panties and slides them down, and you lift to help. He bites his lip as you sit back down, and he pushes open your legs to get a better look at you, underwear still hanging off his finger. He balls them up and throws them behind him, launching them off the gazebo and out somewhere in the garden.

“Jin! Why-- oh shit…”

He shuts you up as he presses his tongue against your clit, and your head lulls back to hit the bench. His hands are perched against your knees - he knows that you close your legs whenever you get closer to your orgasm, something he always laughs at. And it always makes your heart pound on your chest.

His tongue starts its slow movements across your clit, slowly flicking the sensitive bud. You slide your hands into his hair, running the dark strands though your fingers and tugging slightly whenever his tongue hits you just right.

He runs his tongue up and down your slit before moving back to your clit and sucking hard, and you arch off the bench. You can feel yourself practically dripping as he flicks his tongue over you. He slides a hand up from your knee to run a finger across your wetness, gathering it before he slides a finger inside your entrance. You gasp and tug at his hair, and he groans into your clit as he slides his digit deeper into you. You roll your hips as his fingers find a rhythm inside of you, his mouth working you higher and higher. The wet noises are obscene and only turn you on more as you tug sharply in Jin’s hair.

“Hey, are these panties?” Comes a male voice from behind the gazebo, and your next moan dies in your throat.

Jin stills between your legs, his wide eyes meeting your blown-out ones. He moves his wet mouth away from you and looks around to where the voice came from, but his finger was still sat firmly inside of you.

“They are! Damn dude. Hey, pass me the lighter.” Came another male voice, and your jaw drops.

Jin looks at you and gives you a slight smirk before moving his free hand to hold a silencing finger over his lips. your eyebrows pull together but you nod. He moves his face back between your leg and begins sucking like he never left. You gasp as silently as possible, your eyes nearly rolling at the pressure he applies. His finger has started to move inside of you again, and he slowly slides another in and you choke in a gasp. His free hand shoots up to your mouth and clamps over it, and he stills, waiting to see if the guys nearby notice.

A faint chattering of the guys continues, and his big shoulders sag in relief. He continues his ministrations, rolling his tongue and his fingers over and in you. You begin moaning into his hand and his eyes shoot up to watch your face contort. He’s soon hitting that soft spot inside you that makes you see stars and you’re moaning his name into his hand.

A few more strokes inside of you and with one last hard lick of your clit, you’re careening over the edge, your orgasm rolling through your body. You bite Jin’s finger to stop you from crying out, your body slowly writing as Jin licks you through your final few waves until you’re reaching sensitivity. He slides his fingers out from you and moves his mouth away, finally sliding his hand from your mouth. He stares at you, all fucked out and pinky, a smile sliding onto his lips. He sits up and seizes a kiss from your lips, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

The two guys start to move away, and you vaguely hear them talking about getting another drink before their voices fade away until you can’t hear them at all. You break the kiss and blow out your cheeks, giving Jin a hard stare.

“Jin, that was so dumb, oh my god.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I think you got wetter once you knew they were there, if I’m being honest.” He smirks as he stands, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at you.

You roll your eyes but reach out your hand and grab the waistband of his trousers, sitting up so that you can begin to undo him. You slide down his trousers and boxers together, letting his fully hard length spring free as he kicks the clothing off. You move to slide off the chair onto your knees, but Jin puts a gentle hand onto your shoulders to stop you.

“As much as I want that, Y/N, I don’t think we should. We can always pick this back up when my bedroom’s free.” He smiles, and you roll your eyes but sit back anyway, staring up at him through your lashes.

He groans and kneels before you on the floor, kissing you once again. This time it’s slower, gentler than it had been all night. He lays you down on your back and lays over you, hovering at your entrance. He lines himself up as he rubs himself along your wetness and you moan, rocking your hips up to meet him. He slowly begins to push inside, and you pause to let yourself get used to his size. With a slight rock of your hips you signal him to start moving, and he starts pulling out of you with a tortuously slow pace, before snapping his hips and fully seating himself inside you again.

