#you should see how many knitting projects i have going on at any given moment

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current PARTIES:  @closingwaters & @recoveringdreamer LOCATION: teagan's cabin SUMMARY: teagan and felix catch up after lost time. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of past sibling & parental death, mentions of past emotional abuse

It was a quiet day, the wind chilly but still having a soft dance against the nix’s skin as she waited for Felix. Teagan smiled idly as she sat on the porch steps, appreciating the sun overhead as it kept her from tilting too much toward cold. Thanks to being stuck as a statue, she was still getting accustomed to her body’s new, weakened state. She wanted to be angry, to scream at the top of her lungs about how unfair it all was, but she couldn’t. After so many years of constantly moving, always finding a new thing to occupy herself with, Teagan had finally managed to slow down a little, much to Arden’s relief.

That first night back, she broke so many rules that both her and Andy had put in place for her. She was meant to follow them, but Teagan’s heart had other plans. It was funny to think back on. Her renewed energy allowed her to climb up the many stairs she wasn’t supposed to, right into Arden’s arms. Who, try as she might, could not muster the tone to sound reprimanding, and she quickly moved on to focus on the fact that Teagan was back; alive and well enough to keep breathing. 

Humming to herself, Teagan kept herself busy with a new knitting project she’d set to finish before Christmas time. It was a new cardigan for Arden to enjoy, especially since the cold wasn’t exactly her friend, and gifts made by hand always hit a spot in the heart that no money could buy. She was just about finished with a sleeve when the telltale sound of tires perked Teagan’s ears, and she looked up with a tired, but bright smile, waving excitedly to see Felix just through their windshield.

“Oi! How ya doin’? I’ve missed that beautiful face!”

Teagan was back, and it felt almost surreal. Like someone would pull the rug out from under them at any moment, like there was some cruel trick behind her return. This town so rarely offered happy moments; Felix often felt they could count their joy on one hand while needing a cemetery full of rotting fingers to count the losses they’d endured. Their family, their freedom, their very sense of security… Wicked’s Rest had taken it all, in one way or another.

But it hadn’t taken Teagan. Not permanently, at least. She’d been gone so long, unreachable to the point that even Felix with their optimism had begun to lose hope. And healing would be a slow road, they knew, but at least it was a road Teagan would be allowed to walk. At least the world had given her that much, had some mercy for once. At least it was something.

The excitement building in their chest as they made the drive to the cabin mingled with a nervous energy, a quiet uncertainty. The last time he’d seen her, she hadn’t been entirely happy with them. When they’d insisted she let the ranger go, when they’d argued about it. She’d relented, ultimately, but part of Felix still wondered where he stood. When they stood against their father — the few times they’d had the confidence to do so — things had always grown darker. The anger festered, the resentment remained. Trying to convince someone not to kill a person they longed to kill, someone they thought they were right for killing… It was a hard thing to do, and a harder one to come back from. 

The balam’s heart was pounding in their chest, but their uncertainty dwindled at the sight of her through the windshield. She smiled at him, she waved. She didn’t look angry, the way their father would have. Felix relaxed as they exited their truck, waving back. “I should be asking you that,” they said, bounding up to the porch to greet her. “How are you feeling?”

The relief that filled the nix was like a beacon of hope, guiding her toward the safety within her friend’s arms. No longer was Teagan in the midst of chaos, lost to the hardened goo that nearly killed her. She sighed with relief, embracing it tightly and getting encased in Felix’s arms. He smelled like home, only this time, Teagan had no urge to run. Not this time. She’d learned her lesson, somehow managed to find the right people. They didn’t offer ultimatums and exile. Instead, they listened, and most of all, they tried. In more ways than one, too.

“I’m…okay. As-as okay as I can be.” Teagan shrugged, tightening her arms around Felix one last time before she took a step back. Her vision swam a little, and she breathed sharply as she grabbed for both the porch post and Felix’s shoulder and hissed a few Welsh expletives to herself. “S-sorry.” She gave them an embarrassed look, her smile crooked and brows pinched together. “Sometimes I move too quick for my own good. Strength’s all gone, but my mind likes to think it’s not,” Teagan chortled, blinking a few times until she could see clearly again.

“C’mon. You want to have a ling-di-long around the lake? It’ll be nice to do something other than sitting around on my arse.”

She was unsteady, but that was understandable. She’d been so still for so long, unable to move beneath the hardened goo; it made sense that her body had deteriorated in that time. For Teagan, who seemed to have such a hard time sitting still, it must have been a terrible thing. Felix felt a pang of regret, wishing there was more they could do to help. But what could they offer? They had nothing to give; they never did, really. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” they told her with a small smile. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, Teagan. You don’t have to pretend you are if you aren’t. Just me here, right? I won’t tell.” Maybe this was what he could give her — a chance to let herself be less than all right if she needed it. They shook their head quickly at her apology. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” Offering out their arm for her to grip, Felix nodded his head. “Only if you lean on me. I don’t want you falling or getting hurt, okay?”

Teagan’s brows twitched slightly, surprise ruffling her a bit. No one besides Arden questioned her when her practiced smile was bright, and her voice was optimistic. It seemed as if Felix would not play a part in the facade, and Teagan was surprised to find that she was relieved for that. Felix was a greater gift than they realized, and even more gifted at that. “Truth be told, I don’t think I’ve been okay in a long time, but it’s nice to play pretend, eh?” She sighed, offering a tired smile as she linked her arm with Felix’s. 

“You sure know how to convince a lady. You sure you aren’t out to whisk me away from Arden?” With a wink, she put one shaky leg in front of the other, confidence growing in her gait as they reached where land and water met. Silence surrounded them, save for the occasional water lap and thump from their steps. It was peaceful, just what Teagan the two of them needed after she had selfishly interrupted their spa day so that she could exact justice. Well, her version of it. 

