#you judgeing a fucking stranger is weird knock it off

[spookymakosharkskizzers]

I have no well thought out eloquent way to communicate this but after being off tiktok for months now it’s become shocking clear tiktok encourages being mean to others. Like that’s half the shit on there. Whenever my friends who have the app show me stuff I’m just blown away by how normalized being mean, hating and critiquing fucking strangers is on there. Idk man just like maybe examine what that shit does to your brain 🤷‍♀️

[9leaguesofmirrors]

The Stranger (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

At this point, it's somewhat of a tradition that I start these things with a little introduction... but I don't know what to say

Um... have y'all had hard-boiled sweets before? They're good, aren't they? Love an old-fashioned sweet-shop!

OK, moving on!

CONTENT WARNING: Heavy cigarette usage and a scene involving shotgunning

As soon as Lisgoe was allowed through the doors of Death Trap, hearing the pounding of heavy metal from the inside, he welcomed the aggressive thumps that made his organs buzz and his bones rattle

He wasn't what people would call a "club person", but this place came as a reccomendation from a friend. It was cut-off from the rest of town, like an underground world where the people outside didn't exist. The only rock bar in Royston Vasey was like a hidden gem: live music on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, "club nights" on Fridays and Saturdays, and generally good drinks at a decent price

Plus, it was the only place that played his music

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

Usually, Ross would never set foot in a place like that

On his way to a more polite pub reccomended by a friend, his ears were caught by the cacophony of guitar, drums and... singing? Screaming? Whatever it was, it was loud enough to catch his attention

He knew he was going to hate it in there, but part of him was filled with a strange curiosity. If all went badly, he could just have a drink and leave, it didn't matter

It's not like this place would play his music

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

Holding a bottle of beer in his hand and leaning against the bar, Lisgoe looked around at the people around him. It was quite funny, being sober on a night like this, it meant he got to witness everyone else at their most unhinged state while he knew he'd wake up tomorrow without a headache or any regrets

For the most part, it was just laughter and talking. The music from the main floor carried through and many were still dancing along to that. There was a bit of a drunken spat breaking out in one corner, a couple making out in the other, but nothing all that interesting

Until his eyes chanced upon someone entering, looking around like he'd been knocked out and carried there unconcious. He wore a smart collared shirt, which was probably normal anywhere other than here. Those glasses weren't helping either, they just made him look more like a naïve newcomer

It was such an oddity that Lisgoe couldn't look away

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

It was as if everyone else had been given a dress code except for Ross. As he got caught in the swarm, all he could see was a whirlpool of black, grey and red. There were occasional sparks of other colours and tones, but there was clearly a trend

Despite it not being as packed as it looked on the outside, there were enough people for it to be difficult to get past - and he hadn't even gone close to the mess of people on the dancefloor

As he tried to make his way to the bar, he noticed someone staring in his direction. He blended into the crowds reasonably well, with his black shirt (with a weird logo on it, a brand Ross had never heard of) and jeans. Also black. He had a skull chain around his neck too- OK, which young adult's Tumblr did this man spring from? Trying to decipher his thoughts proved to be pointless, for all the gaze's intensity, it gave absolutely nothing away

Ross didn't speak until he was next to the man, looking at him pointedly

"Can I help you?"

As soon as the bespectacled stranger said that, Lisgoe knew his first assumption was wrong. There was a quiet confidence in him that both surprised and intrigued him, you really couldn't judge books by their covers - no matter how smartly designed they were

"How are you liking your first night?"

"Who says this is my first night?"

That caused a bark of laughter to escape Lisgoe's mouth

"Nobody dresses like that here, you look like your mam's dressed you up for a fucking school choir!"

"Oh," the stranger was slightly offended, yet managed to keep a calm appearance "and you're dressed any better? Do you feel special with your underground designer shirt?"

He really doesn't know what the fuck he's on about

"Yeah, love this brand." Lisgoe snarked "This is a really nice brand. Mhm. Iron Maiden: known for their clothing line!"

"... You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"How very observant."

Lisgoe took another swig of his beer, observing the stranger. Poor bastard looked like he'd rather be anywhere than here. Death Trap probably wasn't the kind of bar he was used to

"It's a band," Lisgoe explained, as if he'd decided not to be a massive jerk for a bit "pretty well-known actually." He put his beer down on the counter "What's your name?"

"Ross. Ross Gaines."

"Fuck off, that's not your name! Where are you from? The 1800s?!"

Extremely put off by the stranger's attitude, Ross turned on his heels and left without another word. He might have been unsure of where he was going, but he figured he'd be happier being swallowed by a crowd of sweaty drunks than standing around being insulted by someone that looked like a member of the mafia.

It wasn't long before he found himself on the main floor, surrounded by those sweaty drunks he'd feared earlier. Suddenly, he was starting to weight up his options again - being insulted or being suffocated, what was worse? By now, it was too late. By the time he'd made it to the other end, Ross looked considerably less well-kept than when he arrived. Adjusting his glasses and straightening his shirt, he headed down a corridor until he came across a secluded seating area

Dimly lit, surprisingly nice-looking seats made out of what looked like fake leather. The music, though loud enough to bleed through the walls, was pleasantly muffled and, the best part, there was nobody here.

Ross let himself sink into the seat, leaning back and closing his eyes. For once, actually feeling at ease...

... Until he heard the one voice he didn't want to hear again:

"How was the dancefloor, Ross Gaines?"

Lisgoe watched, an amused smirk on his lips, as Ross glared at him

"A bit of help would've been nice."

"Wouldn't have done shite." He sat beside Ross, rummaging for his cigarettes in his pocket "Besides, the roughed-up look suits you." Taking out a cigarette from his little box, Lisgoe took out a lighter and lit the end before taking a long smoke

"Didn't know you could smoke here."

"Not sure to be honest, but nobody gives a shite either way." He handed the box to Ross "Want one?"

Ross shook his head

"I tried smoking once and never got into it," he said "besides, I think I inhaled enough of it on the dancefloor earlier. I don't understand why people enjoy it so much."

"Part of the scene, I guess. It's relaxing for me, but some people find it sexy. They'll shotgun anything that moves."

"Shotgun?"

Lisgoe looked at Ross for a few seconds, then massaged his temple, leaning on the backrest of the sofa with a sigh

"Shotgunning," Lisgoe held up a cigarette "involves sharing one of these. The smoke at least."

"I don't follow."

"I've only done it once, I was wankered and lost enough of my dignity."

It was weird, he'd only just met Ross Gaines- Ross, just call him Ross- and yet there was something about him that was strangely fascinating. He was completely out of his depth, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. Or maybe you would, he didn't try to hide behind bravado like some of the other prats at Death Trap, he was completely sure of himself. Yet, at the same time, that rigidness felt like such a drawback. Lisgoe wanted to see it falter, see him completely let go. Not just physically, like he was when he escaped the herd on the dancefloor, he wanted to see what Ross looked like when he really let loose. When that serious façade crumbled - when all that was left was ash, smog and fire. God, he wanted to see the fire in Ross

He held out the box of cigarettes

"It's there if you want it."

There was a moment of hesitation. Peer pressure never really worked on Ross but, even if it did, he wouldn't have felt that here. But there was something in Lisgoe's gaze, the way he was so still, the way his hand gripped at the box: there was something he wanted. Something that seemed to buzz through his veins and build behind his eyes in the form of pure intensity. Ross could tell he had it in him to be a very dangerous man, but he didn't feel scared in this moment. If anything, he was curious. Curious as to what hid behind that flame. What was burning in the pit of Joseph Lisgoe's stomach

He took a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He then watched as Lisgoe lit his own and moved the end of it to Ross' until both were alight. In a surprising move, Lisgoe discarded his cigarette onto the floor and placed his hand on the side of Ross' neck. The firmness of the hold combined with the icy coldness of Lisgoe's hand sent a chill through him. Ross watched as he put the cigarette between his two fingers

"Do you remember how?"

That made Ross smile smugly as he inhaled. He may have been rusty, and he could feel a cough bubble in his throat, but he managed to handle the smoke well enough that he didn't splutter

Fighting to keep his eyes on the cigarette and not on Ross, Lisgoe clamped it in his fingers and pulled it away. His hand moved to Ross cheek and he leaned in close, lips parted slightly as they brushed against his

Both their eyes were closed as they let the sensations wash over them. As Ross exhaled the smoke, he felt the gap between them closing. While Lisgoe's hands cupped at his cheek and neck, Ross' hand moved to his waist

Everything tingled and fizzed and popped, Ross' body relaxed while Lisgoe's seemed to ignite. There was a strange sort of opposition that melted into something that, against all odds, meshed together like fire and sparks

It was all so new to Ross. The noise, the claustrophobia... this. This feeling of give, complete surrender. He always felt that letting go of even a fibre of control was crushing and dehumanising. But this, he felt so in control that he could willingly give it to someone else - someone that he'd only known briefly. Which was crazy, he knew that, but it was a choice he made. And, judging by the way Lisgoe pulled himself closer, he knew it was a good one

Lisgoe swore he heard Ross moan breathily against his mouth, and it took every ounce of control within his mind and body not fuck him into the sofa right there and then. Control was never his strong point, but there was something in this stranger's - well, he wasn't a stranger anymore - collectedness that didn't completely extinguish the flame, but rather it contained it in a glass jar. It burned and jumped and roared, but it was all contained within Lisgoe's stomach. It clawed at him, but knew it's place

Reluctantly, he pulled away and leaned back, exhaling the smoke up into the air as he took a moment to compose himself

Thankfully for him, Ross was the first to speak, even if it was just to distract himself from the whirring in his stomach

"So... Iron Maiden's a band, is it?"

"Yeah. Heavy metal band. If you want something less guttural, go for black metal. Like Darkthrone, Darkthrone's my fucking shite!"

"There are different types?"

"Tons!"

That conversation carried them out of the bar and down the street, the night-time chill merely bouncing off them as they discussed various music. It turned out that a lot of the bands Ross liked fell under a specific category, one that Lisgoe had a few CDs for back at his house

Which is exactly how they ended up there

What happened after... well, let's just say it couldn't be explained away with music

[iconocon]

future of monaco | leclerc | 4

summary: choices are never easy are they?

warnings: uh cheating? but really a whole lot of angst

word count: 2k | ⚔︎ ANGST

part 1 part 2 part 3

⏤

and with that, he was off out the door rushing while carrying a million things but somehow once again forgetting his phone on the nightstand. hoping to catch him before he was too far gone you too rush out the room but in opening the door you're reminded of what you tried so hard to forget arm raised about to knock on the very door you now clung to trying to hide behind its frame.

"charles, hi"

"we need to talk"

fuck. you were fucked.

→

“I-“ he could tell you were hesitating if not by the sound of your voice then almost definitely by your body language. of course, you were never that lucky because as you leaned into the door as if you were about to close it he obviously was not going to let that happen. one perfectly presented black and white chuck taylors was now placed on the threshold of the hotel room paired with a ringed hand holding onto the door frame. you had two options; harm probably insured multi-billion dollar body parts OR let him in so against your own judgment but probably in the judgment of your lawyers you allow him in. “can we um make this quick”

the surprise on his face did not help the way your heart raced as your oldest friend now walked passed you towards the bed before he started his pleading. “rose you have to, believe me, I never wanted to hurt you”

“but you did”

“I know I did and i’m sorry I did it was a bad race and a bad day and I took it out on you”

those stupid blue eyes were beaming right into every inch of resolve that you built up in the space of your getaway with pierre. you couldn’t look at him. if anything you looked anywhere but his body and it made you feel so small when in reality you had all the power in the room. even if you couldn’t look at him that still didn’t stop you from soaking in every word that came out of his mouth even with his ramblings and frantic hands.

“i had to find out from instagram where my best friend was do you know how weird that was?” and it continued as if he couldn’t find the off button. “in milan she was in fucking milan in a bikini, in a pool, with my other best friend I mean really rose pierre?”

there it was again, the judgment. never once have you judged him for all the skimpy beautiful women he would meet at bars and take home. never once did you tell him he couldn’t do something because it would hurt your feelings, yet here he was throwing it all in your face like it wasn’t his fault in the first place. “what’s wrong with pierre?”

“nothings wrong with pierre but there’s something wrong with you AND pierre” there was the jealousy again something he had absolutely no right in, especially with how he has treated you pushing you to the side until he’s drunk calling you at odd hours in the morning telling you he loves you. charles didn’t know how to love you, he didn’t understand where the boundaries started and ended when it came to you. most of that was your fault because you gave him free rein over you for 20 odd years but now you needed to take that back as none of this was fair not to you or him or even his girlfriend.

“p has been nothing but nice to me”

“p?” the scoff that followed behind also wasn’t lost to your ears. “of course he’s been nice to you we both know how he is”

“what do you mean?”

“he’s always been following you around i mean come on don’t be blind.”

was that true? had pierre always had a thing for you and once again you were too blinded by the wrong one. thinking back to children or even teenagers it made your heartburn that you couldn’t even think of moments past the important ones with this stranger in front of you. he was where all your first were and now you were beginning to realize what everyone meant when they said how unhealthy that was for you.

the fingers brushing the hair out of your eyes sobered up all the thoughts of him as you finally made eye contact. “I meant what I said on the phone” the slurring of I love you rose rang as the distant memory came back. he felt so real, the hand on your face felt so real, but the way he was acting felt like a daydream as if he wasn’t actually here confessing his feelings for you in real-time. “rose, let me make it up to you.” like he was scared you would run out the door and never come back again he made slow movements until his feet now stood ok either side of yours while his hand moved further back into your hair. you knew what he was doing, you knew what was gonna happen next you would be stupid if you didn’t and maybe parts of you wanted it to happen because even as his eyes drifted towards your lips you didn’t move away.

the leaning in felt like slow motion. the feeling of his warm minty breath fanning to mix with yours felt like slow motion. even the feeling of his fingers gripping the back of your head to pull you into him felt slow motion. the kiss, however, was anything but slow motion, the minute you two met all thoughts were gone and you were back to reality gripping onto the front of his hoeodie. even as your back hit the wall you didn’t dare part to even breathe because you knew the minute you actually thought about what you were doing you would start beating yourself up again. you were lost in him, the hand that dug into your sides begging you to jump into his awaiting arms didn't even seem to phase you as you obliged now pinned against the wall.

"rose-" this time it was you who didn't let him finish as you took the opportunity to burn this memory in every inch of his skin you could hold. rolling your hips against his fabric-clad center should've told you that you went too far but the moan that came out of the pair of you made you never want this to end.

the scornful laugh that filled the hotel room at that moment confused your lustful brain as you started taking in the reality of the situation in front of you. here you were pinned against the wall by charles as pierre all sweaty, and now obviously angry but laughing (?) walked into his hotel room.

"wow don't let me interrupt you two" how you kept finding yourself in these situations you would never fucking know. pushing charles as far away from you as possible you now stood in the middle of the hallway awkwardly watching pierre like a hawk as he walked by you two and now to the bed where he drops his things than himself before looking at you. “no continue come on”

not trusting your own voice you listen as charles responds, “come on man”

“i wanna hear from her, not you”

“don’t do that”

“i can't ask her how it feels to have both of us on her lips?” the smile on his face was wide almost like he was enjoying this, you knew pierre was petty and usually you also loved that side of him but here it was biting you in the ass. “c’mon cherie who’s the better kisser tell us”

you couldn’t handle this. you could barely handle the both of them alone and now here they were cock fighting over you taking up all the air in the room.

“talk to me colombe”

“pierre shut up rose come with me”

“she’s not fucking leaving”

the sound of you struggling to catch your breath you could only assume stopped both of them in their bickering tracks as they watched the color drain from your face.

“i can’t do this” before ethier one could grab you from the hallway you were gone. running and running and running. down the hallway, through the stairwell, it felt like forever until you saw the exit door to the outside. you wish you could say you stopped there but you kept going for blocks not even paying attention to the empty roads you were crossing until you saw what you were looking for. the sand humbled you as your running feet got stuck in the earth finally catching your breath as you inhaled nothing but the salty air. how did you get in this situation a month ago you were sitting in your apartment on the phone with your friends still denying your feelings for anyone and now you kissed the two men that literally built you into the person you were today.

even as the air got colder and the wind got harsher you sat on the sand with your head between your knees running your fingers in the sand, sometimes drawing dumb pictures other times messing up what you already drew. you wish you even had a choice to make because maybe that would make this easier. it wasn’t picking between them it was picking which one you couldn’t be without and you would rather have neither than go down that road.

the shouting of your name wasn’t what reached your ears first instead the sight of bright red and navy blue mixed together barreled into your eyesight. the both of them struggling against the sand running wildly towards you had to be some type of comedy act as the one in red was clumsily catching up to the wide strides of his counterpart.

“colombe” “rose”

it was mind-numbing, after every scenario you played through you did not imagine BOTH of them working together to find you. you knew eventually one would as the beach has always been your place. a place where you would sit for hours to even make the simplest decisions. even though you didn’t answer them they still understood what you needed each taking a seat beside you in the sand to stare out to where the moon met the sea.

“I can’t lose you”

even without naming who you were talking to your respective counterparts knew you meant them both and all you could do is hope they wouldn’t give you the ultimatum you’ve been dreading.

“rose im sorry”

“yeah charles is sorry”

“pierre”

when you finally looked over unamused at him and his dumb joke the huge cheshire grin that took up his whole face broke you into a fit of exhaustive laughter to the point that yours was still louder than the ones that joined you. finally giving into the sand you stretch out sighing as you become one with it now looking up at the stars not missing a beat as the three of you bunched together to the point that you couldn’t tell who’s hair was who’s, foreheads touching as you stargazed like you did when you were all kids camping. watching on you didn't miss the gasp or point from charles as a shooting star crossed from east of the sky to the west as you closed your eyes now wishing for monaco to forgive you for the mess you made.