You both moan, and soon he begins to quicken his slow pace, building up until you both find a comfortable rhythm. He leans down to capture your lips again, and you wrap your heels around his thighs, urging him to move faster into you. You both begin to sigh into the kiss, the pleasure building up inside of you. He shifts his weight onto one hand and uses the other to slide under your bra, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. You clench down on his cock, and his movements stutter inside of you.

His hips are snapping into you, the sounds obscenely loud. You know that anyone could come outside and know what you’re doing, but there was no way you were going to stop now. It was kind of exciting.

Jin takes his hand out of your now wonky bra and snakes his hand down between your bodies, rubbing fast circles over your clit. Once he’s hitting both of your sensitive areas, you know you’ll be finished any minute.

“Jin, I’m so close, I’m gonna-” you mumble, pulling away from his kiss to meet his fucked-out gaze.

“Let loose for me, baby.” He whispers, dotting kisses over your face as he thrusts.

A few more strokes and you’re falling again, your orgasm riding through your body hard as Jin bucks inside of you. Your vision is slightly spotty and you begin to come down, your chest panting as Jin’s kisses lighten. He slows once your orgasm subsides, letting you take a minute.

You want him to meet his high too, so you roll your hips slightly, letting him carry on. He smirks down at you and you laugh, watching as a sweat forms on his brow as he works himself back up again.

His strokes are cut off by a shrill ringing near you, and he’s startled out of his stupor and reaches for his phone.

“Jin, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?!” You snap, but he ignores you, reaching back to fish his phone out of the pocket of his discarded jeans.

“It might be about Jimin. I’m an important man, Y/N-ie.” He pants, clearing his throat before accepting the call.

You sit there stunned. He was fully sheathed inside of you, sitting up with his phone pressed to his ear as if he wasn’t.

“Hello? Oh hey Joon! Are you here yet?” He asks, and you gasp.

An idea strikes you, and you realise two can play the game he started.

You slip him out of you and sit back, and his eyes widen as he stares at you, crestfallen, his mouth gaping. You know he was close to his high, so you don’t want to tease him for too long - even though that would bring your enormous joy. You send a smirk his way before getting onto your hands and knees and dropping before him, running his hard length in your hand before giving him a few kitten licks on his tip.

His eyes roll back, and he nearly drops the phone. You can hear Namjoon talking on the other end, asking where Jin is.

“I’m j-just in the... bathroom-”

You take this chance and take him fully in your mouth. He’s already slick from being inside of you, and he slides in easily. Using a free hand to cup his balls and another to twist at the rest of the shaft that you can’t take in your mouth, you begin to work your mouth quickly over him, working him back towards his tipping point.

“I, oh fuck... wha-what were you saying J-Joon?” He gasps, and you can hear Namjoon ask if he’s okay.

“Oh yeah, just- just hit my head.” He stutters, and you force yourself not to smile as you pump at Jin.

“Text me when you’re h-here. B-bye-” Jin breathes before he hangs up and throws his phone over his shoulder, not caring where it lands. “You’re fucking evil, baby.”

You don’t answer, instead pick up your pace until you’re almost choking on his with each bob of your head. His hands snake into your hair, pulling it into one fist as he gyrates his hips. You can feel him tense underneath your hands, and you know he’s there.

“Fuck- I’m so close, so good to me, Y/N.” He pants, and you squeeze your eyes shut, storing that soundbite away from you to analyse later, your heart skipping a beat.

A few more thrusts and he’s coming undone in your mouth, hot liquid washing into your mouth as you force yourself to swallow it down, your eyes making contact with his as he watches. He’s surrounded by a haze as he finishes in your mouth, and you slow your hands to a finally stop, pulling off him with a pop.

You sit back on your heels and look at him as he finally crashes back down to reality. He looks at you a little sheepishly, and you stifle a giggle, slowly buttoning up your top and reaching for your shorts. You suddenly remember your panties and look around the gazebo dumbly.