“Felix?” Her voice was just barely above a whisper, tense and worried, but she knew she had to apologize again. She wanted to be better because Felix deserved better. “I’m…I’m still sorry. You know—” She paused their walk, too shaky to continue. “The hunter.” With a groan, she made her way to a suitable rock, taking a seat. “I’m sorry for how I treated you.” Not for the hunter. Never for the hunter. Teagan didn’t think she was capable of feeling any sort of regret for anything she’d done to any hunter she’d hurt or killed. It felt like a betrayal to her family. To herself. Maybe it was wrong, but she couldn’t find any part of her that cared. That was reserved for people that mattered. “I know it was a lot.” She patted the area next to her for Felix to sit. “So I’m grateful you’re even…willing to be around me.”

“It is,” Felix agreed with a small smile, “but it’s nice to let yourself be honest about it sometimes, too.” They didn’t have much experience with that; hypocrisy was something they struggled with, when it came to their friends. They could excuse the contract that locked them into place in the Grit Pit, chalk it up to their own rampant stupidity, but they’d been unwilling to allow Samir to refer to his own plight in the same way. They wanted Teagan to talk about what was bothering her, but they didn’t know how to open up about their own problems — even the ones not locked away from conversation by the non-disclosure clause in their contract.

Teagan took their arm, and Felix held her steady as they walked, making note of the way she seemed to grow stronger as they approached the water. It made sense; he didn’t know much about nymphs, but he had some understanding of their connection to their elements. Teagan was better near the water. “I think Arden’s got me beat,” they laughed, shaking their head. Teagan and Arden were a good pair; Felix could tell just by speaking to them, by seeing how they spoke about each other.

They settled into the quiet for a moment, enjoying the company and the nature. Even now, years after rejoining society, Felix felt a little more at home among the trees. Ten years in the forest as a half-feral thing would do that to a guy. When Teagan’s voice broke the quiet — just barely, just a whisper — he turned to look at her. “Hey,” they followed her to the rock, crouching in front of it. “It’s okay. You listened to me in the end. That’s what matters to me. That’s what’s important.” They paused for a moment, taking her hand and rubbing their thumb against her knuckles absently. “My dad never listened to me. About that stuff. He, uh…” They trailed off. “It was like he thought I was stupid. For suggesting it, you know? For not wanting…” They shook their head, offering her a small smile. “Nobody ever listened to me. But you did. And that — That’s what matters to me. More than anything else.”

It was startling, the way Felix approached with caution. Not because they were worried they would be attacked, but because they were making an effort to be portrayed as safe and comforting. Going so far as to reach out. Tears began to sting at the corners of Teagan’s eyes, and she squeezed Felix’s hand softly as she held her emotion, in with her lips forming into a thin line. It took a few moments before she was able to breathe, and she inhaled deeply with a shudder. The waves reacted in earnest, flowing just a bit harder against the rocks, wrapping around and straining just as her free hand did against itself.

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Not even then, and certainly not now.” She shook her head, looking up to try and blink the tears away. “Just didn’t think you could understand, and I don’t want you to. Fates, I never want you to understand this…this thing inside me.” Teagan swallowed, finally looking back at Felix with tear-coated eyes. There was still much to learn about the balam, but on personality and mannerisms alone, she could tell they were damaged all the same. 

Children born into the hunted always were, a knife held at their back at conception. So it made it all the more beautiful the way Felix managed to remain so kind and against hurting others, even against their own father’s wishes. Teagan wasn’t sure she could understand it, and it felt horrible that she could relate more to the man that made her friend feel stupid than she could to them. Because kindness was never stupid. It could be naive, but that didn’t make it wrong. Felix never should have been made to feel that way for choosing peace. They should’ve been praised for finding that within themself in a world so cruel. They were a light, and Teagan wanted to make sure they knew that.

“You’ve got a light to you. It’s rather intimidating.” She smiled wanly, reaching for Felix’s cheek and tracing down their scar carefully. “I don’t know how you do it, but it’s mesmerizing to see, and so beautiful. Arden says I’ve got a light, but I’m not so sure I do. Just got this…this…” Aeron’s voice whispered in Teagan’s mind, and her head fell with shame. “Darkness.” She swallowed, retreating into memories filled with crimson with a shaky breath. “If I had any light, I think it died with my family.” She didn’t think she knew how to be anything other than a beautiful monster.

It was beautiful, seeing how the water reacted to Teagan. For a long time after Leo, the very concept of fae had been terrifying to Felix. Sometimes, they still were. Someone who could trap you in a bind just by tricking you into saying the wrong thing, someone who could force you into a life you’d never wanted by pulling your strings just right… Felix had come so close to adopting their father’s worldview, to applying the hatred he’d tried to teach his children to carry towards humans to fae instead. Maybe their friendship with Teagan had been a part of what had stopped that. She’d had every chance to bind them when they’d thanked her before, and she almost had. But the fact that she’d stepped back, the fact that she’d changed her mind and cut them free… To Felix, that said more. It said everything that needed saying.

They shrugged, looking down at the water as it moved, taking in the beauty of it. “I am a little,” they said quietly. That was just a fact, wasn’t it? If they weren’t stupid, they wouldn’t be… stuck the way they were. They wouldn’t have signed that contract, wouldn’t have let their heart speak over their head. And maybe they were too stupid to feel the way Teagan did, the way their father and their siblings did. They’d always been warned that naivety would get them killed someday. With the way things were going at the Pit, they wondered, sometimes, if it would be someday soon. The thought scared them more than anything. Felix didn’t want to die. They really didn’t. But they didn’t want to hurt anyone, either.