⏤

mistakes? yes ill come back and fix but IM SORRY I hoped you liked this ending I wanted to at least give a somewhat happy ending as i didn't think charles or pierre would get justice from anything else but i appreciate all the love and support on the series as it was just originally one part thank you!

[bi-bard]

Drunk Mess - Bobby Bronson Imagine (Roar)

Title: Drunk Mess

Pairing: Bobby Bronson X Reader

Word Count: 818 words

Warning(s): drunk character

Summary: A tired, very messy cop finds himself paired with one of the most determined people in the world. They refuse to allow him to go further down the spiral than he already was.

Author's Note: Hey, look! It's another Hugh Dancy character! Who's surprised? What's that? Absolutely no one? Yeah, didn't think so.

This is so short and completely self-indulgent, but oh well.

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

I frowned as my call to Bobby went to voicemail again.

It had been the third or fourth call and there was still no answer.

"Hey, do you have Bobby's address," I asked Chris. "He won't answer me."

"He's fine, probably just hungover," Chris shrugged.

"I don't care, I'm going to check on him," I crossed my arms. "Current address. Please."

I found myself walking up to the door of some small apartment complex awkwardly. I held my hand up, ready to knock on the door. But I paused.

Was this weird?

Was this too much concern for a partner?

No. This was healthy. What if he was hurt? What if he was on his floor, begging for help with no one there for him? No. Yeah. This was perfectly fine.

I knocked on the door.

There was a long pause before the door finally got pulled open.

"(Y/n)?"

"Hey," I said awkwardly. "Umm, you weren't answering my calls. I was worried about you."

"Well, I'm alive."

I just nodded.

"Come on, come have a drink!"

The door swung open the rest of the way and he stumbled away.

"Bobby, are you drunk," I asked.

"That's why I want you to have a drink," he replied. "Don't want to be the only one drunk."

I walked in slowly, closing the door behind me. "How much have you had?"

"Why would I count?"

I watched him take another long swig of whatever he had. I sighed and walked over, taking the bottle away. He tried to protest, but I held my hand up.

"No, no," I shook my head. "I try to not judge you because you've seen some shit, but this... this is too far."

"You don't get to decide that-"

"Please just lay down," I glanced around the trashed apartment. "I'll... We can talk about the case when you wake up. Just please."

"What, you wanna save me?"

"I didn't say that-"

"No, because that's what you do, right," he asked, stepping closer to me. "(Y/n): the hero cop?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered. "Go to bed."

"Wanna help me? Come lay with me then."

"Oh God..."

He leaned closer to me. I almost gagged at the smell of alcohol on his breath.

"I'm sorry."

I brought my knee to hit him in the crotch. He groaned, bending over slightly.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I continued mumbling as I guided him to the couch.

He awkwardly flopped onto his side. His face went from contorted in pain to relaxed slowly. He had fallen asleep. I let out a sigh before grabbing a weird blanket off the back that he definitely didn't buy for himself and throwing it over him.

I went around trying to put the apartment somewhat together. Clothes in the basket, trash thrown away, things just put away. I found some ibuprofen in the cupboard, so I left it on the counter with a glass of water.

It felt weird. I wanted to be nice to him, and we're partners so it's not like I'm a stranger. But it was still weird to try and help him while he was passed out on his couch.

I heard a groan while I was washing dishes. I ignored it, just going about my business.

"You cleaned."

I looked over at him and grinned, nodding.

"You need me in the balls."

"You tried to kiss me and lure me to bed," I replied.

"Right," he muttered.

"I left some water and ibuprofen on the counter."

There was a pause. I assumed that it was him taking the meds.

"I'm sorry about that," he said after the pause. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine," I shrugged, placing the last dish to the side and turning to him. "I... I only did a bit of cleaning. I just... thought it would be less stressful."

"Thank you," he nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his head. "You were calling earlier. Some update with the case?"

"Nothing major," I shook my head. "You... You didn't show up and I got worried."

"Aw," his tone was teasing. "You were worried about me."

"I always worry about you. You're my partner."

He just grinned at me. I nodded and walked away from the sink. I wasn't sure what I was going to do next. I was hoping to escape.

"I should take you out to dinner," he suggested when I was halfway through the living room. I turned around. "Or we could get something sent here. Just as a thank you for taking care of me."

"Just a thank you," I asked. He nodded. "I don't believe you."

"Good because I'm a shitty liar."

I laughed and shook my head. "This time... we'll call it colleagues having dinner."

"And next time?"

"Cross that bridge when we get to it."

Bobby smiled at me. "Deal."

Dinner between colleagues. That's all it was.

For now.

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

Author's Note: My favorite hobby is bullying myself for my crush on Hugh Dancy's characters.

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[of-the-nightsky]

Just Maybe

Disclaimers: NijiEn Fanfic | Piokuma | Vox Akuma 3.0 x Doppio Dropscythe 2.0 | BL / MLM | Strangers to crushes to lovers (?)

Summary: Maybe he didn't have to trash the place out of frustration. Maybe he didn't have to take a walk to cool himself down. But... but maybe he really shouldn't be staring...

"JuSt gO FoR a wAlK aLrEaDy!" He mocked, stomping his way down the familiar passage. "Go CoOl OfF! Geez, can't a guy just punch a wall to just punch a wall?"

Okay, so maybe he didn't just punch a wall because he burned himself on the toaster oven again. But it totally started it, he saw it giving him the evil eye!

("WITH WHAT EYES DOPPI??? WITH WHAT EYES???" screamed the Ver in his head again. Seriously, he swore it had eyes.)

Alright, sure, the toaster oven was innocent until he became the judge and sentenced it to a life of being broken, again, but it was with good reason! He was just trying to make a poptart in it with a little toaster strudel buddy, he didn't think twice about it. Now he has to be a "good boy" and go for a walk.

Yeah, whatever Ver, you keep thinking I just need a walk! He thought sulkily. Sure, he had qualities that rivaled the dogs in that popular animated movie and all, but he was a big scary wolf and not some dumb dog. His tail did not wag when he was called a good boy, it did not!

("Pio, you can say that all you want, but your advanced butt-whip just knocked over a vase of flowers, again." Ver, nobody calls it a butt-whip, it's a tail. Stop giving it weird names, last time you called it the Mess-Maker-Plume-Master-3,000.)

Maybe Ver was on to something, Doppio wasn't sure anymore. Maybe he shouldn't have punched the toaster oven so hard it busted through a wall. Maybe he shouldn't have chased after it to "finish the job" or whatever his wolf-aligned brain hyper focused on doing.

Although it did frustrate him that it burned him. Guilt slowly clawed its way into his heart. Maybe he was a bad boy and he should have tried being good a lot harder. Maybe he didn't have to trash the place out of frustration. Maybe he didn't have to take a walk to cool himself down. But... but maybe he really shouldn't be staring at the demon who was their neighbor five blocks away. Wait, since when did I even walk this far?? Oh, whatever, what is this dude doing, gardening? Lame.

Or so he thought it was until he saw how the literal butterflies just seemed to love the flowers so much. Like, they were made for the butterflies to feed from. Maybe staring wasn't a bad idea. It was a good view of a big strong man showing a tender and gentle side.

He stared for a solid minute, zoning out and finding his own inner peace. He watched how the muscles moved beneath the taut shirt and pants, watched how the behemoth of a man even greeted a harmless hummingbird with a soft rumbling voice hiked up into such a fond high tone.

Oh.

Oh dear.

His heart couldn't take it.

The man stood up to adjust the hummingbird feeder he had set up and did so without a fucking ladder.

The muscular man was obviously able to tower over even him, Doppio himself, without it even being close. Not only that, but he was being so gentle for the tiniest and most fragile of creatures and he could not handle it.

He didn't even know how long he was staring at this large man, envisioning how it must be like to get the best fucking head pats in the world by such a gentle giant of a man. It was long enough as rose pink irises glanced his way and their eyes met.

The heat rose on Doppio's face. He was caught. He really shouldn't have been staring. He was pining for a stranger for the past devil-knows how long! (No God would ever look upon him and not think his stare was sinless!)

"Going for walk!" He blurted out far louder than he intended before turning and starting to speed-walk away. He was confident his face was every shade of scarlet.

It was mildly embarrassing. He lied to himself.

He didn't hear any fond chuckling that made his long wolfen ears burn and flatten against his skull.

And most certainly,

Undoubtedly...

His tail, most definitely did not wag.

Nope.

Nobody saw it.

Anyone who claimed so were liars!

Vox, for all he was worth, never expected to be spotted by such a unique golden-eyed magenta wolf man. Not that he was opposed to it. He found it cute in a way. The poor wolf was just watching him like a lost puppy having his first outing. His eyes shining like a meadow of dandelion's that have yet invaded the hill behind it. It was so precious and innocent. He didn't know who they were, but he hoped to see them again. Especially seeing how red their face had gone when their eyes met. It was rather delightful after spending many long years by himself. Maybe doing his garden once a day wouldn't be a bad idea if it meant possibly meeting such a wolf. And maybe, he could invite him in and get to know him better. Just maybe, if Fate was a kind soul for once.

To be continued... (maybe?)

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[asterlark]

ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey

eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele

he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams

he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)

(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)

the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in

so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented

(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)

jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense

“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:

“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)

justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)

adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)

larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons

“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is

bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks

jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”

but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term

then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase

of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing

he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot

his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice

the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look

SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs

and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little

he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)

they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them

they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)

around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates

THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun

bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much

and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck

so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”

spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win

jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation

speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries

but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty

they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs

jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now

and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake

he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)

i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)

the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit

jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist

when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward

jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award

his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"

obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"

the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes

r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up

that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics

and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time

summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games

bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)

senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc

however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital

he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away

eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it

he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song

with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom

meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in

and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube

but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming

bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school

luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out

when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes

(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)

their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride

then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over

after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship

they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!

they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢

(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)

bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)

when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.

what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.

his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).

and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.

jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"

and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.

the end :)

[scarecrowmilkfog]

♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

[etherrealoblivion]

Nice To Meet You

Spencer Reid x Reader

Prompt: Reader somehow gets Spencer’s number and texts him, no idea who he is.

Content warnings: Smut. Dangerous scenario. choking ;)

gif by @toyboxboy​

Words: 2,165

MASTERLIST

~

Glancing at your phone, you were surprised to find that it was already 1:34 AM. How had your friends distracted you enough to have you stay out this late?

You shoved your way to the bar and tried to order a drink over the pulsating music filling the club.

“Aw, come on, mama,” you could hear a man next to you sweet talking one of your friends, “he’s six-foot-one and can tell you more interesting facts than you’d ever learn yourself. Plus he’s got three PhD’s. Tell me that doesn’t get you goin’.”

Your friend scoffed and dropped a napkin onto the bar. Ten neatly scrawled digits written across the bottom. Without thinking, you picked up the napkin, looked it over, and slipped it into your pocket.

“No thanks, honey,” your friend said, “But, I wouldn’t be opposed to you buying me a drink.”

And suddenly, her and the man were on the dance floor, leaving you alone yet again.

You supposed it was about time to turn in, shooting a quick text to your friend and catching a cab back to your apartment.

As you got in bed, not bothering to change out of your club outfit, you felt the lump in your pocket that held the phone number.

As much as you despised technology, you had finally gotten the hang of saving phone numbers into your phone. That and telling the time was the only thing it was good for anyway.

So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when your hands automatically typed in the number and pressed call.

What was a surprise, was the nervous voice on the other end answering on the second ring.

“H-hello?”

It was a man. His voice was scratchy and low, like he’d been asleep.

“Hello?”

“Do you need me to come in?” there was rustling on the other end, like he was getting out of bed.

“What?”

He went silent, seemingly realizing that you weren’t who he thought you were.

“Who is this?”

For some reason, you found yourself smiling at the way he asked.

“Who is this?”

Your answer seemed to have shocked him judging by the noise of him opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“I’m, uh, certainly not going to give my name to a stranger on the phone who won’t tell me theirs.”

You chuckled.

“Fair enough. I got your number at a bar. I thought i’d .. call . . . And I’m just realizing how weird this is.”

In your defense, he did chuckle softly.

“No, no. It’s interesting. I don’t really meet a lot of new people so, um. Wait. Did the number happen to be written on a napkin? Perhaps given to you by a suave asshat named Derek?”

You giggled into the phone, pleased to hear he was enjoying the conversation.

“Napkin yes. Derek? No clue. I don’t really talk to people at bars.”

“Yeah. I don’t really go to bars.”

“Seriously? Then how do I have your number?”

He cleared his throat harshly.

“I, ahem, I was telling my friend Derek about how I don’t really, um . . . get girls and he bet me he could find at least one woman who’d be . . . interested.”

You laughed, charmed by the way he stuttered.

“Ah, that makes sense. I was with my friend and she, uh, dropped the napkin. Although, I will say, you do have adorable handwriting.”

“Oh, right. Yes, thank-thank you. You have a nice voice. It’s calming. I mean, people tend to be about sixteen percent more attracted to nice voices. Not that I’m attracted to you. I mean! Not that you aren’t um. Actually i don’t know what you look like so I can’t really . . . um.”

A surge of boldness ran through you and in that moment, at 2:16 in the morning, you made a decision.

“Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Know what I look like?”

He stuttered on the other end, unsure what you were saying.

Before he could say anything else, you hung up, texted your address to him, and jumped in the shower.

Only when the warm water hit your skin did you realize the weight of what you’d just done. You’d just texted your home address to a complete stranger whose name you didn’t even know.

“Oh god.”

Were you in danger? Jesus. You jumped out of the shower and ran to your phone, suddenly much more awake.

“I should call the cops, right?” you muttered to yourself, throwing on a bathrobe. “I should! Right?”

But the knock at the door snapped you out of your downward spiral.

You had two options. Call the police. Or open the door.

Your hand found the doorknob faster than you’d like to admit, throwing open the front door and being hit by the sight of the man in front of you.

True to what the man at the bar said, he was tall. But that wasn’t what struck you. He was wearing a pale blue set of pajamas and old sneakers on his feet. His fluffy hair was rumpled from sleep but his eyes were wide open.

You suddenly remembered your own state of disarray: hair wet from the shower, no makeup, and only wearing a bathrobe.

“I—“ he started to speak, unsure of what to say. Understandably so; this was a very unlikely situation.

You reached out to him, hand sneaking around the lapel of his pajama top and pulling him into your apartment and leading him towards the bedroom.

His eyes were blown wide, watching you intently, letting you take charge of the situation.

So you did. Pushing him so he sat down on your bed and standing between his legs. He didn’t move. Just stared nervously, maintaining eye contact.

After he didn’t make any move, you gently grasped his hands, leading them up to the tie of your robe, placing them there.

He took the hint, quicker than you expected, and got to work untying the knot. The moment he did, you started to unbutton his pajamas, pushing the top back off his torso, revealing a smooth, tough chest that you could run your hands over for hours.

He’d untied your robe, but his hands were now nervously hovering over the opening.

You climbed into his lap, resting your arms on his shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear. You recalled something his friend at the bar had said.

“What are you waiting for? Doctor.”

A soft moan escaped his lips at the name, pulling you closer, hands tight around your hips.

Intrigued, you continued.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that, doctor?”

Suddenly, you were on your back, hands pinned above your head. He had flipped you over, now laying between your legs, you could feel his growing erection pressed up against you.

A dark look flickered across his eyes, quickly replaced by one of worry. He removed his hands from yours and started to sit up, presumably to apologise for getting rough. You weren’t having that.

You quickly flipped the two of you so you were straddling him, gently grinding against his growing bulge.

The look in his eyes did horrible things to you and you couldn’t stand another second without his lips against yours.

The kiss was hot and fueled by the danger of the circumstance, you being at the mercy of this utter stranger that, for some reason, you trusted completely.

You pulled back, panting heavily and running your hands up and down his chest. His hands were placed softly against your back, lightly stroking through your robe.

“Take it off,” you growled into his ear.

That seemed to be the last straw, for he flipped you over again, ripping your robe off and throwing it across the room, pulling his pajama pants down and grinding painfully slowly against you.

“Is this what you want?” his voice was low and scratchy, like it had been on the phone but there was more to it now. There was something you couldn’t place in his eyes. The words sent a chill through you, making you dig your nails into his back, pulling him against you.

“Not quite,” you muttered against his ear, digging through your bedside drawer and pushing him away. He took the lead, shedding his underwear, grabbing the condom and rolling it on.

Now, with him on top of you, cock gently pressing against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet, you realized that what you’d seen in his eyes wasn’t worry. It was care.

When he spoke, it was gentle, light.

“Is this okay?”

A warm surge went through you at the question. He was genuinely concerned about how you felt.

You smiled gently at him, and he smiled back, a hint of worry remaining in his expression.

Rather than answer aloud, you hooked your legs around his back and pulled him into you.

His face lit up, mouth forming an O as he moaned softly, eyebrows furrowing as he plunged into your tight heat.

He was considerably bigger than you’d expected, going off his slight stature. The sensation was very new. You hadn’t been with anyone in a while and you gasped quite loudly as the two of you adjusted to the feeling.

After a moment, he started fidgeting, eager to move.

You released your grip with your legs, allowing more room for movement. The second you did, he began to thrust, slow at first, almost teasingly. He was soon spurred on by the volume and intensity of your moans, probably also from you being so close to his ear.

A wave of pleasure suddenly shocked you as he hit just the right spot, resulting in a strange squeak coming from your mouth.

His eyes went wild and suddenly his hand was at your throat, squeezing the sides every so gently.

You felt your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the sensation. His hand snapped away quickly and he froze.

“Shit. . . I’m so sorry . . . I—I didn’t mean—“

But you simply grabbed his hand and placed it back on your neck, softly squeezing his fingers and giving a little nod.