You look at him, ready to ask him to get your underwear for you when you stop, taking in how delicate he looks- how heavenly.

It hits you in the chest like an arrow, and you realise that this can’t keep happening. You can ignore it through your lust-filled haze, but the rest of the time you’re absolutely smitten with him. And it’s gonna hurt for a long time if you don’t tell him. You know it deep down, even though the thought terrifies you down to your core.

Deciding that you probably want to be dressed for the conversation, you pull on your shorts without the panties.

“I still want to talk to you, Jin.” You state, and his eyes snap to you as he watches you dress. He sighs, before standing and pulling his boxers and jeans on.

He stands, turning to face you with a look of slight confusion on his face. He’s still reddish from what you were just doing, and it makes you want to smile, but you hold it back.

“If you want round two, I’m gonna need some time to rec-”

“Not that… Jin, I need to tell you something.” you rush, and you watch as his eyebrows knit, but he remains silent. You take a deep breath, feeling infinitely more exposed now than you did when you were laid bare to him just a minute ago.

“I like you. I like you a lot. And I know you said not to get feeling but I can’t help it. I’ve fallen for you Jin, arrogance and all.” You rush, your eyes darting everywhere but him.

It felt good. Really good to finally get it out in the air with the one person you wanted to know. But his extended silence was petrifying you, and the way his face creased made your stomach plummet so deep you wanted to throw up at the motion. He stands for a minute, his face shifting from confusion to a small form of agony.

“Jin, please say something.”

“ I… I don’t know what to say. I thought we said no feelings?” He rasps, and you finally meet his eyes.

“I know that… it’s not like I chose to like you.” You state blankly, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Y/N, look, this isn’t how I expected this to end, but-”

“To end? Just like that?” you splutter, feeling your heart shatter around you like broken grass - fragmented and cold.

“Y/N, no, wait-”

“No, I get the message. ‘No feeling Jin’, I should’ve known better. Have a nice life.” you spit, brushing past him and running down the steps of the gazebo.

You ignore him shouting your name as you stride back into the house, slamming the outside door shut behind you. You can feel tears burning at your cheeks and you run to the nearest bathroom. It’s locked, so you wait until it’s vacated before you jump in, closing and locking the door behind you before you lean against it and sink to the floor.

You should have known. It was always going to end this way, and you were so dumb to think otherwise. You heaved a sob as tears spilled down your face, and you let them fall until nothing else would come out.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you stand and face the mirror, methodically wiping away and rogue make-up tracks. You brushed away bits of leaves from your hair that must have come from the floor of the gazebo and you clear your throat, ignoring the painful rasp that it produces.

Once you decide you look okay enough, you pull out your phone and ask Tali where she is. She texts back almost immediately, telling you that she’s dancing, and that she’ll meet you in the foyer. With an intake of breath and a forced brave face, you unlock the bathroom door and step out.

You walk through the crowd and wait by the front door for Tali to arrive. You numbly eyes the expensive artworks that line the room, the gross displays of wealth hung tastefully on the white walls. Soon, you hear someone walk behind to and tap your shoulder, but you turn to see an unfamiliar face.

“Uh… hi?” You ask, staring at the guy. He smiles warmly at you, and you force yourself to offer him a weak one too.

“Hey, I saw you standing here and wondered if you wanted any company.” Oh. The smell of alcohol rolls off him in waves.

“Oh, I’m good thanks, just waiting for my friend to get back to me.”

“You don’t have to lie to me - I saw you when you came in and knew I wanted to talk to you.” He offers, smirking at you, his blue eyes darting over you as he runs a steady hand through his blond hair.

“That’s so sweet of you, but I really am waiting for my friend, she’ll be here any sec-”

“Oh, a friend, huh? Maybe if she’s cute too, we can all... get to know each other.” He winks, and you have to fight physically retching at the guy.

“No thanks, man. Have a good evening.” You snap, before moving to walk away, but his hand shoots out and grabs your arm.

“You haven’t got to be a dick.”