They chewed the inside of their cheek for a moment, quietly thoughtful. “My mom died,” they admitted. “When I was fourteen. It — It wasn’t rangers. It was humans. She was shifted in the woods, they saw her, they were… scared. They killed her, and they ran, and they left her there. And my dad, he… He never really got over it, I guess. He got scared. Got convinced that everyone was a threat, that the whole world was trying to hurt us. He packed us up, and we moved out into the woods, away from everyone. And any time someone got close enough to see the house, he… made sure they were taken care of. That’s how he’d say it, you know? I dug so many graves, but I wasn’t allowed to put up markers. I just had to leave them in the dirt.” They paused for a moment before adding, with a guilty whisper, “It got easier after a while. It started to feel like… sweeping the floor or doing the dishes. Just another chore.”

They let their eyes come up to meet hers as she touched their face, but they couldn’t hold her gaze for long. A heartbeat, maybe two, and they were looking at the water again. “So I don’t think… I don’t think the light’s as bright as it seems. I’ve done a lot of bad things just because it’s… easier. Because fighting back is harder than giving in. And I — I still do. Everybody’s got darkness. But everybody’s got light, too. That includes you. You’ve done bad things — so have I. But it doesn’t make you a bad person.” Because if it did… didn’t that make Felix a bad person, too? If there were rules for what made someone good or bad, then the same ones applied to everyone. If Felix was good, Teagan was good. If Teagan was bad, Felix was bad. They liked to think the former was more true, for both their sake.

Teagan leaned her check into her free hand, face expressing a mixture of concern for her friend and relief for such understanding. It was bittersweet and dry, a horrible cocktail for Felix to know the taste of, but misery loves company, and the two of them had each other. “For starters, my sweet Felix, I think we’re all a little stupid. Is what life is for, ya know? To learn and get a little less stupid each day.” Teagan scrunched her nose playfully. “Well…” A bob of her head and she chuckled, “If you got a dash of luck, at least.” 

With a breath, she nudged Felix to look at her, urging them to meet her eyes so they could see the honesty in them. “I’m sorry.” She apologized quietly, knowing the ache of losing a mother all too well while also relating to the simmering rage Felix’s father harbored. “None of that could have been easy. That darkness came from your pa, and you did your best to appease his needs when yours should’ve been met. You were a child.” Teagan could hear Arden’s voice when she said those words, a twinge of pain twitching her brows together. It seemed the two of them were opposite sides of the same coin, flipping endlessly in a cycle that they needed to break. The nix had started to, but there was still a long way to go. At least she could speak her truth with a friend, with someone who was willing to understand.

“I…” She paused, gathering her thoughts and trying to keep her sorrow from turning into anger, so the light Felix spoke of would remain. “No one ever came looking for a lost fifteen-year-old who could no longer go home to her mam or her siblings. Alone, I festered and putrefied, and became this. I killed so many hunters with no remorse because they do the same. Because I saw them chopped away and sat in their blood.” Teagan tensed a hand through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut as the tension threatened to consume her as she continued with gritted teeth.

“I get maimed and treated like a hunted animal, but it’s still more morally just to run a dangerous hunter out of town, than it is to let a fae family go? How is that right?” Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, Teagan swallowed, giving Felix a wan smile. “Shite like that has kept me so angry, but I’m trying not to be because of your light. And Arden’s. And a few other friends. But it’s light all the same, from you.” Her thumb stroked across their cheek. “Don’t ever doubt that. Don’t ever doubt that you are good, my sweet, sweet Felix. You pull out the good in people.” 

They liked that. The idea that all life was was trying to get less stupid, the concept that everyone else was just as lost as they were. They weren’t sure how true it was. For most of their life, Felix had felt a step behind most everyone else, like the rest of the world had it all figured out and they were left playing a desperate game of catchup. “I’m not sure I’m so good at the learning part,” they replied, half a joke and half way too honest. “Maybe luck’s just never been on my side.” That felt true, too. Not much of Felix’s life had been a lucky thing. Teagan’s hadn’t, either.

At her prompting, they lifted their gaze enough to meet her eyes, offering a small half-smile and a shrug. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t. Not really. But there was nothing either of them could do about it now, was there? Felix tried to commit to the belief that the best thing to do with the past was to let it go. It couldn’t be changed, couldn’t be corrected. None of the people their father had killed had ever made their mother’s death easier to carry. None of the blood he’d spilled in her name had ever erased hers from the forest floor. “Nobody has it easy. Right? Everybody has their own stuff going on. My dad had his stuff. I had mine. My siblings had theirs. And the people who — who did that to my mom, they had their own stuff going on, too. I think… I don’t know. I don’t hate them anymore. I don’t know if I ever really did. They were just scared.” Couldn’t Felix relate to that? Couldn’t everyone? Fear was the kind of motivator everyone could understand. 

Teagan could, too. That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? She’d been a little kid who’d lost her family, and she’d been afraid. And she grew, and that fear grew with her. It was so much easier to take your fear and weaponize it than it was to sit with it. It was what their father had done, what their siblings had done. Felix understood the temptation of it. Maybe, given more time, they would have done the same. Maybe if Leo hadn’t found them when he had, maybe if they hadn’t left home and come back, maybe if their siblings hadn’t protected them from the worst of it because they were the youngest… There were a lot of maybes here. There were worlds where Felix was more their father’s child than their mother’s. There were universes where they went down a path similar to Teagan’s. They couldn’t judge her for the things they’d done when the only thing that separated them from having done the same were a few choices made by other people.

“I don’t know if there is a right or wrong with things like this,” they admitted, looking back to the water. “It’s not right for hunters to do what they do. But I don’t know if it’s right to do it back to them, either. All the bodies I buried never made any of us safer, you know? It’s just… more of the same.” Teagan was afraid, and so she killed hunters. Hunters were afraid, and so they killed fae. Where did it stop? Why did she deserve to lose more of herself when she’d already lost far too much? Felix didn’t care about hunters on a personal level, didn’t want them to live any more or less than he wanted any stranger to, but he cared about Teagan. More than anything, they wanted her to be okay. And they didn’t think that was possible so long as she was so wrapped up in the death and the killing. They didn’t think anyone could ever be entirely whole in the midst of something like that. And Teagan — Teagan got a choice. She got a say. Felix had to do what they did for the Pit, but Teagan didn’t. And didn’t she deserve a shot to get away from it?