It took him a moment to get the hint, but when he did, he really went for it. Pounding into you, biting down on your clavicle, and making the blood rush to your head — amongst other places.

You had to force yourself to move your hands from where they were clawing at his lower back. You pulled his shoulders forward and bit his earlobe, causing his movements to stutter.

“Oh, fuck. . . . I don’t know how long. . . .”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, slipping a hand down between you and rubbing your clit, increasing the feeling tenfold.

Your moans quickly became louder, only making him pound harder. Surely the headboard was banging against the wall. The neighbors would for sure complain.

Suddenly, the hand on your throat flew to your ankle, gripping it tightly and swinging your leg up over his shoulder. The angle was now just right and he hit the spot inside you each time he thrust in, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh, god. Yes. Ohhhhh . . .” you rubbed furiously, on the verge of your orgasm. “I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” his voice was so sweet and still so dirty.

An unexpected idea washed over you.

“Look at me.”

His eyes snapped open, startling you with the haze over his pupils. Although, you were sure if someone held a mirror to you right now, you’d look pretty much the same.

Almost the instant your eyes met, you felt the knot in your stomach snap, sending waves and waves of pleasure through you as you tightened around your partner.

He could definitely feel you coming, eyebrows furrowing and speeding up his thrusts so they were now shallow and quick, just enough to get him off. Which he did very shortly after you, hand snaking around your throat and pushing you down onto his cock as he came.

He grunted on the last thrust, using every ounce of his strength not to collapse on top of you.

Your voice froze in your throat as he pulled out, discarding the condom and plopping down next to you, breathing heavily.

Somehow, your post-coital brain started to rush with the guilt of what you’d just done. You didn’t know this man in the slightest.

“I don’t even know your name,” you whispered to the ceiling, staring at the little popcorn-like bumps.

He turned on his side, lightly running a finger along your jaw in a way that was far too sweet for a one-night stand.

You turned to look at him. His eyes were much lighter now. You could see small flecks of green behind them.

“My name’s Spencer.”

A smile lit up your face, prompting one from him in turn.

“I’m Y/N.”

He blushed, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You took his hand, shaking it firmly and beaming at him.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer.”

[narrators-journal]

Step one

Hoo boy, this one is potentially dark as fuck, so remember that this is entirely fantasy. Do not think this is healthy or copy anything here.

Cw: heavy heavy nsfw. Drugging, b+e, somnophilia, Illumi gets possessive lowkey

previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi used the month or so you were closed off and mourning to try and dig up as much intimate info on you as he could, from childhood fears to how many times you've had sex. With this knowledge added to his collection, the last thing he needed to do was set up a cover story, than introduce himself. If this fails, she can be killed, or trained He told himself as he read through your social media on his laptop, ignoring a nagging sense of dread he hadn't felt since his first solo kill as a child.

The cover story was easy enough, murdering the people across the street from your home was boringly simple, setting them up to die of heart attacks and a break in, waiting out the investigation, nothing new to the assassin. By the time things had cleared up there, you were beginning to cheer up anyway, which was good, it'd be easier for Illumi to court you if you weren't verging into suicidal territory. Finally, the day came when he moved into the home, much to the teary refusal of his mother.       "I'm not leaving permanently," Illumi assured her the day he moved out, taking only a duffel bag of clothing with him, the issue was that his mother was holding him in a hug and refusing to let go. "You were so excited for me to be courting a woman, you can't sob and cling to me when I need to move out to properly 'woo' her." His voice was level and uninterested, as always, though on the inside he did feel a bit of reluctance at leaving, which was why he guessed he didn't use a lot of force to remove his mother's iron grip.        "I know, but why can't you go about the process from home?" she blubbered, Illumi's father standing a bit behind her sighing at her antics,              "To build up proper propinquity I need to be near her a lot, I cannot do that from here while also doing my work. Besides, it is relatively frowned upon for a 24 year old to still be living with their parents, so I need to have my own place for...the later portion." Sadly, even logic didn't calm Kikyo down, so Silva was forced to pry her from Illumi and simply wished the long haired assassin well as the man left. To atone for the sin of leaving the Zoldyck estate, Illumi was required to call his mother at least once a day, but other than that, he was free to live across the street from you when he wasn't working. This set up proved to be very useful, as it allowed him to linger on the street without suspicion, watch you from his windows, and it gave him more opportunities to run into you 'organically', despite having your meager outing schedule memorized already, and more. The day he moved in properly, Illumi was helping a trio of butlers move furniture in, trying to seem as normal as possible since he could see you sitting on your porch, getting some fresh air while also watching your new neighbor curiously. It's good to see her out at least, vitamin D is necessary for good health. he thought as he moved the last bit of strategically aged furniture into the home, letting the butlers return home after that. If he was to blend in, he'd have to slum it for a while after all. Though, he could put up with that as long as you stayed as friendly as you were the first night he was there. It was pretty late, the dark hours cooling the relatively warm air of the late spring day when he heard a knock at the door, but when he opened, there you were, your (h/l), (h/c) hair pulled away from your face, in a (f/c) jacket and some of your nicer casual clothes,       "Hello! I'm sorry if you were asleep or anything, but I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" you chirped, your kind smile making something weird happen to his heart, but he hid that, not wanting to scare you by saying he was having a heart attack,      "Ah, hello miss. No, I was just trying to cook some dinner, not to worry." he assured, watching you relax a bit before tilting his head, "I'm sorry if this is curt, but have we met?" he asked, your (e/c) eyes shining with confusion for a moment before realization washed that away,       "Oh! you're the man I bumped into at that party!" he mimicked your stunned reaction, chatting a bit before you heard angry sizzling from his kitchen, the sound earning a concerned look from you. "Um?? Should you step outside?" you suggested, and when he looked in your eyes again, he saw that undeserved concern in those captivating orbs. That weird feeling returned in response, but Illumi repressed it once again,        "No, I believe that's just my food," he said nonchalantly, watching your expression change to panic, it was so intriguing to see how expressive you were compared to his family,        "Maybe you should go check on it??" you urged gently, the panicked look in your eyes compelling the empathy-less assassin to do as you said, so he nodded simply and returned to the pot of boiling water that was leaking with angry bubbles splashing water onto the burner. He simply turned the stove off and returned to you once the water had settled again. You were still there, nervously peeking in to try and check on him he assumed.        "Why didn't you come in?" He asked, making you jump,        "I-I wasn't invited, it's rude to just walk in." you pointed out, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting that fact briefly. Though he verbally just sighed in defeat, running a hand through his long, silky hair.         "Actually, would it be uncouth of me to maybe ask if you would help me with something?" He asked, and when you shook your head he reluctantly continued, "You see, my family is rather well off, so I've...never learned to cook. Would you maybe teach me how to make the food?" He asked, and he liked to think it was the power of his natural charm that made you agree, not the pitiful mask of helplessness he put on. Either way though, you were now inside of his new home. Could this be considered a date? Illumi mused as he followed your instructions to bring the water to a boil again and put the store-bought noodles into the rolling liquid, People cook together as a date, so this should count as a date. He decided after a moment of watching you prepare food, following your orders until the two of you had managed to make a rather respectable looking dinner. He cemented this occassion's 'date' status by handing you a plate,          "It's fair that since you helped make it, you eat some of it with me." he pointed out when you went to refuse his offering. After that, the two of you sat in his living room in silence, neither making the first move to speak. For Illumi, the silence was comfortable, it gave him time to judge the weird thing that had happened with his insides. He wasn't dead, and the warm, fluttery sensation was fading, so it didn't seem to be fatal. I should get the family doctor to check me over. he decided as he ate, finally glancing over at you while you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Judging by the tension in your limbs and how you radiated discomfort, you were about to bolt like a scared rabbit. That's not good...

        "so." He hummed, hoping to ease your anxiety with some conversation, plus it'd give him a chance to dig into you, "why were you at that party?" There was a stretch of silence, your mood falling again for a moment, but than you seemed to put on a fake smile for him, how sweet.         "I'm a bit shy, so my friend decided to try and hook me up with a man she worked with." you explained, shrugging it off, "He ended up ditching me for some friends when we got there, so I didn't ask for a second date." Well of course your date went badly, you're supposed to be with me, not some stranger. a dark part of him thought, than stopped. What brought that up? I haven't even decided if she's really worth 'dating'. He reminded himself, but that possessive thought still lingered a bit more than he would've liked. However, that issue was for later, right now he wanted to see just how much information he could get you to willingly tell him.       "So, are you looking for a partner?" he asked, and he just caught a bit of a flustered epression on your (s/c) face at his question. He was beginning to enjoy seeing such an expression.        "R-right now? Um..not actively, b-but I'm not against a relationship." you said, not looking at him as you spoke, your body language screaming how flustered you were. After that, the two of you simply chatted, Illumi enjoying when you fully relaxed and opened up a bit more, but what felt like only a short time later, you were thanking him for the food and leaving for your own home. The tall man was polite back, but for the third time that night, his torso felt odd inside. He wanted to ask you to stay, maybe offer you a drink and slip a sedative into it, that way you'd stay the night, but no, he refrained from stopping you. If you drug her, she'll wake up tomorrow and be terrified of you. Maybe even call the cops. He told himself as he shut his door behind you. However, the thoughts were already there, making him groan. What is going on with me?! I'm losing control of myself so easily now. he thought, rubbing his face as if that would wipe away the bubbling waves of dark lust that were once again flooding his mind with images of you naked beneath him, calling out his name, mixing with the urge to control that he usually kept a close eye on. This is absolutely pathetic. She's not even that attractive! He chided himself, glaring down at the growing bulge in his pants as if it were to blame for his urges. Which, to a point was true, but either way it still twitched, demanding to be tended to. However, he refused to masturbate again. His sperm was precious, and while he could produce quite enough to impregnate a woman despite such a shameful act, he didn't like wasting his DNA. So, for a bit, he tried to cook up ways to relieve himself, unable to shake the lustful thoughts of you. Could he wait until tomorrow and lure you over again? No, that'd leave a horrid impression of him in your mind. Maybe he could sneak some aphrodisiacs into your food and than offer to help? No, that'd take too long, and he didn't know how long he could control his lust. Around eleven or so, Illumi finally came up with a satisfactory method. So, he turned his lights off and slipped out into the cool night to slither across the street and into your dark home. It was late enough that he knew you were asleep, so he was free to make his way in and towards your bedroom, What he wasn't expecting though, was to find you sleeping on your couch, your blanket fallen to the floor, revealing your pajamas to him. The sight only seemed to throw gasoline on the fire of neglected needs within him.       "now this is simply inappropriate," he breathed, shaking his head at your baggy t-shirt and (random color) panties, "(y/n), you should know better. Such outfits should be saved for your husband." He kept his voice low, making sure not to wake you as he chided you and his lightless eyes zeroed in on the bit of panty he could see with the way your shirt was ridden up ever so slightly. teasingly. He sighed, this would make his plan easier anyway. So, he just pulled out a needle of sedative and carefully moved you so that he could get access to your neck without waking you, sticking the needle in and injecting you with the fast acting drug. Within a few moments you were certain to stir for nothing less than a natural disaster, so he was free to do whatever he wished. The assassin's body burned with lust, his cock throbbing within his pants while he moved your thighs apart, revealing more of your panties. You weren't much to look at, he'd seen prettier women, but the feeling of your perfectly malleable thigh in his hand, seeing you so complacent and welcoming for him while his hormones were so out of control, you could've passed as a goddess in that moment. He wasted no time in removing your underwear, leaving your shirt and bra on so it'd be less work afterwards, revealing your most intimate parts to him with no arguments. It gave him such a rush to see you so obediently laying on your back, your legs apart and welcoming. your vulnerability was like a form of foreplay for him, but when he ran a slender finger up your slit and realized just how dry you were, it ruined his fantasy. Though, not enough to deter him. Instead of stopping, Illumi simply pushed your shirt up with your bra, using one hand to massage your breast while he kissed down your sternum and up the soft mound of flesh. His free hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing slow circles around your clit until breathy whines and moans slipped from your lips. Carefully, he teased your nipple between his fingers, simultaneously moving up to your throat until he found the spot that made you gasp and whine in your sleep again. The only downside was despite how badly he wanted to mark you, he couldn't. He had to wait until he securely had you, until then he couldn't leave any visual evidence of his actions. So, he nibbled and kissed the spot, but didn't bite too roughly and claim you. He simply teased you, rubbing your clit, massaging your breasts or hip, and pressing hungry kisses to your unresponsive lips until he could dip his fingers down into your warmth and pull them back coated with a healthy amount of slick. With you properly aroused, he eagerly freed his throbbing dick from his pants, giving himself a few pumps before running the head up and down your slit, making you hum at the stimulation. God, how he relished how your face twitched and you groaned at the feeling of him grabbing one of your legs with one of his hands before pushing into you. God the tight warmth alone could've made him cum, but he once again held himself back. He'd gone this far, he wasn't about to squander the opportunity to indulge himself by not savoring it. No, He simply grabbed your hips once fully inside and began moving, pretty soon slapping his hips into yours roughly. He might regret being so aggressive later, when it undoubtedly left you sore, or at the very least left bruises and scratches, but right now he just enjoyed the way your pussy squeezed around him and your breasts bounced with each rough thrust into your womb. He let out a few soft noises after a bit when the waves of pleasure began fogging over his mind again. The combination of your breathy moans, your warmth squeezing around him, begging to be filled, and the possessive urge to claim you continuously driving him forward, encouraging him to go until the blinding waves of pleasure erupted and he stilled himself so that every drop of cum was safely inside of your womb. It took him longer than usual to regain his composure afterwards, but when he did he swiftly pulled out, pulling his pants up and slipping your panties back onto you before too much of his essence escaped. He grimaced at the marks of his nails on your (s/c) flesh, though hopefully they would fade before you noticed. Right now though, his main priority was to get out of your home, and leave as little evidence as possible, save for his cum. He refused to feel sorry for filling his obviously needy wife with perfectly good semen. That's right. his wife. The phrase seemed to fit perfectly.

[thedollface221b]

A Touch Of Magic

Pairing - Younger Neville Griffin (Misdirection - Inside No 9)/Original female character (can be read as reader insert)

Rating - Explicit - Over 18s ONLY

Warnings - soft BDSM

Summary - You get a job working as an assistant for a young Magician, but you find yourself fiercely attracted to him. Can you keep your mind on the job, or will lust win out?

Dedicated to the amazing @barkilphedros-hat for being wonderful. I ❤ you!

I searched through all the available jobs pinned on the job centre noticeboard and sighed. Absolutely nothing, yet again. I was just about to give up when I noticed a small, type-written card in the far corner. It read:

“WANTED

Assistant to a young, up and coming Magician.

Must be flexible”

Beneath that, written in red pen as if an afterthought was, in brackets:

“(Both in hours AND body!!)”

Typewritten again for the following:

“Please call Neville Griffin for more details”

Below that were two numbers, which I presumed were his landline and his mobile phone.

Scribbling down the info in my notebook, I resolved to call this Neville Griffin later that day. I had absolutely no experience at being a magician’s assistant but I had always been fascinated by magic ever since I was a little girl, and I was always being teased by my lovers by how amazingly bendy I was in bed – so why not give it a go?

______

After a brief phone call where we spoke only to arrange a meeting place and a time - his warehouse at noon the next day - I was left to wonder what Neville might be like. I couldn’t help but pre-judge him, with a name like Neville he was bound to be a total nerd, or perhaps older than he was letting on. Still, he did have a nice voice...

Whatever, I needed the work and impressing him with my appearance could go a long way... even nerds liked pretty girls and you didn’t often see a plain magician’s assistant, so I needed to look my absolute best. I spent the rest of the evening exfoliating, shaving, deep conditioning my hair, and giving myself a mani-pedi and a facial in preparation for the following day.

Despite my best efforts I slept fitfully, nerves getting the better of me. Putting on a little extra concealer to hide any dark circles my sleepless night may have caused, I finished off my make-up with a pop of cherry-red lipstick. Something a little bit daring and sexy. It paired well with the knee length, floaty red summer dress I was wearing, its sweetheart neckline giving onlookers just a peek of my décolletage.

I arrived at the road the warehouse was situated on a few minutes early so I could scope the place out. ‘Number Nine', I read off the GPS directions on my phone. It was a fairly barren looking alley, the kind of place you’d see on police shows where murders or rapes had taken place. I double checked my bag for my pepper spray and my rape alarm. All set.

Taking a deep breath and fixing a smile in place, I knocked on the door. It took a minute before I heard the heavy, metallic clank of a lock sliding back and the creak of the door opening to finally reveal Neville Griffin.

Oh.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a young, ridiculously good looking guy. His long, brown hair - just reaching his chin - framed a classically handsome face. Azure-blue eyes hid behind wire-rimmed glasses, resting on a strong nose, and his lips were a delicate pink and looked deliciously plump and kissable. He was dressed in a dark blue hoodie worn partially zipped over a red t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of black converse All Stars. All clothes of a typical guy in his late 20s.

“Oh, hello.” he said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as if he hadn’t expected to be interrupted.

“Hi? I spoke to you on the phone last night, I’m here about the...”

“Oh, the assistant job, of course.” He wiped his hand on his jeans even though it didn’t look particularly dirty. “I’m sorry I was working and lost track of time.”

He held out the hand and I took it. It was warm and soft, with several calluses on his fingers, likely from day after day of practicing card tricks. For a guy of relatively small statue – around 5ft 7 I guessed – and lean build, he had large hands and long, thick fingers. My pussy gave a small, involuntary throb at the thought of what those fingers could do if given the opportunity. His grip was firm and I idly wondered if he was one of those guys who looked slight but was actually deceptively strong. Fuck, I had to stop thinking like that and concentrate on the interview. This guy could potentially be my Boss, not a one-night stand.