“Sure, I’m the dick that’s grabbing women and wanting to know if I have a ‘cute friend’ that I can share with you.” You snap, ripping your arm out of his grip. His face contorts angrily, and a glimmer of fear flashes through you.

“You were hot, but now you’re just a bitch.” He bites, and you puff your chest out, enraged.

“Look here asshole, I’m having a shitty night, and I’m trying to be polite. Leave me alone.” You cross your arms and stare at the guy, Your heart thudding stupidly in your chest. He steps right into your face, trying to intimidate you.

“Listen here, I always get what I want, so you bett-”

“You better not finish that fucking sentence, Parker West.”

“J-Jin?” He asks, stepping back out of your face. You spin to look at where his voice was coming from, and you see him standing there, his face red but his eyes angry, focusing their sole attention on the man, Parker, in front of you.

“Parker West, apartment D305 in Gibson Heights on campus. Majoring in Psychology, right? It’d be a shame if your professors and head of department found out about how you’re threatening young women.” Jin bites quickly, taking slow, calculated steps towards the man.

“Wha- how do you know all of that? And why would you-”

“Listen to me - you’re going to leave now, and if I find you near here or near Y/N or any of her friends again I’ll make sure you’re kicked out of school faster than you can blink. Now,” he stops, walking past him to open the front door, “get the fuck out of my house.”

Parker looks at Jin and gapes. He throws one last look back at you, probably looking for some kind of support. You scowled at him, your eyes glaring daggers into the man before he looks back and Jin and sprints out of the door and off the property.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks, his voice almost clinical, his eyes jostling over you to see if there were any untoward marks over you.

You nod your head, your mind spinning. Tali then shows up, her steps faltering once she sees the stare-down you and Jin seem to be embroiled in.

“Is everything okay?” She asks, and you break your eye contact to look at Tali and nod.

“Can you do me a favour?” You ask her, and she nods. “Go and hang out with the guys for me - just stay safe. I need to talk to Jin.” You look back at him and he clenches his jaw, but you can see her disappearing back into the crowd out of the corner of your eye.

You step forward and grab his arms before you drag him back through the house, up the stairs and towards his room. The door opens and you’re relieved to see that Jimin and Jungkook are gone, leaving only an unmade bed sitting in the moonlight.

“Why did you do that?” You ask, rounding on him after you lock the door behind him. He stares at you, eyebrows raised.

“He was threatening you, and being a total fucking creep.” He states, as if you’d asked the stupidest question ever.

“I could handle it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. I wanted to help you. He was gross.”

“So now you care?” You spit, and he opens his mouth, incredulously.

“Of course I care about you. Even if it wasn’t you, I’d step in - that guy was an asshole.”

“Why were you there, anyway? I thought you would have gone back to the party.” You bark, crossing your arms across your chest. His sighs, his eyes flicking over you gently before meeting your gaze.

“I was looking for you.”

“Why?” You gasp.

“Because we need to talk.”

“No we don’t. You’ve made your feelings pretty plain. Just leave me be so I can get over you. I won’t love you soon enough.” You shout, fresh tears brimming in your eyes again.

“L-love? You love me?” He stutters, his eyes wide.

“I… Yeah.” You admit, letting the tears flow freely down your face. It doesn’t matter any more. “But I’ll get over you, don’t worry.”

“But what… what if I don’t want you to get over me?” he asks, and you stare at him through blurry eyes.

“I want to get over you. You’re arrogant, self-important…” You start, and he takes a slow step forward.

“Rich, snarky…” Another step.

“Petulant, stupid label-wearing…” He stops mere inches away from you, and brings his hands to cup your cheeks.

“Asshole.” You finish, his thumbs rubbing across your face to wipe away your tears. “You’re a terrible person… and I love you.” You choke on a sob, watery eyes taking in his face.

He’s silent for a beat, before he leans forward and crashes his lips onto yours. Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses you deeply, your face still tucked in his hands and the taste of your tears salty on your tongue. He pulls back after a moment to look at you, his face open and gentle.

“I love you too.”