They offered her a smile, leaning into her touch. “You are, too, you know. I know you don’t feel like you are, I know you’ll probably tell me I’m wrong, but you’re a good person. You deserve a chance to grow. So, just… You can put the weapons down. I’ve got your back.” 

“No,” She replied, shaking her head at Felix’s answer. “It isn’t okay. It isn’t right.” Blinking away some tears, Teagan looked up to the sky and thought carefully for a moment, desperately wanting to say or do the next right thing. When it came to her, Xóchitl’s voice dancing in her head, mismatched eyes locked back onto Felix. “Can’t be fixed now—everything that's happened to us, but we do better for ourselves when we acknowledge when things were wrong. We have to or-or we won’t know how to…how to look for things that are good for us…” Teagan paused, eyes scanning the lake so she could let her tears fall. “And accept them.” 

Again, she traced Felix’s scar, smiling tearfully but hopefully at them. Never did she think anyone else but Arden could understand her, and she was starting to think maybe Felix understood her more given their experiences. They were just a victim of the person Teagan had become—that Felix’s father turned into. She didn’t want their friendship to lead to that. Felix deserved more than that. They deserved to have their light reflected back, not swallowed up by the dark pit she’d been digging into all those years. 

“My hands and heart are tired.” The nix managed to say in response to Felix’s powerful statement. Even after all she’s done, they wanted to stay. And how bittersweet was that? Teagan had longed for someone to say that, for her family to have loved her despite her hypocrisy. But they had not, and in their place was someone who was not blood, but who had been through a similar tragedy, accepting her all the same. She sniffled, bonking her head to Felix’s. “Some days…” A breath, and her brows cinched together, releasing with a swallow. 

“I’m numb to the anger and pain. But others? Well, I can feel all of it, and it becomes so much that it feels like I can hardly breathe, but you know what helps?” What Teagan was about to say was a clichè she hated to admit, but she did so anyway. “Letting go little by little and loving a bit more. Ever heard of therapy?” Again, she chuckled, all humor lost in it. “Started that, and I thought it was a bunch of balls, but turns out, it ain’t so bad.” She shook her head, tongue pressing against her cheek. “I don’t know if this is the end or if the pain will win again, and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wanting to kill hunters, but I am trying. For love, for you and everyone I care about, I am trying.” Teagan had to stop herself from telling Felix they were wrong, and she felt called out by their following statement, but she was surprised to find it wasn’t so hard to accept their words as truth. Or as something she wanted to believe in, or at least make true. 

“I’m learning better now—or trying to. Hunters will always be around to take mothers and fathers and siblings from families...” Saltless tears streamed freely, the ball in Teagan’s throat tightening her voice. “I did the same in return. I learned how to be a hunter, be like those wardens and slayers and rangers at age ten. I didn’t see it before, or rather, didn’t want to see it, but I do now.” The lake rippled powerfully, Teagan’s pain mirrored in waves. “I’m a monster. Have been since that day because I saw what a true monster was and could do. I learned how to do what they do.” Water waved harder, and Teagan looked to Felix. It all calmed then, the lake stilling just as quickly as it was disturbed. “I’m just as bad. I’m just as cruel. I’m just as evil.” Save for one hunter, though she wasn’t going to talk about him. “But I want to put it all down. I want to…be free.” She looked toward the cabin, the distance seeming much more daunting with her energy depleted from the emotional rollercoaster. Still, she smiled, even laughing as her joy began to grow. “You know, have that spa day, and do it right.”

“I think… I’m not always the best at knowing what’s good for me.” That was what Leo used to say, in the midst of their arguments. Felix would want something, even something small, and Leo would remind them of all the times they’d been allowed to choose things for themself only to make the wrong decision. They were stupid, he’d say; they’d never known what was best for them. Now, with distance offering some clarity, the balam thought their ex may have been cruel in his accusations, but… he hadn’t been entirely wrong, either. After all, the first thing Felix had ever chosen for themself was Leo. Wasn’t that, and how it had ended, proof enough that they were best at making mistakes?

Maybe Teagan wasn’t the best at choosing, either, but she was better at it than they were. That was how she’d landed Arden, wasn’t it? The only relationship Felix had ever had that lasted more than a heartbeat was with Leo, and that was all the evidence that was needed. She was making improvements, too, was growing as a person and getting better. Felix, by comparison, often felt as though all they ever did was get worse. They went to work every night, and it got easier after a while. It shouldn’t have.

They offered Teagan another smile, wondering if they could make anything resembling a difference here. Nothing they’d done had ever helped their father let go of his grief or anger. Nothing they’d said had convinced their siblings not to follow down that same path. They’d lived most of their life in a bitter stalemate, the last soft thing in a house where softness was seen as a terrible character flaw. “It’s okay to rest when you’re tired. I think you’ve earned that.”

A little laugh escaped from between their lips at the mention of therapy. “I have heard of that,” they confirmed jokingly. It wasn’t something they’d ever thought of for themself. Most of their problems weren’t ones they could talk about; not for lack of wanting to, but thanks to the binds in their Grit Pit contract that silenced them about so many things. “I’m glad you’re learning to do that. You deserve a break, after everything.” From what he understood about Teagan, her life had been a nonstop barrage of trauma since her mother and siblings died, and no one deserved that, even if Felix knew she’d insist she did. “And I think trying counts for a lot.” It was more than their father had ever done, no matter how much they’d begged for it. It was more than Leo had done, too. No one had ever really tried for Felix before. Most people were much more happy to tout how they knew better than Felix did, how Felix was foolish for assuming otherwise. You’re lucky I even put up with you, Leo used to say. But Teagan never made it seem like a chore. That counted for something.