“Do come in,” he nodded, standing aside to let me enter the warehouse. It was dark, despite the overhead lighting, and the entire place was cluttered with debris of various magic tricks, boxes, notebooks and unquantifiable detritus. I noticed a zigzag lady in the corner, and a very cool looking guillotine towards the back.

Neville guided us towards two old, shoddy-looking stools placed right in the middle of the room and indicated that I take a seat. I sat up straight, my knees together and my hands placed in my lap. I had read somewhere that it was how Royalty was taught to sit, and that it was supposed to make you look more elegant and sophisticated.

Neville threw himself down on the stool in front of me, our knees almost touching. I could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell his aftershave, which was a musky, woody scent and very sexy. Jesus, I had to stop thinking like that!! Concentrate!!

“OK,” he started, “First off, are you a fan of magic?”

“Oh yes,” I said honestly, “I’ve loved it since I was a little girl.”

From his nod and smile, I figured we were off to a good start. The rest of his questions were pretty easy to answer and we fell into a casual conversation rather than a formal interview. It was looking good.

“And just one more question,” he said finally. “Do you think you can drop ten pounds?”

The flat of my palm made a satisfying crack as it made contact with his cheekbone.

“No!” he cried, clutching at his reddening face. “You misunderstood. It’s because the spaces you have to squeeze yourself into are so tiny. You need to be as small as you can possibly get yourself, that’s all.” He rubbed at his cheek. “I think you look perfect as you are. I mean fine. I mean you look...” He stopped. The other side where I hadn’t slapped was turning red now too.

“Oh.” I dropped my head, kicking myself for losing such a great job in the dying minutes. Talk about clutching defeat from the jaws of victory. “I’m sorry.”

“It's fine.” He stood and offered me his hand again. I stood too and took it.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“It was no problem. Well, almost no problem. Can you start on Saturday?” he asked, looking almost scared in case I slapped him again.

“You mean you want me?” I asked, shocked. I couldn’t believe that I had still got the job despite screwing up so heinously at the end.

“Yes, I want you. For the job!” he clarified. Together we walked to the door of the warehouse and he showed me out into the filthy alleyway. “Saturday at 4pm. Don’t be late.”

As the door shut behind me I did a little happy dance before setting off to catch my tube. I was going to be a magician’s assistant. What the actual fuck.

_____

I wasn’t really sure what to wear to my first day as a Magician's Assistant, so I just threw on what I normally wore to yoga. Skin-tight lilac leggings with a matching sports bra and a sloppy, cropped vest in baby pink. I chose ballet style trainers as I thought they’d have the most flexibility if I had to do anything particularly bendy. I covered it all with an oversized hoody to keep me relatively decent on the tube. I didn’t fancy having my ass groped by some greasy stranger.

The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar so I just knocked on it, called out a hello and let myself in, unzipping my hoody as I walked through the cluttered space. I tossed it over some boxes out of the way. I didn’t see Neville at first, until I spotted him kneeling beside the guillotine, tightening some screws. He looked good in his dark blue jeans and navy and white striped top and I took a moment to appreciate the view. He didn’t seem to notice me at first so I cleared my throat. Still nothing. I called his name again, louder this time and he jumped, looking up at me with wide eyes, scrambling to get up while simultaneously pulling earbuds from his ears.

“Sorry I didn’t see you... hear you come in.” he said, winding the cord of the earbuds around his phone and setting it on his desk beside him.

“I'm a few minutes early,” I said apologetically.

“No, it’s... fine,” he nodded. I noticed that he was still looking down at the phone he had placed on his desk. I wondered what was so important about it. Especially as it was switched off.

“I didn’t really know what to wear so I hope this is appropriate.” I indicated to my outfit and he gave me a quick glance before looking down again.

“It's fine,” he repeated. OK, so it was going to be like that. Still, if Neville was going to be weird and anti-social it was going to make it a lot easier to not be attracted to him.

“So what are we doing first?” I asked with fake brightness, trying to lighten the mood.

“First things first,” he tapped the table three times with his fingers and then finally deigned to look at me, “Your name. We need to change it.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” I asked indignantly, crossing my arms beneath my breasts. I knew this action would push them up slightly and make them more apparent but to be honest I wasn’t really caring about that at that particular moment. Neville, however, definitely seemed to notice as his eyes widened slightly before he realised himself and forced eye contact again.

“It’s not exactly showbiz, is it? You need something with a bit of spark, a bit of pizazz. So from now on, your name is Miss Ruby Jewel.” He moved his hand through the air as if performing some mystical action.

“Ruby Jewel? It sounds like a fucking porn star, no way!” I shook my head.

“Well, I was thinking more Bond Girl,” Neville sniffed haughtily. “Anyway it's too late now, I’ve already started designing the promotional material. You'll get used to it. Besides, it goes with my ideas for your costume.”

“Oh yes, I meant to ask, where do I get my costume? Is there some sort of dress shop that caters exclusively for Magician’s Assistants?” I enquired, half joking.

“Of course not, you silly girl!” he snapped.

I jumped. While I was shocked at his outburst, I was ashamed to say that a part of me found the dominance in his voice... kind of arousing. A shiver travelled up my spine and I felt my nipples start to harden against the soft fabric of my sports bra.

Oh please God let the two layers of my bra and vest be thick enough so my erect nipples don’t show through.

No such luck. I could see them poking out through my top like two tiny pebbles.

Neville cleared his throat and continued, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been working so many long hours trying to come up with new tricks... I just need something...” He trailed off and turned away for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to me with a smile, as if the previous moment hadn’t just happened.

“There’s a local seamstress who will make your costumes couture. Although we can only afford one for now. I’ve already sent her my design ideas and so I just have to get your measurements and email them to her and she can begin.”

My heart leapt into my throat and my legs almost gave out at hearing him say that. Surely that couldn’t be right. “I’m not going to her to be measured? Isn’t that standard?”

“Doing it this way will save us time and money,” he confirmed, already picking up the tape measure from his desk. “I think you’ll love your costume. It’s going to be ruby red and adorned with lots of sequins and jewels. And you will wear red lipstick like the one you had on during your interview, as that was...” He paused and swallowed hard. “Sufficient.”

“Does it have to be so... gaudy?” I asked, my nose wrinkling in distaste as he measured my height and my body length.

“We need you to be as bright and flashy as possible.” I quivered slightly as he fastened the tape around my waist. We were practically nose to nose, except he was looking down to read the numbers on the tape. I could smell his aftershave again but this time I was close enough to also smell his shampoo and his soap. He smelled clean, with that same woody, musky scent from before, but with a hint of coconut from the shampoo. Heady, sexy and inherently male.

My pussy was throbbing again, despite me telling myself that this was my Boss and nothing could ever happen. Unfortunately my body didn’t want to listen to my brain and continued to send signals of arousal south. I could feel myself getting wet already. Fuck, this was bad.

He whipped the tape away and stood back, and already I missed the heat from his body.

“The reason Magicians use beautiful female assistants in bright outfits,” he began, rolling up the tape, “is because we want the audience to be watching them here...” he waved his empty hand around in the air in front of me, “while the magic is happening over here!” He clicked the fingers of his other hand, then opened it to reveal that the tape had disappeared. “Classic misdirection.”

“I’m impressed!” I laughed, applauding. “OK so where is it?”

He leaned in and for a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he brought the tape out from behind my ear where it had supposedly been hiding. The disappointment of not being kissed must have shown on my face because he said “What, the old ‘behind the ear’ gag not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s great, really.” I faked a smile. “But we should get on, don’t you think?” I wanted this torture over with as soon as possible. Still, Neville had called me a ‘beautiful assistant’. That was something at least.

“Yes, quite right.” he agreed. “I just need to do your... ah... your top area.”

Wait, did he mean my bust? Was Neville really going to put that mother fucking tape around my breasts? Fuck!

Awkwardly he put his arms around me as I stood frozen to the spot like a statue, my arms stretched out wide either side of me like wings. I didn’t even dare breathe. After fumbling with and dropping the tape twice, he finally got it around the largest part of my breasts, touching the two parts of the tape together as quickly as he could. His knuckles brushed against my still painfully erect nipples so there was no possible way he couldn’t have noticed them. The movement was sending little zings of pleasure through me and I had to clamp my lips shut so as not to accidentally moan out loud.

I noticed that his hands were trembling and when his eyes met mine for a moment I could see how large and dilated his pupils were. Wait a minute... was it possible that he was finding this just as arousing as I was?

“OK, got that,” he mumbled, letting the tape drop to the floor and rushing over to his desk to jot down the details. “I’ll email those details to Sarah tonight and she can get started on your costume first thing tomorrow. I’ll give her your number and she can call you when she wants you to come in for a fitting.”

“Sounds good,” I said, eying up the bottle of whiskey sitting on Neville's desk. God I could really use a drink right now. But that wouldn’t be very professional and I was already walking a very thin tightrope there. Instead I went over to my bag, got my bottled water and took a long slug, hoping it would cool my ardour as well as my body.

The rest of the evening was spent explaining to me how most of his bigger tricks worked and what I would be expected to do as an assistant. I was actually quite excited to begin learning how to perform properly.

“We'll have our first proper rehearsal on Monday, but we’ll take it slow and I’ll just walk you through a few tricks to start with using the actual props,” Neville was saying as he walked me to the door. “Nothing too difficult at the beginning, maybe the zig zag lady, or I could saw you in half, show you the Rope escape...”

“That all sounds great. Well, bye then,” I waved, fighting the urge to grab him and kiss him goodbye.

“Bye, see you on Monday,” he smiled, and my stomach did a backflip.

______

I lay in bed that night thinking back to everything that had happened that evening. Remembering Neville’s touch, the way his knuckles brushed against my sensitive nipples, the intoxicating scent of him. Fucking hell, I was so aroused!! If I didn’t do something to take the edge off I would never sleep. Fumbling in my bedside cabinet I found a small bottle of lube and my trusty rampant rabbit vibrator.

I let my imagination run wild as I switched on the pink silicone device. I closed my eyes and pretended the long, thick dildo section was really Neville's cock as it stretched me open, and the tiny little ‘ears' buzzing rapidly against my clit and sending electric shocks of pleasure through me were really his fingers working me to orgasmic bliss. I recalled his domineering attitude from earlier and quickly made up a fantasy scenario in my head where I kept getting the trick wrong and he was shouting at me that he was going to have to punish me, that every time I made a mistake he was going to have to fuck me until I learned to get it right.

I came hard and fast, his name on my lips.

I felt dirty once the afterglow had worn off, and not the good kind. Neville was my employer and no matter how attracted to him I was, I shouldn’t be getting myself off thinking about him like that. Even if it was the best orgasm I’d had in a long time.

I turned over on my side and fell into a broken, troubled sleep, full of crazy dreams about being sawn in half, and Neville leaving me there, carrying the bottom half of the box away with my bottom half still inside it. OK, surely that had to be some sort of weird sex metaphor.

______

Monday came around quickly and I was back at the warehouse. Despite telling myself I wasn’t interested in impressing Neville, I had dressed in one of my cutest vest tops - a tight black ribbed number - and a short, ice-skater style skirt in a bright, ruby red fabric. It was probably totally impractical for what we would be doing but I figured I could always claim I was trying to match my new name if Neville made any comments about it.

As it turned out he simply gave me a quick glance up and down and then told me he was leaving to run a few errands but would be back soon, and that I should pick up a deck of cards and practice shuffling them while he was out.

After almost 45 minutes I got bored of shuffling and started to poke around the warehouse, snooping in drawers, looking through boxes, peeking in notebooks. Nothing was particularly interesting, until I opened the bottom drawer of his desk. There, hidden amongst papers and decks of cards, was a box of condoms, still unopened in its cellophane wrapper.

Why Neville, you sly dog.

Of course there was nothing to say the box was new. He could have bought them ages ago, stuffed them in there and forgotten about them. They could even be for some kind of trick. But maybe, just maybe, he had bought them since I arrived, and that could be confirmation that he liked me back.

I closed the drawer just in time as Neville came back into the warehouse. “What took you so long?” I pouted. “There’s only so much card shuffling a gal can do.”

“I do expect you to be fully proficient.” He grabbed the cards and shuffled them like I’d only ever seen Blackjack dealers in Casinos do, with lots of fancy cuts and flips. OK, so that was impressive.

“Can we start working on an actual magic trick now?” I wheedled, my hand in a light grip on his arm for that little extra peer pressure.

He was staring at where my fingers massaged the bare skin. It was unusual to see him without his hoody – I remembered he had left wearing it but now he was just in his black t-shirt and light blue Levis.

“Fine, let’s do the rope escape,” he said after a moment. I let go to allow him to cross the warehouse to get the correct prop he’d need. It was a large wooden X style cross about 6 foot in height and behind that was a slightly taller pole. At the top of that pole was another rectangular pole coming off it, rather like one that would hold a shower curtain. Only this pole held a thick, dark blue velvet curtain that could be raised and lowered at will.

“Let me explain how it works,” Neville began, wheeling the entire contraption into place. “You will stand in front of the cross and I will take the rope from where it is already tied off at the back here, loop it around one ankle, then the other, then up to your wrist, then the other, and then back down to tie it off tightly again. A member of the audience can come up to verify you’re securely fastened in.”

We moved around to the back. “But the secret is that this lever here can turn and give you just enough slack to get out. So the trick goes that I tie you up, I pull the curtain up, I twist this and free you and I climb in to take your place, you twist it back to tighten the ropes again and pull the curtain down to reveal that we’ve switched positions.”

He looked at me to make sure I was following. I nodded - it all seemed pretty simple.

“With practice we can get it down to a matter of seconds to make the switch.” He snapped his fingers on the word ‘seconds’ for extra emphasis.

“Can I try?” I asked.

“Of course,” he nodded, almost proudly, as if he was pleased to see that I was so keen. I lined myself up against the cross, both arms in the air and my legs open wide in an X shape. Neville expertly looped the rope around each limb, loosely to begin with. “Are you OK for me to tighten it?” he asked. I gave a quick nod of acquiescence and the rope immediately snapped tight against my wrists and ankles, causing me to let out an involuntary gasp. He tied it off at the back and came around to stand in front of me.

“How does it feel?” he enquired. I noticed his voice was gruffer than before. “Can you free yourself?”

I twisted against the nylon rope in vain. “No, I’m well and truly trapped.” I confirmed. There was nothing I could do to free myself. I was totally at Neville’s mercy. And oh fuck if the thought of that wasn’t a massive turn on. My clit throbbed, and I wondered if I dare push the envelope with Neville. If I was right about the condoms, he wanted something to happen between us and this might be the perfect opportunity to test the waters. But... if I was wrong, I could lose everything.

“I feel so vulnerable like this,” I said breathily, my voice dripping with submissiveness. “You could do absolutely anything to me and I couldn’t stop you.” I sucked in my bottom lip and looked up at him coyly through my lashes.

Neville let out a long, shaky breath and stepped towards me, placing his left hand on my hip.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice cracking a little. We both knew exactly what question was really being asked in that one little word.

“Anything... Sir.” I confirmed. And with that his entire demeanour shifted. Any trace of nerves were gone, and the dominant Neville I so fantasised about took over.

“Do you know the traffic light system?”

“I do,” I nodded. It was on.

His fingernails dug into the soft skin of my hip even through my skirt. I’d probably have bruises there later and I’d wear them like a badge of honour.

“I already had to take a very uncomfortable walk home this morning with my hoody tied around my waist to hide my hard-on, thanks to you coming into work dressed like a little whore,” he sneered at me. “I think we’re going to have to have a very serious talk about professionalism in the workplace.”

The hand that had been on my hip suddenly disappeared, only to reappear with a hard smack on the side of my buttock, the only part of my ass that was accessible. I gasped at the sharp sting and then moaned with arousal as the flesh burned. Another smack, only this time he slipped his hand under my skirt and groped at the still-smarting globe of muscle over the satin of my underwear.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I moaned, wishing that I could cross my legs and put some pressure on my almost painfully throbbing clit. But I was still bound and completely at Neville’s mercy.

He stared at me, eyes fiery, licking his lips like a wolf licking its chops before devouring its kill. He obviously enjoyed me calling him Sir, the light blue of his tight jeans doing nothing to hide the thickening outline by the inseam of his right thigh.

He must have noticed me staring at his hardening cock, as he palmed at it with his right hand, admitting, “I already came once today thanks to you, you little slut.”

“Yes Sir,” I gasped, trying to push my pelvis forward to give him more access to my ass, his fingers kneading into the hot flesh. But I needed more!

He moved behind me and I could hear him searching through the drawers. “The good thing about being a magician,” he smirked, coming towards me with a small pair of scissors, “is that I can make anything disappear.” He reached up beneath my skirt and with two simple snips my underwear came away in his hand. He slipped the scraps of black satin and lace into his jeans pocket.

Because I still had my skirt on I wasn’t actually exposed, but because of my stance, my legs spread open so wide, I felt more naked than I ever had.

“This too.” He placed the scissors at the bottom of my vest and slowly began cutting. I protested at first but that earned me another spank.

“Sorry Sir,” I apologised. Just knowing that I was completely under his control was making me so aroused that I could actually feel my wetness begin to drip down my thighs. He cut the vest away completely, leaving me in just my sports bra and tiny skirt. At least the bra zipped at the front so he wouldn’t have to cut that.

He set the scissors and fabric scraps on the desk and came back to stand before me, eying me hungrily. “Please Sir,” I moaned. “Touch me.”

Agonisingly slowly he clicked the zip on my bra down, tooth by tooth as I writhed against the ropes. Finally my top was completely open, and he took one of my hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hot, pebbled skin. His hand massaged the other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I groaned at being touched at last, my hands clenching in empty fists as lightning bolts of pleasure ran through my body.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the skin of my chest as his free hand found its way to my upper thigh. He rested it there for a moment and I whimpered, desperate for him to touch me more intimately.

“When I’m ready,” he scolded, biting my nipple as punishment.