“You… what?!” you gasp, your head pulling back as you scan his face. “What?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t get feelings, but I fell for you hard. It was the first time you called me an asshole.” He smiles, and you let out a laugh, despite yourself. “I knew then that I was gonna fall for you.”

“But… why did you keep telling me that you wouldn’t get feelings? And why were you so weird when we were outside?” You ask, your hands coming up to rest against his broad chest.

“I was worried that you’d run from me. We have a lot of fun, and you aren’t a bad lay,” he winks, and you bark out a laugh and smack his chest, but he grabs your hands and holds them over his heart. “But I just didn’t want you to get spooked. And when we were out on the gazebo, I was so floored that you actually liked me - fuck, my brain shut down. And then when I was ready to talk, I got all my words wrong and you wouldn’t let me speak.”

You look away, heat rising on your face. Yeah, you didn’t let him talk, but your heart was broken. You weren’t going to let him rub salt into the wound. He brings a hand back to your face and turns your softly to face him, his eyes flitting across your features.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Jin.” You smile.

You could feel your heart get lighter, the crushing weight that was pressing down on your life suddenly lifted. Tali was going to laugh so hard when she finds out.

A grin grows across his face, his eyes squinting. He begins to walk you both back towards the bed, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not in the mood right now, Jin.” You laugh, and he pretends to be hurt.

“I’m not making a move on you! I want to cuddle.” He rushes, and you laugh. “But if you’re up for it in a bit, I wouldn’t say no.” He shrugs, before falling back on the bed and pulling you into his arms.

You laugh, setting your head on his chest to look at him, you’re heart thumping so loud you’re sure he could hear it. He smiles at you, before he reaches his free hand into his pocket and pulls out your panties, making you gasp. You land a light punch at his arm when he throws them across his room, before leaning down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“Asshole.”

[lizwontcry]

roman/gerri - logan walking in on a kiss

Thank you for this! I got a lot of good prompts but this is the one that inspired me the most this evening, plus I watched the elevator scene on the Good Wife and decided to plagiarize it. 

AO3 Link - 

"Roman? Are you paying attention? This is actually important to, you know, the company continuing to exist for the next couple of years."

"No, Frank. I'm not paying attention. It's Friday afternoon. Nobody wants to be here. But please do continue, we're all fucking riveted by your lilting, passionate, sexy voice."

Frank sighs. He continues the meeting to talk about whatever the fuck, but Roman can't concentrate, since, as usual, Gerri is sitting next to him.

It's unbearable, actually.

Sitting next to Gerri practically all day, every day, in meetings, in their office, in the car, on the plane--wherever they go, they go together. It's easier that way, for the CEO and COO to travel with each other, especially since Gerri is basically Roman's business tutor. He is definitely making progress; he needs less and less instruction with each passing day. But that does not mean he needs Gerri less. No--it's the opposite.

Like, take this boring as fuck meeting, for instance. Frank is droning on and on about facts and figures and how important it is that they drum up numbers in Parks since Cruises is, obviously, a complete fiasco at the moment. Roman knows he should pay attention to Frank, but... Gerri is not listening to Frank, either. She's doodling on a yellow note pad. Little swirls and lines, Roman notes with interest. Everything Gerri does is interesting to Roman. Like, her hair is in a bun today. Kind of a messy bun. She seems a little more disheveled than normal. With her glasses on and her obligatory matronly attire, she looks like the usual kindergarten teacher that Roman has come to know and love, but with the messy hair... it's just, like, hot.

He scoots his chair a little closer to Gerri, and she looks up from her doodle and gives him a small smile, and he wonders how he ever got so completely fucked up from a woman that this tiny gesture makes his whole fucking day. Did she cast a spell on him or something? It sure feels that way sometimes.

Their "thing" has more or less been put on hold for the time being, since they are both too busy to engage in anything other than gluing the pieces of Waystar Royco back together. However, there's all these unsaid conversations that linger between Roman and Gerri. He sees the way she looks at him when she thinks he's not paying attention--she feels it, too. It's not just the longing glances--Roman can't really explain it. There's this... heaviness to their interactions, like something is missing, but neither of them know what to do about it. So what the fuck? Is he just always going to have a massive case of blue balls whenever they're in the same room together now? Because he's certainly not getting over this crap any time soon.