“You’re not a monster,” he said quietly. “You were a little kid, and you were scared. I don’t think anyone can be called a monster for the things they do when they’re scared.” Not Teagan, not their father, not even the people who’d killed their mother all those years ago. Fear might make people capable of terrible things, but it didn’t turn them into monsters. Felix had to believe that no one was so far gone that they couldn’t come back if they chose to. Otherwise, what was the point of any of it? Redemption had to be possible. It had to be. “There’s no such thing as too far gone. If you choose to come back from it, you can. And you’re making the choice, right? All that’s left to do is just… Turn around and start walking. Back towards who you want to be.” It wasn’t an easy path, but it wasn’t an impossible one, either. Nothing really was. The mention of the spa day brought a grin to the balam’s face, and they nodded their head adamantly. “We can definitely do that.”

[koolkat9]

Tailor Made for You

Rating: T

Pairing: EngUkr

Word Count: 2853

Author's Note: I'd like to thank the lovely @fireandiceland for dragging me into this wonderful rarepair!

It was the calm before the storm. Arthur sat just outside the double doors that led to the conference room they would be using for the weekend. He took a large gulp of his coffee. Black and bitter, just what he needed to steel himself for the hell hole he was about to enter.

He was just making his way over to the trash can to throw out his cup when he spotted a very frantic Kateryna. She was rushing towards him, fiddling with her shirt.

“Are you alright Ms. Ukraine?” he asked as she approached.

“Please Arthur…How many times must I tell you Kateryna is just fine.”

“Forgive me. But really, you seem…frazzled.” Kateryna’s grip on her shirt tightened, her gaze falling on it. “I-I…I’m in a bit of a predicament,” she admitted, “My shirt’s top button broke, and well…I look less than professional without it.”

Her grip on her shirt loosened slightly, revealing a bit of her cleavage. Oh. OH. That was what she meant. Arthur, who had been staring for a moment, quickly looked away, blushing furiously. “Ah, I see…W-Well…If you still have the button, I could fix it for you.”

“Oh that would be wonderful, thank you!” She looked around. “Where should we do this?”

“There is a small conference room nearby that’s rarely in use. We can work there.”

Kateryna nodded, letting Arthur lead her.

When they got inside, Arthur locked the door for more privacy.

“Sit there,” he said, gesturing to a nearby chair. He wiggled out of his suit jacket and gave it to her. “I’m going to need you to take your shirt off. Use this to cover up.”

Kateryna’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “O-Oh…Okay. Thank you.”

Arthur turned around, giving her some privacy.

Slowly, Kateryna unbuttoned her shirt, throwing Arthur’s back hesitant looks. He painted himself as a gentleman, so he wouldn’t peek right? She shimmied out of her shirt quickly and picked up Arthur’s jacket. She was much taller than the Brit, and he was a twig, especially compared to her, but at least the jacket would cover her front. It would have to do.

“Done,” she called, handing her shirt and button to Arthur.

“Good. It’ll be just a few minutes.”

Arthur took a seat across from Kateryna and started working, keeping his eyes fixed on the fabric. He looked…kind of cute, so focused on such a small task. Kateryna couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps that gentlemanly demeanour wasn’t just a facade like many thought.

“So…Is this a regular occurrence?” Arthur asked, not looking up from his work.

“Unfortunately yes,” Kateryna sighed, “If it’s not buttons breaking off, the chest area is too tight, or the pant legs aren’t long enough, or the dress doesn’t contain…” She gestured to her chest. “This.”

Arthur nodded along as he sewed.

When he was finished, he lifted the shirt and inspected his work. “There you go,” he said, offering the shirt to her.

“Thank you.”

Arthur turned around once more to allow her to get dressed.

“Hey…” he spoke up after a moment, “I may have a solution to your problem.”

Kateryna looked towards Arthur mid-way through buttoning her shirt. “Really?”

“Let me make you some clothes. Tailor-made to fit you exactly.”

Kateryna froze. That was far too much to ask of him. “Arthur I couldn’t–”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble.” She could tell he was smiling despite his back being turned to her. “I enjoy sewing and knitting in my free time. You’ve just given me a more specific project, which actually helps me.”

“W-Well if it’s not too much trouble…I guess.”

“Then it’s decided,” Arthur cheered. “Can I turn around now?”

Kateryna quickly did the last of her buttons. “Y-Yes. Thank you.”

“We’ll figure out the details after the meeting,” Arthur explained, rising to his feet.

Kateryna nodded and followed him out of the room.

---

Kateryna had arrived early for the meeting. A whole week early to be exact. She was to meet Arthur to get her measurements so he could start his project for her. Guilt still gnawed at her over it. This was such a big thing, and Arthur was doing it free of charge.

She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for this. She lifted her fist to the door and knocked lightly.

Thumping came from the other side before the door opened to reveal a disheveled-looking Arthur. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair was more messy than usual with a few strands standing on end, and bags were starting to form under his eyes. Upon seeing Kateryna he immediately straightened his posture, hands combing over his shirt in an attempt to flatten it.

“Oh, Kateryna. I’m sorry…I…I didn’t realize the time,” he said with an awkward laugh.

“It’s alright.” She gave him a warm smile.

They stared at each other for a moment, awkwardly, before Arthur finally broke away with a shake of his head. “Come in, come in. We’ll be working in the living room.”

He led her a short way down the hall, to a cozy little seating area with a couch, matching green loveseat, and a worn maroon armchair. On the coffee table sat a couple of notebooks, a measuring tape, and a black kitten playing with the items.

“Aww, who’s this little guy?” Kateryna asked, already crouching down and offering her hand to the little ball of fur.

“Oh, that’s Merlin.”

“Hello, Merlin.”

The kitten looked up at Kateryna with wide green eyes before pressing his head against her hand and rubbing against it.