“Yes, Neville.” He looked up at me through his impossibly long lashes with an angry look on his face, and I knew exactly what mistake I’d made. “I mean Yes Sir, I’m sorry Sir,” I gasped out, feeling my whole body flushing with arousal.

“Good girl,” he purred.

Torturously slowly, his fore and middle fingers traced a line across the smooth skin of my upper thigh, up under my skirt and then dipped down into the crease of my hip. He explored further still until he came to the delicate fold between my thigh and outer lip, where my juices had already dripped down.

“God, you’re soaked!” He sounded astonished that I could be so wet only from what we had done so far.

All I could do was moan in agreement, straining to try and force his fingers to slip closer to my clit. Thankfully he didn’t make me wait any longer and slid the two fingers either side of my dripping hole, collecting as much of my fluids on his thick digits as he could while still avoiding entering me, before at last rubbing his fingertips over that hot little bundle of nerves at my core.

I jerked and cried out at finally being touched.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed in a voice one might use to soothe a startled horse, all the while still rubbing circles on my clit. “I’ve got you.”

The ‘fuck’ that slipped out of my mouth was practically a sob. Neville really did have magic hands and I could already feel the beginnings of an orgasm building deep inside me.

It was killing me that I couldn’t reach out and run my fingers through his hair, but being tied up was turning me on more than I could have ever imagined it would.

“So fucking wet...” Neville moaned into my neck as he kissed down it, and I gasped as he suddenly pushed both fingers into my pussy without warning. The hot stretch of it felt so amazing and I just wished I could clamp my legs around him and grind into it. As it was I tried to tighten my muscles around him as much as I could. His thumb continued to work my clit and the tight ball of electricity started to grow deep in my stomach. Fuck, I was close.

“Gonna cum,” I gasped.

The thumb withdrew. I groaned in frustration and displeasure. I had been so close!

“You cum when I say so, babygirl.” he said assertively, biting and sucking at my collarbone as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of me.

Finally the thumb returned and my pleasure built to a crescendo again. I couldn’t help myself, I moaned out, “Please Sir, let me cum!”

“As you asked so nicely,” he smirked. “Cum for me.”

I closed my eyes and allowed the white heat of my orgasm to overwhelm me, crying out as the waves of pleasure flooded through me, over and over and over.

Finally I blinked my eyes open, my body heavy and satiated. He was holding me up, as my legs could not do it for themselves and he didn’t want the rope to cut into my wrists. Reaching around behind me he pulled the lever to loosen the ropes and helped me to step out of the bindings, as I was wobbling like a new-born deer. Then he lifted me up and carried me to an old chaise lounge in the corner with half its stuffing missing.

“Are you OK?” he asked, checking my wrists and ankles for chafing. Thankfully there was none.

“I’m fine,” I answered honestly. “But what about you?” I nodded towards his crotch, where his very obvious erection was still waiting to be taken care of.

Once he knew I wasn’t hurt, dominant Neville came out to play again.

“Oh my sweet little babygirl, don’t worry,” he smiled, “I fully intend to take you.” He grabbed me by the neck to pull me into a deep kiss. I realised that despite him just giving me the most amazing orgasm, this was actually the first time we had kissed! His powerful tongue probed against mine, his hands roaming over my mostly naked body. Finally, with my own hands free I could touch everywhere I wanted to. They raked through his hair, across his back, cupping his tight buttocks. I was in heaven.

He stopped the kiss after a few minutes and stood up to pull off his T-shirt and jeans, while I slipped out of my last remaining pieces of clothing. I lay back and admired the view in front of me, this beautiful man all mine, his huge cock erect and already leaking pre-cum just for me.

He leaned down to kiss me again and then with one hand flat on my chest, forced me to lie back on to the chaise lounge. Both of us were now fully naked, our bodies shining in the dim light of the warehouse.

He reached down into the back pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out a condom that he must have stashed there earlier when he was getting the scissors.

“Ready?” he asked, tearing open the foil and carefully rolling the prophylactic down his thick shaft.

“Yes Sir, please take me. I need you.”

His beautifully reddened, kiss-bitten lips twisted into a satisfied smile and he laid his full bodyweight on top of me, the blunt head of his cock resting against my dripping entrance. He teased me for a moment by circling the flushed cockhead around the hole before finally breaching my tightness, just with the tip at first. I let out a long, low moan at the delicious stretch and wrapped my legs around his back, trying to force him into me more quickly.

“Ah ah ah!” he scolded, his left hand flying to my neck. He squeezed lightly in punishment, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle so I didn’t need to use any of the safe words. “At my pace, little Princess.”

I kept my legs around his waist but I ceased any attempts to pull him closer. I threw my head back and mewled as he finally started to push himself in fully, enjoying that deep burning sensation of being completely filled. He bottomed out and began to thrust slowly inside me, drawing himself all the way out to the tip and then sliding back in again.

It was like sweet, divine torture. He obviously had no intention of rushing this, each stroke brushing against my G spot just enough to start building my orgasm but not enough to actually make me cum.

He kissed and nibbled at my throat, working his way up my neck to suckle on my earlobes which made me shiver with delight. I could feel my skin prickle with goosebumps as his tongue worked its way down again, finally ending up at my breasts. My nipples hardened in response and he sucked one into his mouth, his warm saliva leaving a trailed string from the pebbled skin to his bottom lip for a moment when he pulled away.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him down to kiss me again, and as we kissed his thrusts began to speed up. We moaned into each other’s mouths, the arousal building for both of us. He reached down between our writhing bodies and started to finger my clitoris again, and I groaned loudly as immense pleasure overtook me. Neville was grunting with the effort of fucking me now, his thrusts growing more frantic and erratic.

My second orgasm was building, the tight knot of pleasure in my core growing as Neville’s cock brushed my G spot with every stroke, and his fingers expertly worked my clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I announced, my eyes fluttering closed, stars behind them in my vision.

“That’s it, cum for me my good girl,” he praised. “So fucking beautiful.”

I let the orgasm wash over me, pure pleasure spiking every nerve in my body until everything turned white and I shuddered in Neville’s arms.

“Jesus, uh, fuck,” Neville groaned, and I felt him stiffen, then he too shuddered as he came inside me, his cock twitching as he unloaded into the condom. After a moment he collapsed on top of me, completely spent.

We lay there for a few moments until the chill made me shiver. Neville stood up and turned away to dispose of the condom, seemingly embarrassed for me to see him do the ‘clean up’. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and a blanket that had been thrown over some boxes in the corner, and came back to the chaise lounge, throwing the blanket over the both of us.

“Are you OK?” he asked me, handing me the water. I took it gratefully and took a long drink. He did likewise and then set the bottle aside.

“I am,” I smiled, snuggling into his arms. Even though the dominant Neville was a huge turn-on, I was glad that he knew how to do the aftercare as well. “So what does this mean for us?” I asked, even though I was terrified of the answer. “Was this a one-off, or...”

“No!” he said, a little to quickly and loudly. “I mean, if you want us to... I’d like... do you want to go out? I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

“Same,” I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t just using me as a one night stand. I wanted to be with Neville. He seemed like a really nice guy, and they had been few and far between lately.

“So do you actually want to go out with me?” I asked, reaching a hand up to curl it affectionately through his hair.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“So... a proper date,” I mused. “How about tomorrow night?”

“That sounds great,” he smiled, taking the hand that had been in his hair and kissing it. “Oh, but I’ll have to take a rain check I’m afraid. I’ve got a magician coming round tomorrow night to show me a trick I’m interested in buying.”

“Oh right,” I replied, feeling a little bit annoyed, but understanding that work needed to come first. “Who’s the Magician?”

“Some old guy called Willy Wando,” he said. “But it probably won’t come to anything.”

Even if Neville didn’t hold out much hope, I had a funny feeling this trick was going to change his life.

[tangledstarlight]

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” For willex 😃

hello hi this could have been so much longer but it’s 2am and i gotta go to sleep, but i also felt compelled to do this tonight so here we go! and yes okay i nearly forgot there was a prompt my bad 😬 hope you like anon!! 

hurt/comfort dialogue prompts!!

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” 

The thing about traveling is that Alex really hates traveling. 

Sure, he likes going to new places and experiencing new cultures and buying hotdogs from street vendors in New York who don’t work out of a car. But that actual act of traveling? Of getting from one place to another long distance via plane? Absolutely hates it. As he sits around in hard plastic airport chairs he often finds himself wishing he could just teleport himself. Think of where he wanted to be and poof! there he was. 

But he couldn’t poof around the world and instead he was stuck on a flight back to LA from New York that was already an hour delayed and was now a further two hours delayed on the tarmac while they were on the damn thing. 

Balling up his jumper and stuffing it behind his head Alex tries to relax, to stretch his legs out in front of him a little and let the tension leave his shoulders. He thinks about the apartment that him and the band had rented for the three months they’d been in New York working on their new album. Of how he could be on the plush grey sofa right now, listening to Reggie talk over whatever film they’d picked and trying to throw popcorn into Luke’s open mouth after he’d fallen asleep ten minutes in while Julie tried with m&ms. 

But no. He’s stuck in a plane and starting to get cramp in his leg and regretting not accepting the travel pillow Reggie had tried to give him before he left. God there had better be an open bar at his sister's wedding to make up for this experience. Though he knows that’s partly a lie, because seeing his little sister walk down the aisle in her white dress will be worth it, but the way his parents will avoid him the whole weekend? Oh yeah, he’s gonna need an open bar for that too. 

“Sorry folks, looks like we’re going to be stuck here a little while longer. Please remain in your seats and if you need anything––” Alex, along with the majority of the plane, stop listening to the pilot's voice on the speaker. There’s a collective groan and he can hear people complaining and the little tell-tale ding of someone calling for assistance. 

Alex blows out a breath and tries to go back to relaxing in his seat. Which feels awkward and uncomfortable and exposed, probably due to the fact he’s got an aisle seat. Logically, he knows that. Logically, he knows that no one is really judging him right now because they’re all too busy dealing with their own shit. 

The sleeve of his jumper slips free, dropping to his neck and, without thinking, he swats it away. Belatedly, and okay yeah, only after the responding grunt, does Alex remember that there’s someone sitting next to him. 

Eyes snapping open he looks at the man next to him, takes in the long hair and the tie dye sweatshirt and the wires of his headphones and the raised eyebrow as he looks back at him. 

“I am so sorry I just––” Alex trails off because he doesn’t have an excuse. He just forgot there was someone sitting next to him. Which, the longer he looks at his seat neighbour and takes in the jaw line and the lips curving into a smile and the way his eyes haven’t left his–– how the hell did Alex not notice him when he first got on the fucking plane? (He’s going to blame it on how much he hates traveling, it blinds him to all hot people in the vicinity, even if they happen to be right next to him apparently.) He can feel his cheeks growing warm and he realises he’s just staring and hasn’t actually finished his sentence. 

“Fell– neck, y’know?” He gestures vaguely to his neck, and the sleeve of his jumper that’s still on the other man's shoulder and god fucking damn it Alex that wasn’t even a sentence, get it together! If Luke or Julie or Reggie were here right now they would be laughing at him. 

“It’s all good man,” the stranger says with a light laugh and–– god he’s got such pretty eyes that Alex is almost distracted from what he says next, “You seem a little tense there though man. You goo?” 

And see, this is exactly part of the reason why Alex hates traveling. It’s the awkward small talk on the plane or the train or when you’re unfortunate enough to end up next to an extra chatty person on the bus. It’s why he shoves headphones on and pretends he can’t see lips moving. Though, he’s maybe willing to break that rule just a little today.

“Not a big fan of traveling,” is all he says, trying not to grimace about how much of an understatement that is. 

“On planes or just in general?” 

“Just in general. Though after this it might be a plane thing,” he tries to joke, and he’s pretty sure it’s a terrible attempt but the stranger giggles and oh man Alex hadn’t thought he could get cuter. 

“Yeah, this has been a pretty shitty few hours,” he agrees, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment before seeming to decide something, “I’m Willie. By the way. Since we’re going to be stuck next to each other for a while.” 

“Alex. Hi,” and, for some strange reason he lifts his hand and waves at him. That magical teleportation power would come in handy right about now, he decides. 

But, for whatever reason, Willie doesn’t find it weird and they start talking. Alex learns that Willie’s flying back to LA because he’d been in New York for an art show, and that he’s into skateboarding and he looks really good when he ties his hair up in a bun. In turn, Alex tells him about the band and recording their first album and about his weekend. 

“So wait, your parents don’t want you going to the wedding?” Willie asks, body half turned towards him in his chair and there's a look of confusion on his face. 

“They’d didn’t explicitly say that but we all know they’re going to be disappointed when I show up,” he shrugs. It hurts, but it’s also just been a fact of his life for so long now that Alex sometimes forgets that not everyone has the same experience. And anyway, he’s not going for his parents, he’s going for his sister. 

“Man that’s fucked,” he mutters, eyes seeming to zone out for a moment, only to refocus as Alex claps a hand over his mouth to block a yawn. 

“Sorry. I put off going to sleep so I could sleep on the flight but,” he shrugs, shooting Willie a slightly sheepish smile but he just shakes his head, another smile on his lips. 

“You’re all good. When this thing finally takes off you can use me as a pillow,” there’s a slightly teasing edge to his words but a challenge in his eyes. 

And maybe it’s because he’s been stuck in an airport and then on a plane for four hours longer then he’d expected to be, or because he’s just really tired or maybe he’s just feeling brave in the face of his weekend ahead, but Alex smiles back at him and says, “You’re probably much comfier then my jumper.” 

There’s a beat before Willie laughs, knocks his knuckles casually against Alex’s shoulder. Half an hour later, when the pilot announces they’ve been cleared for takeoff and the majority of people cheer, Alex and Willie share a high five, palms lingering maybe a touch too long, but he’s not going to complain. 

He doesn’t sleep on the flight, but he does leave LAX in a taxi with Willie’s number saved in his phone with the first text he’d sent being the address of his sister's wedding and an assurance he didn’t need to bring a gift. 

So okay, maybe traveling isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[amethystroselilith]

If Lost Return to the 11th Harbinger (Babysitter Childe ft. Chilumi)

Finally, I get to write my first Chilumi fic! Hard to find a peaceful time to write cause of family demanding attention haha

~~~

SUMMARY:  In which Childe has to babysit 3 girls that means a lot to Lumine

Can also be read in ao3: here

“You know, sometimes, I think he’s doing it on purpose.” Childe sulked, wrapping his arms around Lumine’s waist in an attempt to ditch her plans for the day and spend it with him instead.

The bed looks cosy right now and Childe would pretty much like for Lumine to get back in there with him and maybe lure her into various activities they can play on the sheets.

Lumine chuckled, “I’m sure Zhongli doesn’t mean that.” before running her hand through his hair, letting him hold her for a while, a warm feeling blossoming on her chest as she watched them cuddled together in the mirror she was using to get ready for the day.

She wouldn’t admit it, but feeling Childe’s bare chest against her back makes her just want to stay with him a bit longer, but unfortunately for her lover, she knows how to control herself.

“Yeah? You really think he didn’t plan to tag you along with whatever rites he has to prepare whenever I’m in Liyue?” Childe huffed, burying his face against her neck.

“People don’t schedule when they’ll die, Childe.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Can’t he find someone else to help him?” Childe pouted up at her, displaying the best puppy eyes he could put on.

“Hm, didn’t really ask.” Lumine shrugged, earning a whine from her clingy lover.

“You mean we could’ve thrown someone else with him? But you didn’t ask?” he huffed.

“He invited me to help. I accepted. Besides, he helps me a lot during my stay here, it’s just fair to help him back. May I remind you he also pulled some strings to have you here without any Milleliths watching your every move?” Lumine hummed.

Childe rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could’ve convinced them to leave us alone, you’re a hero here, they know you kicked my ass, they trust you and all.” 

“Same hero that’s dating the same man who almost destroyed their city.” Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’m pretty sure they’re a bit wary of me as well ever since you decided to shout we’re officially together in public.”

“First of all, that’s to declare I won against all my rivals and they should fuck off.” Childe shrugged, “Second… I mean, how could they blame you? I’m charming as fuck.” Childe snickered.

“Right. I’m out.” Lumine said as she unwraps Childe’s arms off her.

“Ojou-chaaannn…” he whined as he tries to pull her back, “It’s the truth, come back.”

Lumine was about to say something back, but a knock on the door caught their attention. 

“You think he’ll take Paimon if I throw enough mora on them?” Childe tried, to which Lumine just chuckled and walked to the door.

“Good morning.” Lumine greeted their guest as she opened the door, “Oh?” her eyes widened in surprise when not just Zhongli appeared, but also three little girls.

“Qiqi brought friends.” Qiqi simply said.

“Onee-chan! Klee and Diona found you!” the excitable girl in red waved, “Diona said she missed you! Me too so we looked for you!” 

Diona freaked out, “I-I did not! I don’t care! If she doesn’t want to return to Mondstat and see me then that’s her problem!” she huffed, looking away with a red face.

“You went all the way to Liyue?” Lumine’s eyes widened, “Does… anyone know you two are here?” 

“Yea! Kaeya-oniichan!” Klee smiled.

“Oh,” Lumine breathed out in relief that they’re not alone, “So, where is he?” 

“I dunno, he was sleepy when I asked him, but he said ‘yes’, so Klee is good, no?” she smiled.

“He’s passed out drunk outside of Angel’s Share,” Diona mumbled.

“But we still asked permission and he said ‘yes’!” Klee argued to avoid getting in trouble. 

“No need to worry, Ms Lumine, I have taken care of that. Rest assured that their guardians are aware of their little ones’ whereabouts.” Zhongli intervened when he saw the blonde’s about to have a heart attack.

“I’m glad you found them before anything bad happened.” Lumine sighed in relief, while she knows Klee and Diona aren’t helpless when it comes to fighting, she still can’t help but worry. She’s especially fond of the 3 little girls, protective of them as a mother would be of her child.

“Yea, I recognised Mister during your visit in Mondstat and Qiqi as well! So Klee is good with not following strangers.” Klee nodded with a proud smile.

“Good.” Qiqi agreed, it may not be seen, but she’s also excited with the thought of playing with her friends again, “Play with Qiqi and friends?” she looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Ojou-chan, what’s taking so long?” Childe emerged, now wearing a shirt, “Oh?” 

“Qiqi brought friends,” Qiqi informed once again.

“Hi! Will you join us in playing too?” Klee asked excitedly.

Childe caught a glint of mischief in Zhongli’s eyes, “Unfortunately, Ms Lumine and I can not join you, but Mr Childe here will be playing with you for the whole day.” 

“Eh?!” everyone looked at him with wide eyes, additional pouts from the 3 little girls.

Zhongli just chuckled before kneeling at the little ones’, “Ms Lumine and I will need to take care of some urgent errands, but we will try to finish them as fast as possible, but for now, will you be good for Mr Childe?” 