For just a second, Roman can't take it any longer and he touches Gerri's hand, the one that is doodling a straight line across the yellow note pad. Gerri stops her drawing and looks at him in surprise. Their eyes meet, and they acknowledge something. Something to be determined, but it's definitely... something.

Roman doesn't take his hand away immediately. Nobody else in the room is looking at them, anyway. They're checking their email or writing notes; some are actually even paying attention to Frank. So he runs his pinkie across the soft skin of Gerri's hand, and she allows it, as though she wants it, or even willed it to happen. He stops touching her when he notices, with extreme pleasure, that she has goosebumps on her arm. And then he starts to wonder, if just touching her hand produces goosebumps, what would happen if...

"So that's what we need to work on next week. I'm serious, people--this is a priority. Now get the hell out of here," Frank says, and nobody has to be told twice--everyone scatters out of the room and Frank is not far behind.

Gerri and Roman linger after the room empties. She puts the notepad and her laptop in her briefcase. Roman shoves all his stuff into the backpack he's been carrying around lately out of necessity. Maybe he should get something a bit more professional, but, like, who has the fucking time?

"So where are you headed?" Roman asks her as they leave the conference room.

"Are you kidding? Back to my office. There's still so much left to do."

"Ah, come on, Ger. It's Friday. Let's go have a drink."

"Roman, really--"

"One drink won't kill you. Across the street. It's happy hour; we can make fun of all the coked out Wall Street fucknuts."

Gerri exhales, and then nods hestitantly.

"I suppose one drink won't hurt, but then I have to get back here, and let me remind you, Roman, so do you."

This is unfortunately true. The role of COO never fucking stops, even on a Friday night. He can't help but think of what he'd usually do on a Friday night in the past; it always had something to do with tall blondes, snorting things, and passing out in some East Side shithole and waking up feeling like he'd been run over by a 747. Oh, the days of yore.

At the bar, a shitty dive that thankfully is bereft of the Wall Street fucknuts, they have more than one drink. They have three or four or seven or something--they lose count. Roman knows he's a bad influence on Gerri but he can't help it. He loves to see her let her hair down, which she literally does after her third shot of tequila that he encourages her to order. He watches lustfully as she takes it down and shakes it out, letting the soft blonde waves settle over her shoulders.

"Dammit, Rome, why do I let you get me into these situations?" Gerri slurs after she slams the shot glass down on the table. "You are bad."

"Yeah. But you like it when I'm bad."

Gerri laughs, and doesn't deny it.

"Come on, let's get back to the office. I have all those briefs I need to finish by Monday."

"I have some briefs you can finish," Roman blurts out.

"Uh-huh. Well... that's something we can discuss later--"

"Gerri Kellman! What's a girl like you doing in a bar like this?" Some asshole who looks like he lives inside a plastic surgery appointment sidles up to the table and interrupts this very important thought that Roman desperately wants to follow up on--typical.

"Oh, hello, Will. Will, this is Roman--"

"Roman Roy, of course! The new COO of his dad's company. Congrats, by the way."

"Gee, fucking thank you, Will. Lovely to meet you and your fake fucking lips," Roman says. He does not like Will, or his weirdly constructed face.

"What was that?" Will asks, clearly confused.

"Oh, Roman was just complimenting your... shoes," Gerri says, trying to keep herself together. "Please excuse us, Will. We have to get back to the office."

"Of course. Why don't you call me later, Gerri? We never finished discussing that trip to the Vineyard we were planning..."

Gerri just chuckles and nods, and pushes Roman out of the bar. They walk back to the office, arm in arm, so they don't tip over and die in the remnants of rush hour Manhattan traffic.

"Who was that douchebag? You were going on a fucking trip with him? He looks like a Ken doll that was left in the washing machine for 60 years."