“He’s very friendly,” Arthur explained, “Can’t say the same for Biscuit though…That’s why he’s upstairs.”

“Aw.”

“Alright dear, time to move so I can get to work,” Arthur said to Merlin, picking him up. He rubbed against Arthur’s cheek, purring loudly. “I know, I know. I love you too. Now go play somewhere else.” He placed Merlin on the floor, and the kitten darted upstairs.

Arthur turned back to Kateryna. “So. Shall we get started?”

Kateryna quickly rose to her feet. “Yes, of course.”

Arthur grabbed his measuring tape off the table and moved one of his notebooks close to the edge for quick access. He started with her neck. “Just let me know if it’s too tight,” He murmured, his nose inches from her skin. It made Kateryna blush slightly.

“I’m good,” she replied, perhaps a little too tightly.

Arthur mumbled the measurement to himself before scratching it into the notebook. He repeated the process for her arms, her height, and the length of her legs. He got slightly flustered when it came time to measure her hips, waist, and chest.

“Forgive me,” Arthur murmured as he wrapped the measuring tape around her middle.

He was so close. She could see his long lashes and his face littered with freckles. There was also a little crooked bone near the bridge of his nose. He smelled of earl grey and the earthy smell that lingered after it rained. All things she had never quite noticed before looking at him this closely.

Kateryna held her breath, praying her heartbeat wasn’t as loud as she heard in her ear. Too nervous, she failed to see that Arthur seemed just as flustered, his face bright red as he measured the last few areas.

He scribbled down the last measurements, not daring to look Kateryna in the eye (at least until his blush subsided). Eventually, he closed the notebook. “Now then,” he said with a sigh, “Shall I make us some tea, and we can discuss what kind of clothes you’d like best.”

“That would be wonderful,” Kateryna beamed, “Thank you.”

“How about we enjoy it in the garden? I could use some fresh air.”

“That would be nice."

Arthur led Kateryna out back to the garden to a set of a table and two chairs. He pulled one out for her to sit.

“Thank you,” Kateryna said, accepting the offer.

“Of course. Now, I’ll be right back with the tea.”

“Okay.”

With Arthur gone, Kateryna took a moment to admire Arthur’s garden. The scent of multiple types of flowers mingled in the air making her feel as though she was in a field of wildflowers. She took a deep breath through her nose in appreciation.

It was magical almost, with flowers growing everywhere you looked. Lavender, roses, daffodils, daisies. Almost every flower she could think of had some place in Arthur’s garden. And it all came together with the towering oak in the center. She wasn’t a tree expert, but from the aura alone it seemed very old.

“There we are,” Arthur cheered, putting a tray of tea and biscuits onto the table. He took a seat across from her, added some milk and sugar, and began sipping at his tea. “Now, what kind of clothes would you be interested in? Style, type, fit?”

“I’m not picky, but it can get chilly, so definitely at least some warm clothes. Whatever is easier.”

“Noted. Hmm…Casual or formal?”

“Both if you can.”

“Okay.” Arthur closed the notebook he had and put it on the table. “That’s settled.”

He leaned back, taking another sip of tea. “Feel free to take a biscuit,” Arthur offered, “I made them myself.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Kateryna timidly took a cookie. Now with the topic of clothes out of the way, she wasn’t quite sure what to say next. She and Arthur weren’t exactly friends, and she didn’t know much about him other than what people said (and those images were often skewed).

“You have a lovely garden,” Kateryna complimented after a moment.

“Why thank you. It’s quite the way to pass the time and keep me busy when there is a lull in work.”

“I enjoy gardening too. Though I specialize in sunflowers.”

“I could never get them quite right. I don’t think there is enough sun for them here.”

She nodded in understanding. “Well, you could always come over to my house and see mine.”

“That would be lovely actually.”

For the rest of the afternoon, the two chatted about gardening, exchanging tips, discussing their favourite flowers, and the like. Arthur had even taught Kateryna a little about Victorian flower language. It was a lovely afternoon, to say the least.

But soon afternoon turned to evening, and Kateryna felt like she had overstayed her welcome. “Well, I’ve had a wonderful time,” she said, rising to her feet, “But I better get going.”

“Why not stay in my guest room?” Arthur proposed.

Her brows furrowed slightly “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I couldn’t have you paying for a hotel. Especially since it’s just me this week. My brothers are off visiting friends.”

She felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly. “Okay then. As long as I’m not imposing.”

Arthur gave her a grin. “You could never.”

She returned it with a soft smile of her own and followed him into the house.

---

Arthur had been working for a week straight on Kateryna’s clothes. It was starting to get concerning. His bags had become even darker, he was rarely seen without his knitting or fabric and thread, and when he did stop for a break, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Kateryna couldn’t bear to see him go on like this.

She ate dinner alone that evening, just as she had been for the last few days. But enough was enough. After finishing her meal and making a plate for Arthur, she stormed into the living room where he had been working since lunch.

She placed the plate on the coffee table and towered over the Brit. “Arthur, you need to stop,” Kateryna scolded.

It took Arthur a moment to register she was there; he was nodding off yet again.

Up close, Kateryna could see all the cuts and pokes he had acquired for her sake. Her frown deepened.

“Just this last piece,” Arthur stated, not tearing his eyes away from the fabric, “Then I’ll take a break.”

“You’ve done more than enough. You can’t possibly think you can get this all done in a week.”

“No…But I want you to go home with at least a few pieces.”

Kateryna sighed. When Arthur was sweet, he was sickly so apparently. “Please, Arthur. You’re worrying me.”

“Ow,” Arthur hissed, dropping his needle and shaking his hand. Kateryna took the chance and snatched whatever he was working on away from him. “Kateryna!”

She ignored his string of protest and pulled him up. As she began to drag him, Arthur finally surrendered and let her pull him. She guided him to the bathroom wrapping his deeper injuries in bandaids.