~~~

And just like that, Zhongli had dragged Lumine away for whatever errands he has to do, leaving Childe with 3 innocent eyes looking at him curiously.

Childe hasn’t been around much whenever Lumine visits Mondstat, it’s always been the usual party of Lumine, Qiqi, and Zhongli since Childe still has duties to fulfil for his Queen. Duties that would make things complicated for his relationship with the Honorary Knight, but he believes that as long as they work together, not hiding dirty secrets from one another, they may be able to find a peaceful resolution for all parties.

But that’s something he has to think of for another day, today he has to entertain three little girls.

Three little girls that Lumine holds dearly, and for some reason, Childe feels a bit pressured in trying to win their favours, well Qiqi should already be won with coconut milk and the fact that they both work together in Lumine’s main party, but he’s not too familiar with the other 2 besides Lumine and Qiqi’s story. 

Klee seems to be easier to win over because of her energetic and friendly nature, Diona however, may take a bit of work with her shy and independent personality. 

But they’re still kids. Childe has experience with kids, his siblings love him, so this shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

“So, do you guys have any games you want to play?” he asked after watching the 3 finish the last of their breakfasts.

Klee pursed her lips, “Well, we were supposed to play house but, Mr Zhongli and Lumi-oneechan are gone so we don’t have a mama and papa anymore.”

“Ahaha, why are they mama and papa?” Childe laughed through gritted teeth.

“Are they not Qiqi’s mama and papa?” Klee tilted her head.

“No.” Qiqi answered, “But Lumine can be.” she hummed, “No papa though.”

“Ah, well, ojou-chan and I are very close-” 

“But I guess Zhongli can be papa, he gives Qiqi flowers.” the zombie child hummed.

A vein popped in Childe’s forehead, “Ah, Qiqi-chan, I give you coconut milk too, remember?” 

“But you’re always gone.” Qiqi shrugged.

Childe frowned.

“Ah! Kaeya-oniisan can be our papa?” Klee added, “He’s the bestest!”

“He’s always drunk, he won’t spend time with us.” Diona huffed.

“Diluc-”

“No.” Diona hissed, ears and tail raising.

“Yeah, he’s weird.” Klee nodded, “He doesn’t smile. Weird.” 

‘Just how many men does ojou-chan know?’ Childe’s eye twitched.

“I guess Zhongli is papa?” Qiqi proposed in their little meeting.

“Ahaha, I mean, what about me?” Childe smiled since apparently not smiling will make him weird according to Klee’s logic.

The three looked at him, eyes focused, judging him thoroughly until Klee perked up.

“Does Mr Childe have a huge crush on onee-chan?!” the red girl gasped excitedly.

“Ah, you caught me, you’re a very observant girl.” Childe went along, just glad that he’s getting acknowledge as a potential papa for their mama.

It doesn’t really make sense since he’s the one dating Lumine, but being ignored by the three girls as a candidate as a papa just doesn’t settle well in him. Especially losing to Zhongli… he may have tricked him once, but there’s no way in hell Childe’s going to lose to him again. 

Even as a hypothetical father figure to these girls.

“Hm, well if you want to date Lumi-oneechan, then you have to go through us!” Klee declared with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I suppose you’ll be a better boyfriend than that drunkard captain and evil Diluc.” Diona shrugged.

“If you become Qiqi’s papa, then will I get more cocomilk?” Qiqi asked with hopeful eyes.

“Eh?!” Klee protested, “We have to give him tests first! Like… like how the prince has to go through challenges to get the princess’ hand!” she huffed.

“Okay.  A cocogoat, please. Thank you.” Qiqi nodded.

“A giant Jumpy Dumpty!” Klee’s eyes sparkled.

“Destruction of Mondstadt wine industry!” Diona requested.

‘What the actual fuck…’ Childe gulped.

~~~

Childe likes to pride himself as an ‘amazing storyteller’. 

His finest work is “Snezhnaya’s Greatest Toy Seller”.

He just released 3 new stories;

“Unfortunately, the Cocogoats have to be Kept in a Special Cocomilk Production Place to Spread Cocomilk Joy”

“Oh, Have You Not Heard of the Secret Survival Rule? A Giant Jumpy Dumpty, Leads to Confinement Solitary”

“Destruction of Mondstadt Wine Industry Will Make The Good Lord Barbatos So Mad He’s Going To Destroy Us All”

The 3 girls are in awe as he tells an elaborated story, each nodding in understanding, though he’s pretty sure Qiqi will most likely still look for her cocogoat, Klee will still create a huge bomb, Diona will still try to destroy the wine industry in Mondstadt. 

Childe wonders what kind of environment Mondstat is that turned Klee into a pyromaniac and Diona having such strong ambitions… 

He’s going to beg Lumine to take him there soon.

“That’s so pretty, Mr Childe!” the three awed as Childe finished weaving a flower crown made of Violetgrass.

“A pretty flower crown for a pretty princess.” Childe smiled placing the crown on Qiqi, who was beaming at the new hair accessory, hugging her hat tightly to her chest.

His little sister had always loved flower crowns, and with some random flowers he found nearby, Childe had made one in hopes of impressing the girls. He was testing it on his head when it immediately attracted Qiqi’s attention. With some spare Violetgrass she has with her, she shyly asked if Childe can make her one too. The pretty little crown on Childe’s head had also caught Klee’s and Diona’s attention by the awed look on their eyes, and Childe offered to make one for them out of the flowers that catch their eyes.

“Thank you…” she smiled shyly, carefully checking if the crown is secured on her head.

“Me next! Me next!” Klee jumped, plopping some silk flowers she gathered around Wangshu Inn on Childe’s lap.

“Oh, these will be very pretty as well.” Childe complimented, earning an excited squeal from Klee, “Have you found some flowers you like as well, Diona?” he asks.

The catgirl blushed, turning away, “I don’t want one anyway.” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Hm?” Childe frowned a bit, he was sure Diona was also excitedly looking around, but then it hit him, there was not a lot of choices for flowers around Wangshu Inn, and it looks like she wants a unique one as well and with only Silk Flowers nearby, she came back to him empty-handed and disappointed. 

She can also feel the disappointment coming from Qiqi and Klee, who had been talking about taking pictures with their flower crowns with Childe’s Kamera.

Childe’s face softened, “Is it because there are not enough flowers that you like nearby?”

Diona just looked down in embarrassment, ears flat on her head and tail wrapping around her leg.

He just chuckled, “Well, don’t worry, there’s a village here with some glaze lilies nearby, maybe you’ll like those?” 

“T-that’s still far though…” Diona mumbled. 

Childe chuckled, “Don’t worry about it, I know a fast way to get there.” he said hydro vision glowing.

~~~

Despite Diona’s displeasure with water, she ended up having fun sitting on Childe’s shoulder as he literally rode the waves to Qingce Village, the other two clinging on both sides of his waist, secured by his arms wrapped around them protectively. 

The girls giggled as Childe softly landed them on the flowery field. Their entrance would’ve given them weird looks, but Childe had already done this a couple of times with Lumine. It’s one of his favourite moments to spend with Lumine, they would just chill in the flowery area, Childe’s head on Lumine’s lap, his hair being played with while Lumine sings softly, Glaze Lilies blooming beautifully. 

The thought sends a warm feeling in his chest, smiling softly at the thought of being lucky that the blonde made him a bigger part of her life.

“They’re beautiful!” Diona’s excited gasp pulled Childe from his thoughts.

“Well, then go and pick them while I’ll work on Klee’s crown.” Childe smiled before sitting down on the flowery field.

The three nodded and began collecting the flowers. Childe checked his surroundings first to make sure everything’s safe before taking his eyes off them. 

Childe was halfway done with Klee’s crown when he noticed that it suddenly got too quiet. His head raised, heart stopping when the 3 girls are nowhere in sight. 

He rose to his feet and began searching through the fields, hoping that they’re just hiding within the flowers. 

He started panicking when he can’t find them. Not only are these children his responsibility right now, but he’s sure his beloved ojou-chan will murder him if there’s even just a small scratch on them.

“Qiqi, Diona, Klee!” he shouted as he searches, cursing under his breath when there’s no villager nearby to help him.

A patch of frost caught Childe’s eye. 

Qiqi and Diona are cryo users, and it’s a high possibility it’s from them. There’s a burning patch just ahead of it, and Childe’s certain it’s from Klee.

The relief within him didn’t last long when a realisation hit him.

If they’re using their vision, it must be because they’re fighting someone. 

And Childe needs to move fast.

~~~

Childe followed the tracks, his pace increasing as soon as he heard even the softest sound from the three. 

As soon as he reached closed enough, his hydro daggers appeared on his hands. It has to be treasure hoarders.

He jumped in the area, a clever phrase in the tip of his tongue.

“Mr Childe!” Klee cheered.

His eyes widened, there was no treasure hoarders insight. Just the 3 girls with a mora weasel in Qiqi’s hand.

“...Wha…?” he stared at them in shock as his daggers slowly disappeared. 

“We caught a mora weasel!” Diona said proudly.

“Oneechan always runs after them so we thought we’ll help her,” Klee explained.

Childe took a deep breath, relief washing over him as he lives for another day for escaping his lover’s wrath, “I understand that you want to help her, but please don’t run off like that without me, okay?” he gently smiled as he walks to them.

“It runs too fast,” Qiqi said, raising the animal to Childe.

“Are we in trouble?” Klee asked in worry, “We just want to help.” she said looking down.

Childe chuckle, “I’m just glad you all are safe, but please let’s avoid doing that next time, alright? Liyue is a bigger place than Mondstat so it’s quite easy to get lost.” he explained before patting her head.

He then took the weasel from Qiqi, retrieving the mora before letting the animal go, “Now, why don’t we get back and finish your crowns, yeah?” 

They smiled and followed Childe back to the field.

~~~

It was late at night when Lumine got back to Wangshu Inn thanks to Zhongli’s high standards when picking the materials for the rites. Paimon hadn’t even bothered staying around when it started getting late, making an excuse about meeting Xiangling for an important taste testing. 

Though the whole experience wasn’t bad, she was just worried about how Childe can handle looking after the three alone. Zhongli assures her that Childe is probably experienced looking after children since he’s from a big family. Which worked and all, but she also remembered how busy Childe could be from that experience with Teucer, what if they run off when Childe wasn’t looking?

Zhongli shut that down by reminding her that the three are vision holders and Lumine just huffed and pouted, but agreed.

She opened the door to their room, careful with her steps assuming Childe must be asleep. 

When she opened the door to their room, she can’t help but have her heart melt at the sight.

Three little girls are asleep on their bed, a sleeping Childe sat on the chair beside the bed, a forgotten storybook on his lap.

With a soft smile, she made her way to Childe, chuckling softly when she caught glimpse of a photograph on the side table.

It was of them 4 posing for the camera, each has a flower crown adorning their heads.

“Ojou-chan?” a tired voice called softly.

“Look like you all had fun.” she smiled warmly.

Childe returned the smile, pulling her gently on his lap. His arms quickly wrapped around Lumine’s waist, face nuzzling against her neck. Lumine sighed in relaxation, leaning back and running her fingers through his hair.

“I’m guessing they liked you a lot they decided to sleep over?” she teased.

Childe chuckled, “More like the Knights were a bit busy to get them, and sent a letter to apologise for the inconvenience. Klee and Diona don’t seem to mind though, and I’ve never seen Qiqi excited for having her friends stay for longer.” 

“Hm, well that shouldn’t be an issue, we can bring them home ourselves tomorrow, I do have some things to go over with Jean.” Lumine hummed at the thought.

“Do you think they’ll welcome me warmly?” Childe teased.

“If you behave.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Shame. I was planning on picking a fight against the Cavalry Captain and the Dawn Winery owner.”

The blonde shifted to face him, her eyes glaring, “You will not. Why would you want to in the first place?” 

“I heard they’re great opponents.” Childe just smiled, hiding the jealousy from Klee’s story about how these men had also shown interest in his beloved ojou-chan. 

Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’ll make sure to tell Zhongli to keep an extra close eye on you.” 

“I’ll fight him too.”

“Promise me you’ll behave and I might just invite you in the shower.” 

“Bold of you to assume I won’t do it anyway,” Childe smirked.  

“Behave and you’ll be thoroughly rewarded after.”

“Oho, what reward are we talking about?” he grinned.

Lumine just chuckled before unwrapping his arms off of her, “Depends on how good you will be.” she smirked before heading to the shower.

Childe grinned before following after her.

Deciding that he’ll just pick a fight with said rivals another time.

[sweetyyhippyy]

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 4.

Chapter 4: 864 days

(Not my gif.)

Summary: Bridgett brings a date to a party at Rossi’s house. Spencer gets extremely jealous and angry. While working a case with Bridgett, he says some words he doesn’t mean. He goes to Bridgett’s apartment to apologize, and those 3 little words are finally said. 

Pairing: Season 5 Spencer Reid x OC! Plus size character, Bridgett Mendez

TW: Alcohol mentions, Spencer being mean, language, I think that’s all!

Word Count: 4k

A.N.: This is season 5 Spencer, like tail end of season 5. Please reblog! Italicized words are inner thoughts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So Rossi needs a headcount for how many people are coming over tonight. He said he hasn’t heard back from only you, Bridge.”

JJ says, joining Bridgett and Garcia gossiping at Bridgett’s desk.

“Oh yeah sorry, I was kinda waiting to hear from… this guy I’m bringing along tonight.”

Both of the girls eyes get wide, staring at Bridgett.

“You’re bringing someone? Who is he?! I need to know everything, now.” Penelope squeals, leaning back in her chair.

Bridgett laughs, knowing that this was going to be the hot topic of the day.

“It’s this guy I’ve been dating for like 2 weeks. His name is Angel.”

“Okay, okay, Angel. Angel and Bridgett… Bridgett and Angel. Doesn’t necessarily roll off the tongue but keep going.” Penelope says.

“I met him at the coffee shop by my apartment. It was that one morning Hotch needed us to come in at like 6am so I grabbed some coffee and they were getting a delivery while I was waiting and the delivery guy noticed me, I noticed him after the third time he passed me by. So I smiled at him and he stopped to talk to me on my way out. We've gone on a few dates and he’s really nice.”

“Just nice? Are you not completely into him?” JJ questions.

“I don’t know, he’s nice, and he is cute. But I don’t know it’s weird, I know you’re both going to say I’m selling myself short but he’s out of my league. Our connection is good when we’re together but I can’t help but think that maybe he’s just putting a front on. It’s all probably just in my head… right?”

“If it’s only been a few dates this is all still new. The both of you are trying to figure each other out. I wouldn’t discredit him just yet, sweetheart.” Penelope interjects, rubbing her shoulder in comfort.

JJ’s phone rings from her pocket, her groaning and leaving out the door to the elevator.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to bring another guy tonight? I’m not judging, I just don’t think that there’s *someone you didn’t think about.”

Bridgett knew who she was talking about as soon as she said it, and she was right, Bridgett didn’t think about Spencer.

“You don’t know for sure if Spence likes me, Penelope.”

“Um, Earth to madam profiler! Bridgy, the boy is beyond in love with you. You don’t see what everyone else in this office sees when you talk to him, or when someone talks about you.”

Bridgett sighs, rubbing her temple with her fingers lightly.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m genuinely asking I’m not trying to be a bitch but, am I supposed to wait, god knows how long, for him to make the first move? I don’t make the first move. Ever. That’s not me and it makes me want to physically puke even thinking about it. What if he never does it? Then what?”

“I know, beautiful, and I didn’t mean to make you question dating other people, but I just want you to think about it.”

***

Bridgett felt off the rest of the day after her talk with Garcia. She almost wanted to just call Angel and tell him that there had been a change of plans and she wasn’t going to the party anymore. But he had told her on the phone a few nights ago he had gotten a special outfit for the night.

Bridgett sits on the couch, her hair flowing down her back, makeup fresh on her face, and a dark maroon dress clinging to her body, the dress ending mid thigh. While she was staring at her phone deciding on whether or not she was going to call Angel and cancel, it starts ringing, his name appearing on screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey you, I’m on my way to come get you. I’ll be there in about 5 minutes.”

Her stomach turns, but in a good way.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. See you in a bit.”

She slips her heels on, leaving them for the last minute knowing they were going to kill her feet by the end of the night. She paced back and forth, double and triple checking she had everything in her clutch. there’s a knock at the door in a rhythmic pattern, one that Angel frequented when he came over to pick her up. Bridgett walks to answer the door, opening it with a smile. He smiles back, handing her a single red rose.

“For you.” He smiles, kissing her cheek. Bridgett’s cheeks get warm, a nervous laugh coming from her mouth.

“Thank you. You look very handsome.”

He looked so incredibly handsome in the dark brown button up tucked into black dress pants he was wearing, everything head to toe was on point and it made her swoon a little bit.

“Are you ready to go? I’m definitely going to need directions to your coworker’s house.”