Gerri laughs. Roman loves to make her laugh.

"Just someone I went on a date with once. Why? You jealous?"

"Of course I'm fucking jealous, Gerri. Like, haven't you figured that out yet?"

They're back in the lobby of the Waystar Royco building. It's nearly 8:00 PM and it's almost empty.

"Roman..." He can see that she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. She looks kind of wobbly, actually. "We should--but we never have time..."

Roman, who is rather unsteady himself, tries to think of the right thing to say.

"We've always had bad timing, haven't we?"

"We have..." Gerri admits.

"What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for... an hour. What would that look like?"

"I think that... would look like an exceptional moment," Gerri says softly.

Roman can't help it--he grins. He grabs her arm and they walk unsteadily to the elevator. While they wait for it to open, they share all kinds of longing, drunken, and weird sexual looks. Roman wonders if everything that has occurred in the last couple of months--going to management training at Gerri's suggestion, their odd phone sex arrangement, the way she so easily gets him off by the sound of her voice, even being taken as a hostage--has all led up to this moment. If so, it was all fucking worth it.

When the elevator arrives, an eight-year-old kid and his mother, who looks to be at about her wit's end with him and his entire existence, step off it.

"Kevin! What have I told you about not pressing all the buttons?"

"Sorry, Mom," the little boy says, sounding not sorry at all.

Roman doesn't advocate child abuse, obviously, but like, he just really wants to slap this kid.

Indeed, when Gerri and Roman get on the elevator, it looks like every fucking button has been pushed. And they're going to the 49th floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Roman mutters, shaking his head. All he wants to do is get Gerri alone in his office and see what she's wearing underneath that prim and proper white blouse she has on, but fate does not seem to have the same plan.

Instead of maybe getting off on the next floor or something that would make more sense than waiting as the door opened on every level, Gerri moves closer to Roman. Their backs are against the wall of the elevator and they are standing almost too close together now. Roman can smell the sweet scent of her perfume that he has come to know as Gerri's signature. The tension is absolutely fucking ridiculous at this point.

On floor three, Roman touches her hand with his pinkie again. On floor five, Gerri grabs his hand, and holds it until floor seven. On floor eight, Roman turns to regard her closely. She's looking at him like she's ready to make a drunken mistake. The doors continue to open and close, with no one there to get on or off--not that they'd even notice if an entire fifth grade class and/or a mariachi band joined them in the elevator. They continue to stare at each other, weighing the pros and cons of just fucking going for it, until floor thirteen. That's when Roman says, "fuck it," and he leans in to kiss her. He just fucking kisses her. He grabs her and kisses her fiercely, and sort of to his surprise, she kisses him back just as fiercely. On floor 22, there's even tongue involved. A lot of tongue.

The doors are still opening and closing and they aren't even paying attention. By floor 28, his hands are roaming freely, and she's moaning a little. By floor 31, Gerri bites Roman's lip and now he's the one moaning. Roman has never even enjoyed kissing all that much--like what's the fucking point? But this singular experience is giving him a brand new appreciation for it.

Or maybe it's because Gerri is the one he's kissing.

By floor 40, the kissing has tapered off a little, so they can stare deep into each other's eyes. However, on floor 44, the kissing resumes. Roman wraps his hand around Gerri's neck and brings her closer to him, and she puts a warm hand under his coat, and then under his shirt, on his back. If he wasn't hard before, now he could launch a fucking space shuttle from his pants.

Finally, on floor 49, the door opens for the last time. They are still holding on to each other for dear life, expecting to haul ass directly to Roman's office, where his newly purchased sleeper sofa is waiting for the next act of this satisfying play they're trying to direct. However...

"What the fuck is this?" The last person on fucking Planet Earth that Roman expects to see is standing there staring at them. Logan. His dad. "Romulus? Gerri fucking Kellman? Well, don't just stand there looking like deaf fucking mutes. Explain yourselves!"

And they are stunned speechless... but at least now they're able to stop kissing.