"Are you hungry?" Kateryna asked as she put the last bandaid on, "Or would you rather go straight to bed."

Arthur rose to his feet, wobbling slightly from exhaustion. "I'll eat or else I'll be up in the middle of the night hungry."

Kateryna nodded, steadying him slightly before following him back to the living room.

Arthur only ate half of the plate Kateryna had prepared before he started nodding off. Kateryna quickly grabbed it before he accidentally dropped it. “Let’s get you to bed,” she suggested softly, pulling Arthur to his feet once more.

Arthur nodded, far more compliant than he had been.

She guided him to his room and laid him on the bed. Once he was comfortable, she pulled the covers over him and ensured he was tucked in snuggly.

When she pulled away, Arthur was staring at her intently. For a moment she worried she had gone too far.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured, a small smile spreading across his face.

“You’re welcome. Now sleep.”

She headed to the door, stealing one last glance at Arthur before heading back to the living room.

---

Months passed, and Arthur remained hard at work. Not as hard as he had been though--Kateryna made sure he wasn’t exhausting himself over this. But after months, Arthur finally felt he had made enough and headed over to Kateryna’s house to show it all off to her.

“Oh Arthur,” Kateryna gasped when she opened the door, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I did. You deserve clothes that are both comfortable and stylish.”

Kateryna bit back a laugh. “You sound like Francis.”

“Don’t you ever compare me to that frog,” Arthur spat. But there was a playful glint in his eye, showing he was not serious.

Kateryna let out an amused huff, collecting some of the bags and helping him bring all the clothes inside. She led Arthur to her bedroom, that way she could put all the clothes in her closet once she tried each piece on.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, letting out a sigh of relief as he let the bags fall onto Kateryna’s bed.

“You're welcome.”

Well, she might as well start trying some things on. She opened the bag closest to her and pulled out a lovely evening gown. It was a beautiful, off-the-shoulder dress made of dark blue fabric and decorated with the occasional sparkle of silver on the skirt, matching the wispy accents on the top. It would be perfect for the winter event Arthur had casually invited her to during one of their many phone calls.

“Go on, try it,” Arthur encouraged, arms crossed awkwardly with a lopsided grin.

She nodded and headed to her ensuite to get dressed. Once she slipped into the dress, she was amazed at how well it fit her. It hugged her in the right places, and it actually contained her breasts, unlike most dresses. It was a nice colour on her too. She did a little spin, admiring herself in the mirror.

Minutes later, she stepped out of the washroom. Arthur’s eyes immediately fell on her, jaw literally dropping.

Kateryna blushed slightly, becoming self-conscious under Arthur’s unreadable gaze. “D-Does it look alright?” She stuttered, hands gripping her skirt.

“You look…” Arthur swallowed hard. “You look breathtaking.”

Kateryna’s breath hitched. “Really?”

“Really.”

His eyes were so soft. Kateryna never thought such a short-tempered, jaded man could ever have so much tenderness in his eyes as Arthur did at that moment. He approached her, almost shyly.

“May I try something?” Arthur whispered.

“I guess.”

He reached up, knuckles brushing against her heated cheek before he gently guided her down to meet his lips.

Kateryna let out a surprised noise, having not expected such an action. But eventually, she calmed herself and eagerly kissed back, arms coming to wrap around Arthur’s neck. It was slow, chaste, yet oh so intoxicating.

When they finally pulled away, for a moment, they just stared at each other, smiling, a matching dazed look in their eyes. Kateryna rested her forehead against Arthur’s, her arms remaining loosely wrapped around him.

But slowly, Arthur came down from the high, and his actions caught up to him. He scrambled away, face beet red. “Sorry I…H-How about you just try something else on.”

Kateryna smirked and inched closer. “Okay,” she giggled. But before returning to the bathroom with another outfit, she quickly stole a cheek kiss. She dashed into the bathroom with one of the bags, leaving behind a sputtering Arthur.

[twilightgoldenhour]

i have another fic series in the works (that has been in the works for like at minimum a year) and i’m like frothing at the mouth wanting to post it for that sweet, sweet dopamine but i also don’t want to post it until i have the plot and more than like, a singular chapter written out and i’m like

[jortsaaaaaaart]

To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977     (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief. 

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely  rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you. 

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. 

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff. 

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest. 

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours. 

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?" 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away. 

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out. 

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha. 

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.

[queenmolina]

bobby was in the system 

i’m going into detail about how i imagine it just because that’s what anon asked me to do - if you think this might be upsetting then i advise you to stop reading here <3

i’m going to preempt this with some disclaimers

- i’m british so my pov of the system will be wrong, i’m not even going to try and translate it

- i’m not picking out sad/tragic things to be deliberately upsetting for the sake of an angsty backstory, this is just genuinely how i choose to imagine it happening 

- this is a compilation of my friend and i semi-projecting onto our shared comfort character. im more than happy to share this because i really like this take for bobby, but please be sensitive in any comments you might make in (more for other people’s sake - im comfortable to discuss any of the content)

bobby doesn’t remember his parents. he lived with them for a time and from what people have told him, they were a really happy family. his mom was a therapist and his dad was an author. there are photos of the two of them smiling happily at the camera - some even had a small, baby-faced bobby bouncing on their knee, though they called him robin. it’s on all of his certificates, all of the documents. his name is robin. it doesn’t feel right

when he’s three, bobby’s parents pass. he thinks it must have been some kind of accident - to take them both in one go - but he doesn’t get offered any explanation. he’s almost immediately fostered into a family but there’s so many kids there that it’s basically a foster home. he’s one of the youngest and is immediately babied by all of the older kids which is where he starts to be selective about physical affection/contact with other people

he stays there until he’s six. all of the kids there get moved about when their ‘parents’ (it’s what the kids were told to call them but it never really applied) decided they actually weren’t cut out to look after a dozen children and threw in the towel