***

“This is going to sound very shallow, but how much money do FBI agents make? This house is huge.” Angel whispers to Bridgett, walking up to Rossi’s house.

“He used to work for the FBI back in the day, he retired and wrote a couple of books and he started doing book tours and signing, lectures. So he always hosts parties because this is his house. He’s a great guy, you’ll like him.”

Bridgett was beyond nervous for everyone to meet this new guy. Especially since he was so new in her life. And since the conversation she had with Penelope, she was nervous if she was right how Spencer would react.

She rings the doorbell to the large house, waiting for someone to answer the door. Derek opens the door, a surprising look on his face.

“Hey Bridge. Come on in.” Derek studies Angel up and down.

“Derek, this is Angel. Angel this is Derek. He and I work together at the Buerau. He’s our resident badass and big brother.”

The front of the house fills with the rest of the team members; Emily, JJ, Penelope, Hotch, Rossi, but no Spencer. She introduces everyone to Angel , Rossi handing both of them a drink after the introductions are done.

***

The mood was light while everyone was inside sitting around a large table, everyone talking and laughing.

“I gotta use the restroom. I’ll be back, if I’m not back in 10 send a search party.” Angel jokes, making Bridgett laugh.

“Hey pretty boy made it!” Derek calls out, everyone’s attention turning to Spencer. He smiles and waves awkwardly, coming to join everyone else. He had a nice plum colored button up on with a skinny solid black tie, and of course his converse on. He looked really handsome. Bridgett waves at him from her seat, Spencer walking over and sitting on the opposite side of her.

“You’re late. What took you so long?” Bridgett teases.

“The subway. It randomly broke down right before I was supposed to get off for 15 minutes.”

“Well hey, don’t worry about taking the subway home, I’ll just take you. I’m sticking to one glass tonight, I’m not going to be drunk.”

Spencer smiles at her, nodding his head as he takes a drink from his glass, “Yeah that would be great thanks Bridge.”

Bridgett feels the chair on her other side slide back, Angel touching her bare shoulder as he sits back down. Spencer’s eyes fixate on the stranger, his eyes flickering back and forth between him and Bridgett.

“Who’s this?” Spencer questions.

“Oh I’m Angel, I’m Bridgett’s date.”

The room fell quiet, everyone watching the exchange. Spencer’s jaw clenched, taking a longer swig of his drink.

“Date huh? Nice.” He says under his breath.

Bridgett’s cheeks getting hot, getting through this dinner was going to be interesting.

Spencer was beyond fuming, but in the back of his mind he knew he had no true right to feel this angry.  But seeing that the girl he’s in love with be touched and goggled over made him seethe with rage.

If you weren’t such a goddamn wimp, maybe Bridgett and you could have gone together as a date, but no you have to be afraid of fucking everything.

Spencer knocks the glass of wine back, asking Rossi if he had anything stronger., to which he offered him his best scotch and Spencer took. He quickly shoots that one down, instantly regretting it once he feels the fire in his throat.

Bridgett watches him cough after hearing him swallow the shot, in the few years she’s know Spencer, he’s had maybe half a sip of champagne, and again… it was half a sip. “Woah, slowdown, I can’t carry you out of here.” Bridgett comments, laughing slightly.

Spencer pours another shot full, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time while he slowly sips, finishing yet another glass.

“Slow enough for you?”

***

Spencer didn’t speak one word while everyone was eating , anytime Bridgett spoke to him, Spencer wouldn’t look at her, he just nodded his head and take a heavy drink. He got more and more angry throughout the night, nobody else could tell if it was the alcohol or Angel.

Not too long after dinner was over some of the team started to leave. Angel wraps his arm around Bridgett’s waist, kissing her cheek.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Angel whispers in her ear. Bridgett giggles, smiling at him.

“Okay. I told my friend Spencer I would take him home, so I need to drop him off before I get home. Let me go find him.”

Bridgett walks to the backyard to try to find Spencer, not finding him with the rest of the team that was still here. She walks back inside, finding Derek and Penelope before they leave.

“Hey, have you seen Spence? I was supposed to give him a ride home.”

Derek sighs, throwing his jacket on. Penelope stares at Derek then back at Bridgett.

“He uhh… got a call from his mom’s care facility. He left like 10 minutes ago.”

“Oh my god is she okay?”

“He didn’t say. He was… upset.” Derek states, rubbing her shoulder in comfort. “I’ll see you Monday morning, mama.”

Bridgett walks to Rossi and Emily chatting with Angel, her coat in his hands.

“Hey, Spence took off because of a family emergency. So if you still want to head out, we can.”

Angel nods his head, helping Bridgett put her coat on and saying his goodbyes to the pair before walking hand and hand out with Bridgett back to her car.

***

Bridgett walks through the elevator, pulling the door open to the dugout. She spots Spencer at his desk, not expecting him to be at work this morning.

“Hey, you’re here. How’s your mom?”

Spencer barely turns his head to give Bridgett a dirty look, going back to scribbling something in his notebook.

“Fine.” He says plainly.

“Garcia said that you left Rossi’s party the other night because you got a call from your mom’s care facility that something happened. And you didn’t answer my phone calls all weekend. I was worried about you.”

Spencer gets up from his desk with a sigh, whizzing past her toward the conference room. Bridgett stands there, completely confused why he wasn’t speaking to her.

“Hey mama, we have a local case, Hotch said a briefing in 5.” Derek says, passing by her quickly.

Bridgett sets her bag at her desk, taking her notebook and pen with her to the conference room, sitting in her usual spot next to Spencer.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asks quietly.

Spencer visibly rolls his eyes, fidgeting with his pen between his fingers.

“Yup. Just fine.”

Bridgett opens her mouth to ask him another question but everyone grabs their seat as JJ begins briefing everyone on their case.

***

Hotch had Bridgett and Spencer partner up to examine the crime scene and Spencer was beyond annoyed. Bridgett could feel the anger and tension between both of them the car ride to the crime scene. She wanted to ask what his deal was but she didn’t want there to be more anger in the air when they got to their destination.

While they were examining the crime scene and talking with the town sheriff, Spencer undermined every single thing she asked, said, or thought and it was pissing her off.

After a few hours they were ready to head back to headquarters and Bridgett was furious.

“Hey, Spencer, could you have me a tissue please?” Bridgett asks, motioning to the glove compartment. Spencer sighs loudly, opening the drawer and slamming the door closed hard. That was it.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Bridgett yells. “Why are you being such a fucking dick? What did I do to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Bridgett bites her cheek, putting her turn signal on and pulling off to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asks, raising his voice.

“No, what are you doing?! I don’t know why you’re pissed off at me, but you making me look like I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about when we’re working is not okay. This attitude you’ve had with me all morning is starting to piss me off and I’m over it! What did I do?”

Spencer sits quietly, gathering his thoughts.

“I don’t want to talk to you about it.”

Bridgett was about 2 seconds away from screaming in anger, her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white.

“So instead of being a fucking adult you’re choosing to act like a child and not tell me why you’re angry with me? Real mature Spencer. You know, for a genius, you can be real dumb sometimes.” She fires off at him.

“Nice to know that’s what you think of me.” Spencer says quietly, grabbing his satchel, opening the car door and walking away from the car.

Bridgett sits dumbfounded. She gets out of the car, running after him. “Spencer! What are you doing?!”

He has his back turned to her, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.” Bridgett repeats his name over and over again, getting under his skin.

Once he hangs the phone up he begins walking away again.

“Goddamn it! Where are you going?” She shouts, Spencer stopping in his tracks.

“Going back to work. I’m not riding with you back. I called a cab”

“Why are you being like this? What did I do Spencer?!” She was pissed, getting upset, and tired.

“You’re being a shitty friend!” Spencer yells, visibly taken back at what he even just yelled.

Bridgett stares at him, tears clouding her vision. “I’m not a shitty friend.” She says with a light voice. “You really think I’m a shitty friend? All the nights I spent on the phone with you because you were having bad nightmares, the time I went to your house at 3:30am because you called me inconsolable, was there for you because you got a call that your mom was having a bad day and you felt guilty for putting her in a mental hospital. All of that I was there for you and you still have the audacity to call me a shitty friend? Really?”

Spencer doesn’t make eye contact with her, his feet kicking the pavement under him. Bridgett walks back to the car, tears flowing down her cheeks at his words. She sits in the car, watching Spencer sit on the sidewalk, waiting for his cab, his head turning every so often to see the car still parked several feet away. Bridgett openly sobbed in the car, she was sensitive enough as it was, but having her best friend call her a shitty friend broke her. She waits in the car until she sees a yellow cab pull up next to Spencer and him get in it. Even though he just pissed her off, she didn’t want him to be by himself in the middle of nowhere. Once she sees him get in she drives off toward the office, still sniffling and the occasional tear rolling down her cheek.

Once she pulls into the parking spot back at the office, she slowly walks inside, trying to get her mind together before having to go back and face the rest of the team. She walks through the doors, throwing the case file on her desk and grabbing her bag to go home.

“Hey, where’s Spence?” Derek asks, popping up behind her.

“Fuck if I know.” Bridgett mumbles, turning to walk out for the day.

“Wait! Where are you going? What happened? Are you crying?” Derek rattles his questions off one after the other.

Bridgett continues walking out, ignoring Derek talking to her. She presses the elevator down button, waiting for it to come. She feels someone next to her, Derek. She sighs, folding her arms over her chest. The doors open, both of them walking in.

“What’s wrong?”

Bridgett clears her throat, choking back a sob.

“Spencer and I got into it… he got out of the car on the way back and called a cab to come get him because we were yelling at each other. He called me a shitty friend.”

“He’s going to kill me for saying this, but the reason he left on Saturday was because he was angry that you brought that kid with you to the party. He sort of has a thing for you.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that, you, Garcia, but he hasn’t made a move on me. I’m not going to wait for him to do it. I know that sounds mean but I can’t wait forever.”

Derek nods his head. “I know. I’ve been trying to tell him. And I told him the other night too. I’ve never seen him so mad. It definitely didn’t help that he was drinking everything in sight. But I can tell you that you’re not a shitty friend. Spencer just says what’s on his mind when he’s mad.”

“So that means he has it in his head that I’m shitty to him.”

Derek shakes his head, giving her a tight hug.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Let me talk to him. See if I can get him to calm down. Go home, I’ll tell Hotch you got sick on the job and take the rest of the day to make yourself feel better, alright?”

Bridgett nods, giving him a hug.

***

Bridgett grabs the plate of her favorite comfort meal, breakfast food drenched in hot sauce, and takes it over to the couch, flipping through the tv channels to find something to watch for the night. Her favorite movie was already loaded into her DVD player from the last time she watched it, and that was probably what she was going to settle for. As she takes a huge mouthful of eggs there’s a soft knock at the door. She groans, quickly chewing her food, opening the door quickly. Spencer is standing there, his head down, fidgeting with the leather strap across his chest.

“Hi.” He says quietly.

“Hello.” Bridgett responds, a hint  of attitude in her tone, still a little bitter at him for his earlier outburst.

Spencer bites his bottom lip, awkwardly fixing her doormat with his foot to straighten it out.

“I was wondering if I could talk… if we could talk.”

“What about?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, still not letting him inside.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” Finally looking into Bridgett’s eyes.

“Oh really? Okay well I’m listening.”

Spencer sighs, tapping his fingers on his bag.

“Derek told me that you went back to work crying… about what I said to you and I didn’t mea-“

Bridgett interrupts, just to get under his skin. “What did you say to me? I forgot.” She questions, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Well she isn’t going to make this easy.

“I… I called you a shitty friend. And I didn’t mean it, Bridge. I was angry and I should have never said it because it’s far from the truth. You’re the only true friend I’ve ever had, and I feel like such a dick for saying it to you. I probably can’t ever apologize enough to make up for it, but my apology is genuine.”

Bridgett continues to stare at him for a few seconds, she could tell he really was sorry for his harsh words, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t be mad at him.

“Come in.” She moves from the middle of the doorway, letting Spencer in. He walks in, following her to the couch.

“I want you to be honest with me, because I already know the answer to the question.”

Spencer nods his head, playing with a loose string on her throw pillows.

“Do you have romantic feelings for me?”

Spencer’s eyes grow wide, almost in a cartoonish way. He drops eye contact with Bridgett, his heart beating a million miles per hour.

Tell her. Tell her now. She already knows. Tell. Her.

“Yeah.” He says, no sound coming out of his mouth, his vocal chords frozen. He clears his throat, “Yeah, I have feelings for you. I have for a while now.”

“How long is a while?” Bridgett questions, feeling a bit of relief that he finally admits it.

“476 days. Since the night at the hotel… in Idaho. Well actually 388 days before that, it’s kinda why what happened in Idaho… happened. So 864 days total.”

Bridgett nods her head, trying to hide the smirk on her face, remembering very fondly of what happened in Idaho.

“And why did you feel the need to hide the fact you had feelings for me that weren’t just sexual feelings? Why do you think that you couldn’t tell me you liked me in a romantic way?”

“I don’t know. I was scared that you were going to laugh in my face when I told you that I fell in lo-.” He stops himself before he says the word.

“Fell in love with me?” Bridgett asks, finishing his sentence.  

He nods his head, afraid to say the words.

“I wouldn’t laugh at you. And to be honest with you, I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t like you too. I haven’t been in love with you for 800 days, but I do love you.”

Spencer stays quiet, smiling to himself. “864 days.”

Bridgett rolls her eyes and elbows his arm playfully.

“Oh, so sorry 864 days. Since we’re talking about how many days we’ve been in love with each other, I've been in love with you for about…” Bridgett pauses as she does the math in her head, not anywhere close to how fast Spencer’s brain worked. “730 days.”

“Really?”

Bridgett nods her head, “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to love you. You know what solidified my love for you? Do you remember when we were flying back from Seattle, and you were exhausted, we were sitting together, we had barely been in the air for 20 minutes and I felt your head rest on my shoulder. I looked over at you and you were passed out. I put my head on yours and I fell asleep too. When I woke up, Emily had a picture on her phone she had taken of us and I knew that I loved you.”

Spencer touched Bridgett’s cheek with his thumb softly, staring at her deep brown eyes. He takes Bridgett’s hand in his, holding them close to his chest.

“I love you Bridgett, and I really want to make you happy.”

She lets go of his hands and places both of them on each side of his face, giving him a smile.

“I forgive you.” She says softly, kissing his lips. “And I love you too.”

“So does this mean you’re my… girlfriend?”

Bridgett kisses his lips softly, smiling at him lovingly.

“Yes, yes it does mean I’m your girlfriend. You good with that?”

“Very. I’m very good with that.”

[minimitchell]

callumhighwayweek day 3 - “You just left!” (ao3 link)

.

October in Walford is this weird mixture of the last remnants of summer flooding the days with sun and warmth, and autumn plunging the neighborhood in greys and dark clouds. It’s this strange combination that means you never know if how you dress in the morning will still be appropriate in the evening.

Today, the sun bathed the day in golden hues, warming the streets and sending everyone out into the parks and beer gardens one last time. Even now, with the sun long gone and most shops closed for the night, it’s not exactly cold, only a slight chill hanging in the air.

Callum is on his way home from work, having left his office half an hour ago when he realized there was no way he was gonna get all that paperwork done today. He loves being a social worker, he really does, but he could really do without all the bureaucracy.

He’s contemplating whether he can justify getting some chips for dinner tonight when he passes right by the Prince Albert. There’s music blasting inside the bar and spilling out onto the street; the sound of laughter and chatter from the people milling around outside filling in the air.

Callum has gone there a few times himself, mostly because it’s close to home and not as tacky as a lot of other gay bars in London. He can’t help but feel a bit envious of all the punters and party-goers there today; they’re definitely having a much better day than he is.

His gaze travels over the people standing around the metal tables outside the Albert; over the people smoking, talking and flirting with one another. He watches them until he reaches a couple off to the side a bit, huddled in the corner between the bar itself and the building next to it.

The way to his apartment leads him directly past the two men and he gets a closer look on them when he draws nearer. The guy pressed in the corner is more than a head shorter, oversized denim jacket hanging over a tight, burgundy shirt. Callum can’t see his face from his current angle, his view shrouded by the taller man standing in front of the guy. One of his arms is outstretched against the wall next to the shorter guy’s head and he’s not only taller but also wider, muscles bulging under his ridiculously tight shirt.

They make an odd couple but who is Callum to judge anyone. Just because he doesn’t have a relationship at the moment, hasn’t had one for quite a while to be honest, doesn’t mean he gets to pass judgement on others.

Upon stepping closer and closer to the pair though, Callum realizes the situation isn’t at all what he had previously thought. Because from where he’s coming to a stop now, only a few meters away from the two men, it doesn’t look like they’re a couple at all - quite the opposite in fact.

He can now see the face of the man being pushed in the corner and he definitely doesn’t look very interested in the other guy. He keeps leaning away from the man and rolling his eyes, looking down into his pint glass or looking over the other guy’s arm for something. What, Callum isn’t really sure of. But it’s clear the taller guy is blocking him from leaving the situation.

It only takes a second for his brain to decide he needs to step in. He needs to intervene.

There’s no way he could ever square up to this guy and his bulging muscles though so he does the next best thing he can come up with in that brief moment it takes him to cross the street to get to the two men - he creates a lie.

“Kevin? How dare you, we were supposed to be getting married today. I stood there at the altar and you- you just left! And now you’re here frolicking?”

The guy in the corner looks torn between laughing in his face at the ridiculous line he came up with on the spot and being grateful Callum’s giving him an out. Callum knows his acting is completely over the top, pearl-clutching and dramatic breathing bad, but it seems to do the trick. When he looks over at Muscles the man looks exasperated and he’s finally retracting his arm from the wall between Callum and the other bloke.

“Are you the reason he left me? Because he will do it again, you know.”

The man mouths an irritated ‘what the fuck’ before he shakes his head and heads away from them, disappearing around the corner with not even a glance black at them. Callum watches him leave, making sure that he’s really gone and not just lingering somewhere until Callum is gone again, before he turns back around to face the other man.

He’s leaning back against the brick of the building now, looking up at Callum in amusement. Up close, Callum finally has time to take in his face, noting how his pretty, blue eyes are sparkling with mirth and how his nice, pink lips are twisted into a smirk.

“I don’t know whether to thank you or be offended.”

“Sorry?”

Callum doesn’t remember saying anything that could’ve offended the other man but now that he’s said it, his brain starts going a mile a minute, recounting every word. Maybe it was stupid for him to assume that he needed to be saved by Callum and couldn’t defuse the situation on his own.

Thankfully, the bloke takes pity on him before he can overthink this even further.

“Do I honestly look like a Kevin to you? I feel like that’s an insult. And I don’t know how I feel about apparently leaving you at the altar. Seems pretty stupid.”

Callum huffs out a laugh, tilting his head to the ground to mask the smile breaking out on his own face now. He isn’t sure whether he should take the guy’s flirting seriously or not, but he can feel his cheeks heat up anyway.

“It was the first thing that came to my head, okay. Don’t take the mick now.”

He isn’t sure where all this confidence is coming from right now. It’s not that he’s shy or anything, but he usually isn’t the best at flirting with guys he doesn’t know. But this guy in front of him just has an aura about him that calms him and gives him that tiny boost to flirt back.

“Well, I’ll be forever grateful, strapping young stranger.”

Callum is just about to reach out his hand and introduce himself - he doesn’t exactly know why, he just knows this guy is drawing him in an almost miraculous way - when the guy gives him a wink and walks back towards the entrance of the bar.

The guy only turns around again when he’s already pulling the door open, hand wrapped around the metal handle, giving Callum another small smirk and a very obvious onceover.

“See you around, hero.”

Callum watches him disappear back into the bar, leaving nothing but a growing curiosity behind.

It takes him embarrassingly long to continue his way back home.

.

Callum can’t help but let his thoughts drift back to the stranger again and again over the next few weeks. He lies awake at night and thinks about his pretty blue eyes and his devilish smirk. He zones out while he’s doing paperwork at the office and imagines all the ridiculous ways they could meet again - at the café, while grocery shopping, while he’s out on a run. All the romcom clichés possible.

He thinks about going back to the Albert and looking for the guy multiple times a week but he doesn’t want to come off as desperate. He has an unsubstantiated crush on a stranger, he doesn’t want to add the term stalker to the mix of things already swirling around in his head. Who even gets lovestruck like that anymore?

Callum’s not a teenager; he’s had relationships. So he doesn’t understand what it is about this one guy that drives him crazy likes this. It’s like he subconsciously knows there’s a reason they met; a reason why he’s so drawn to him. There’s something special there.

It simultaneously intrigues and scares him.

It’s also, just maybe, the reason he suggested going to the Albert when Frankie brought up the idea of a family night out. They’re not biologically family, all of them, but he’s grown up with the Carters and he’s been around them more than his own family. So he’s like an honorary Carter. To him, they are as much his siblings like his biological brother is.

Tonight, it’s him, Nancy and Frankie all settled around a table away from the dancefloor with a good view of the whole club. Callum is sitting with his back to the bar, knocking back one of the many shots Frankie made them buy, scrunching up his face in disgust. He’s not a hard liquor guy; it goes to his head way too quickly and the result is almost always him embarrassing himself in some way.

Your turn.

Frankie points at the cocktail glasses on the table after she signs the words, bright smile on her face. Callum loves his sisters, he does, but they do take advantage of him being nice way too much. He grumbles but he still gets up and makes his way to the bar regardless.

It’s only when he squeezes past the people blocking his way and his view of the bar is clear, does he see a face he didn’t think he’d see again behind it. A face he desperately wanted to see again. It’s the guy from the other week, only this time he’s only wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.

Yeah, Callum’s definitely interested in him.

He slides up to an empty space at the bar, waiting for the man to finish up with his current customer and take his order. Recognition washes over the guy’s face when he turns and faces Callum, the same smile from before tugging at his lips.

“Hero! What a nice surprise.”

His voice is even smoother than it was in Callum’s memory and he does seem pleasantly surprised to see Callum in front of him right now. It calms the erratic beat of his heart a little, because it’s better than disinterest or the guy not even remembering him at all.

“I didn’t know you worked here.”

It’s a ridiculous thing to say because he doesn’t know the guy at all; doesn’t know the first thing about him really.

“I don’t. Just helping out my mum for the night - she owns this place.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

The guy keeps looking at him and Callum is almost embarrassed to admit that he gets a little lost in his eyes, drowning in a sea of blue and grey. The moment stretches, their gazes locked on another for what feels like an endless time, but is probably only a few seconds. The guy seems to shake himself out of it after a moment, closing his eyes and seemingly shifting back into business mode.

“What can I get ya?”

“Uh, two Strawberry Daiquiri and a pint, please.”

His order is met with a nod and a sly smile and the guy gets to work straight away. Callum follows the movement of his hands with his eyes, watching as he grabs the bottles of alcohol and starts mixing the drinks.

“You here with some friends?”

It takes a second for Callum to register that the guy is still talking to him, trying to keep their conversation going while he’s making Callum’s order. It makes heat travel to his cheeks, because surely this means there’s at least some interest there from the guy as well.

Or maybe he’s just looking to make a good tip.

“Family actually. Well, kinda.”

The drinks soon appear in front of him and Callum scrambles to pull his card out of his wallet, when the guy behind the bar darts a hand out to stop him. In doing so, he touches the back of Callum’s hand with his fingers, making goosebumps break out over his arm at the touch. It’s like a current is running from his fingers right to his heart.

“It’s on me. Little thank you for the other night.”

He gives Callum a wink, smile still firmly in place. Callum can’t put it any other way, he’s completely bewitched by him.

“Well, thank you. Kevin.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Callum gives the guy one last, flirty smile before he gathers his drinks and focuses on getting back to the table in one piece. The last thing he wants is to embarrass himself in front of the man right now. He does however hear the faint question from the other bartender about why he called the guy Kevin.

There’s adrenaline flowing through his veins though and he can barely conceal the stupid glee on his face when he joins the girls back at the table, sliding their drinks over to them. He almost feels like a little schoolboy again, getting the guy he has a crush on to notice him and flirt back and feel fucking good about it.

They fall back into easy chatter, talking about their work and what’s happening in their lives. Callum conveniently leaves out any details about the guy he’s infatuated with, only telling them about their first meeting in vague details. They think he should go for it, find the guy and ask him out. If only they knew the guy is closer than they think.

Nancy seems more and more distracted throughout the evening though, looking behind Callum again and again until finally, she slaps his arm and leans forward to him.

“Okay, don’t turn around now but the fit bartender keeps looking over at you.”

Frankie runs her hand through her hair to mask her looking over to the bar but when she looks back at him her eyes are as wide as the smile on her face and she pats his forearm excitedly a couple of times.

“Oh my god, he is. Cal, go get his number.”

“What? No, I can’t just do that.”

They don’t agree with that sentiment.

Over the next hour they keep pestering him about going back to the bar and getting the guy’s number. It’s futile to argue with them, he knows that from many, many experiences growing up, but he’s adamant that he’ll just make a fool out of himself and that they must be mistaken about his apparent interest in Callum.

In the end, he comes back from the loo to an empty table and a text from Nancy saying ‘go get him. we’re rooting for you xx’. Callum sighs and falls back into his chair, tipping the last of his pint into his mouth. He should’ve seen it coming; they were way too giddy about him going to the bathroom.

So much for a family night out.

He’s about to pocket his phone to call it a night when a bottle of beer appears on the table in front of him. When he follows the arm attached to it, he finds the guy, Kevin, on the other end, a beer in his own hand as he sinks into the seat opposite of Callum.

“Ben.”

It’s all he says and the confusion must show on Callum’s face because he huffs out a laugh and continues.

“My name is Ben.”

He tips his beer bottle towards Callum, waiting until he grabs his own and clinks them together in a silent toast, bringing them both to their lips in perfect sync.

“So not even close to Kevin.”

“Not even close.”

They share another smile with each other and it might be the alcohol flowing through his veins but from where Callum’s sitting Ben looks more than interested in him. More so, he looks almost hungry, full off barely restrained want now.

Maybe he’s also dying to get to know him; inspired to turn their chance meeting into something more.

“Hm. I’m Callum.”

“Nice to meet you, Callum.”

Ben buys them another drink once they’re finished and Callum doesn’t even notice the hours ticking by, too enthralled in getting to know Ben. They stay until the other bartender yells at Ben that she wants to close up and when they leave the bar with loud laughter spilling onto the street outside, Callum doesn’t feel an ounce of hesitancy when he accepts Ben’s invitation to continue the evening at his flat.

He feels good about this one. Really good.

He thanks his lucky stars for chance meetings.

[neonponders]

I FINALLY uploaded again to my first Harringrove fic ever, so here’s an easy way to read ch. 1 since a lot of people here don’t know me from Dracula Has a Mullet haha

Read on ao3 here ~

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

The discovery that Billy Hargrove is a vampire came at a weird time in a weird way. It’s just not everyday that you walk in on someone fingering Alexandra O’Neil with their teeth—fangs—in her tit.

There were stranger things in Hawkins, unfortunately. Unfortunately? How fortunate is a vampire?

“For fuck’s sake. Really?”

Billy has the grace to extract his freaking teeth with a semblance of being surprised. “I didn’t know you had that kind of mouth, Harrington.”

Steve waves a scolding finger at him with all the gusto of a drunk, and he has the solo cup to justify it. “Put those away! She was homecoming queen last year. Jesus, have some class.”

“You serious?”

Steve downed the last of his beer and Jäger with a grimace, his voice going raspy. “Look, I’m not one to judge a lady’s standards, but really, Alex…Alex?”

The lady in question was so blissed out she looked like one of those unnaturally stupid women in every Dracula movie. Billy actually moved aside as Steve pulled her away from the wall—away from Billy—to try and talk to her. Righting her dress with quick yanks, he covered her gorgeous, if small, breasts and gave her a shake. “Alex! Hey!”

He could hear—could feel it, more like—Billy moving behind him in the dark room. Steve had come up here hoping to claim the guest room before someone used it to hookup from the party downstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time he woke up from a mid-party nap to someone being blown, but sometimes it’s the price one pays for free liquor and an ounce of decent sleep.

“What’s wrong with her standards? Huh, King Steve?”

The voice is right behind him, so close that the damn vampire has to rear backwards when Steve whirls around. “What kind of vamp name is Billy? Wait, that’s short for something—”

“If you call me by anything else, I’ll hang you from the ceiling by your teeth.”

“You’re not charming like vampires,” Steve practically complained. “Gotta work on that. Everyone gossips here. Folks will know you’re toothy like…” He fumbled a clumsy but sharp snap of his fingers.

Billy made a derisive sound before his voice crooned, “Seems like I’m flying just fine under the vampire radar, then.”

He was heaving Alex back up from where she had slumped against the dresser when Steve released her. Steve raked a hand through his hair, thinking. It was a slog through the alcohol, but he surmised that he could not take her away from this guy. Case being: Steve was far too drunk to logically drive, and to where? It was her house.

“You. You gotta go.”

Billy huffed one of his low, mirthless laughs. Instead of setting Alex nicely on the bed, he just kind of dumped her there. She let out a sort of dumb-giddy moan as she face planted a pillow and he faced Steve. “Excuse me?”

“You’re, like, biting people at a party!” Steve realized somewhere between his tone and his slight—or perhaps exaggerated, it was hard to tell at this point—sway, that Billy was far more sober than he felt.

Not the time to play hero but whatever.

Billy slowly stepped toward him. “There’s plenty worse at this shit house than me, Harrington. Worst weed I’ve ever had. And that shit whiskey’s been so watered down, it’s nothing but wheat water.”

“Hey!” Steve was poking two fingers at him before he meant to. “They just renovated the place and I got well paid for the tiling and paint!”

“So you’re the reason everyone’s been tripping over the same spot in the kitchen?” Billy huffed.

“And the whiskey’s not so bad if you chase it with grape juice. It’s like toast and jam water. Whatever, no one’s here for your holier-than-thou, California bullshit!”

Billy was caught by surprise that time. His whole expression lifted, brows and eyes widening as he repeated, “Holier. Than. Thou. That’s the kind of shit you pick up from books. I didn’t know the king could read.”

“Fuck off,” Steve grimaced, really just wanting to get Alex tucked into bed and maybe join her. “You’ve been riding me ever since you got here.”

“I definitely have not been doing that,” Billy retorted and then smiled. “What, you offering?”

“Was she?” Steve cornered, drawing himself up to his full height. Admittedly, not much taller than Billy, but small victories lead to great heights or something.

Billy wiped his mouth and Steve’s eyes plummeted to those lips. “Yeah, she was. She pulled me upstairs, or is that so hard to believe, blue balls?”

“It kind of is, yeah,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “Alex has asthma. Like, inhaler tucked in her bra at prom in case the slow dance was too much. She’d never get with a chain smoker like you.”

“She would if her high school sweetheart cheated on her with the first college bitch he found.” One of Billy’s eyebrows perked up with his shrug. “I’m a favorite for ladies looking for a rebound.”

Steve grimaced. “Derek cheated? How do you know that?”

“That’s between her and me,” Billy said, stepping forward again. “But I hear you’ve been due for a rebound for a while, Harrington.”

He didn’t want to talk about Nancy. It wasn’t even Nancy, really, but he didn’t want to talk about anything regarding his sex life or lack thereof. Steve diverted, “I want you to leave. Go find someone else to—whatever the hell this is.”

“Well. You’re right here.”

“Not me, dumbass. I told you to leave the house.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Billy smiled. “What? You’ll let me beat the shit out of you again? We had an audience last time too.”

“I wouldn’t be too cocky about last time,” Steve groaned, beginning to take a step back. “The way I hear it, Jonathan had to mop you off the floor after—”

Billy wasn’t listening. His eyes were on Steve’s neck and the only gut wrenching, instinctive thought Steve had was weapon. It came in the form of a glass lamp, which he wrenched out of the wall to break over Billy’s head.

The hard thud of thick glass hitting before the shatter and glass raining over the floor had Steve gaping at him. Billy stood very still. Way too still. Steve wondered if he had knocked him out, but his legs hadn’t unbuckled yet.

Then Billy lifted dark eyes beneath his mess of a fringe, pupils blown wide. Steve continued to stare at him with the mechanical parts of the lamp still in his hand. “Holy shit, you didn’t even flinch! You’re supposed to dodge when furniture’s coming at you—”

Billy gripped the wrist holding the parts and wrenched him so far that Steve couldn’t react to Billy’s other hand on his pants. Heaving him up by his belt, he slammed Steve onto the table from which the lamp had originated. Music thrummed around them, the very beams in the walls vibrating. Steve defied the laws of his denim pants by folding his leg against his side to kick Billy in the gut. Ragged sounds from both of them went unheard by the party below. Steve slid like a heavy tablecloth to the floor with Billy likewise winded and crouched in front of him.

“Why…” Steve tried, rubbing his chest and hoping his talking lasted long enough for him to decide whether running or trying to pin Billy down was the best decision. “…can’t you just…not do this? Whatever alpha bullshit game you think life is.”

“Some of us don’t want to go through life with your dashing prince crap,” Billy spat.

“You think I’m dashing? I couldn’t tell, I passed out the last time you punched me in the face.”

Billy laughed. “Yeah. You’re just as soft as I remember.”

He was moving again and Steve felt a wild, foolish—downright stupid—thrill to try something else. “You need to leave, man. Really. I know a party of blackout graduates might seem like easy pickings, but Hawkins is different.”

“You don’t know shit about different,” Billy growled. “You’ve never seen grass outside this bum fuck of a town.”

“I’ve been to Disney World. And New York City. There’s gotta be some hospital nurse you can swoon into letting you raid their blood bank?”

He couldn’t tell if Billy was getting angrier or not. The man was always angry, seemed like. “I’m not drinking from a freezer. Now shut the hell up. You’ll enjoy this like your homecoming queen.”

A last ditch effort, diving in the direction of the door, but it wasn’t the first time Billy had been on top of him with murder in his eyes. Steve’s hands fumbled at Billy’s face, but then his wrists were pinned above his head and a panicked whine escaped as Billy’s hot, humid breath found him.

Steve went slack. They always do. Billy had figured out that something in his teeth or saliva sedated those he bit, and more. A whole lot more. It made a good flirt into a hell of a time. Alexandra of the Hawkins Homecoming Court had already come on his finger when Steve, of all people, waltzed right in.

It made hunting annoying. It made hunting fun. He had to be picky; didn’t want anyone he couldn’t look at for longer than three minutes moaning all over him while he tried to feed. His looks did most of the work. The right dash of charm here, a nice compliment there, and then his fangs did the rest.

Steve was hard under him. Billy felt the distinct push of his jeans against his own ass while he slid his fingers under Steve’s nape. Lifting his neck, he made sure the moron’s windpipe stayed open, as well as lifted his meal closer to his mouth—

A strange sound came from Steve. Billy’s eyes flicked to his face, but when that labored breathing sound happened again, he sat up and stared. Steve was crying.

This had never happened before. Those doe eyes that all the girls had ranted about when he first drove into Hawkins were red and squinted as moisture slid over his temples. Billy even checked to make sure he wasn’t sitting too heavily on his dick or something, but the gears of his brain slid into place.

Steve usually wore sunglasses at parties. Billy couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Are you a drunk crier, Harrington? Hey, I’m talking to you.”

He gripped Steve’s jaw, but his whole head lolled, those eyes barely finding him through the daze. “I just wanna sleep,” he said quietly. Fresh tears raced into his hair as he passed out.