six year olds are a bit middle of the range in terms of how quickly people foster/adopt them but bobby’s gained a bit of a reputation for being ‘tricky to manage’ because he’s so fussy - he’s not fussy, he just wants people to stop mollycoddling him and give him some peace and quiet. he stays in a foster home for a year until eventually a couple take him in. but it doesn’t last long - they say bobby acts out and all of a sudden he’s back on the front step with his shopping bag of possessions and they’re passing ‘robin’ back as though he’s a library book and not a child

from the ages of eight to twelve, he gets passed back and forth from one place to the next. some are better than others, obviously. there’s the malone’s where the only other kid is their 17 year old biological daughter who thankfully doesnt much care for ambushing bobby like some of the others had. there’s the harper’s where bobby’s surprised they even passed the social worker visit because the house is a tip - but the carers are nice and he has his own room. there’s the vegaro’s who he even allows himself to hug when he had to leave. the rest of them aren’t even worth remembering. they never lasts, even the nice ones always go wrong. he’s back in the foster home every time he begins to get settled

when he’s twelve, the rate at which he gets fostered slows again. he sidles along with the older kids who seem to have given up hope and spend their days causing trouble or sneaking out of the home just because they can. bobby doesn’t go with them for a few months - until he realises that it’s fine. no one will care if he disappears for a few hours. will they even care if he doesn’t come back at all?

on his thirteenth birthday, one of the carers helps him gather his stuff from his bunk and shove it all into a bag. he’s fed up of trying to find a real home so when a woman shows up to take him, he doesn’t even try for a smile

it’s his aunt. his biological family. she has the same soft features as his mother in the photos and the same dark, pin-straight hair. somehow it manages to hurt more when she wrinkles her nose at his attempts of a conversation

her husband is nice. jerry, his name is. a portly man with a receding hairline and a frequent habit for offering bobby a sip of his beer. he’s not related to bobby by blood but it’s nice to feel like someone’s on his side

his aunt hates him. she doesn’t say it out loud - not when bobby’s in the room - but he sees how she looks at him. he hears her arguing with jerry about him sometimes and saying nasty things about his mother too. she and jerry seem to fall out a lot

she leaves one day. and doesn’t come back.

for once, bobby doesn’t get sent back to the foster home. if anything, he feels more welcomed once his aunt had gone. he and jerry feel like family - a little strained but bobby thinks that must be how all families feel. they watch tv together and even share hobbies. jerry even bought him a guitar, something brand new and for bobby and not second hand. bobby was worried he would have to give it back when the time came for him to return to the home but that wasn’t something to worry about right now. he meets jerry’s friends and family and for once, bobby feel like he has a family of his own

this is also the longest he’s ever stayed at one school. he thinks he might be making friends (he can call them friends this time, they’re not allies. they’re friends)

when he’s fifteen, jerry passes. he hadn’t been very well, it had been getting worse. bobby had seen that it was coming and had half-packed a bag before it had even happened

his new friends from school come to the funeral and sit with him on the front row of pews. alex - who was a foot taller than the rest of them - cowers a little from all of the attention. luke pulls at his sleeves and collar, clearly uncomfortable in the fancy get up, but he offers a sad smile whenever bobby catches his eye. reggie isn’t sure what to make of the whole thing but he can see that bobby’s upset and their shoulders knock together whenever reggie wants to remind him he’s not alone. at one point, bobby even takes reggies hand in his. he would be embarrassed or uncomfortable at the contact except he’s lost his family and he’s probably going to lose his friends too

instead of going back to the group home, he’s asked to move in with jerry’s mother, althea

she has a pretty big house and a garage which she converts into a space for bobby to hang out. he’s still unused to having his own room so to have two feels a little overwhelming. he invites his friends over to fill the space and when luke asks to start a band, bobby allows him to convert the garage into a makeshift studio. althea doesn’t mind, in fact she encourages it.

bobby isn’t the best at putting his thoughts into words but he can put them into action so when the boys start having trouble at home, he makes one thing very clear: the studio is their home. the studio belongs to all of them and if they ever need a place to stay, they should stay here. this is their home, where they’re loved and looked after. bobby tells them this in fewer words but he hopes they understand

(he’s not sure why the boys are so upset about their home lives - bobby would do anything to be with his parents. that is until he sees alex stifling hot tears or luke choking up over his test results or reggie knocking on his bedroom window at two am, desperate to escape the noise. then he gets it)

luke moves in and bobby starts carting his dinners to the studio to eat. althea pretends not to notice that there’s another boys clothes in her laundry loads and just starts doubling bobby’s food portion to make sure they both get enough

then it goes wrong. and bobby loses another family.

althea teaches him things to keep him distracted. she shows him how to knit, teaches him more tagalog, more recipes. it does nothing to make him feel better but he could never tell her that. he’s grateful for every moment she spends with him. she didn’t owe him anything and yet she took him in. the least he could do is try to smile and forget about his boys for a moment. for her. 

she’s the one that encourages him to keep creating music, to make them a legacy they can be remembered by. it doesn’t work out that way in the end and she’s the only person that understands how the guilt weighs him down quite so much

years later, when he’s told that he’s going to be a father, his first thought is to run. he can barely cope with being responsible for himself, let alone another person. but it wasn’t his choice, she was going to have the baby. he was going to be a father

carrie is three when her mother leaves. it feels like another cruel twist of fate, like a knife in his gut. he always wondered when it would be his turn to go. he’s 29 and maybe he should’ve gone 26 years ago with his parents, or 14 years ago with jerry, or 12 years ago with his boys. but he would not let carrie have his struggles. so he cries to althea alone and puts on a brave face for his daughter

[buck-buck-boose]

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild descriptions of injuries

Word Count: 2.3k

Author's Note: My apologies, writer's block got the best of me.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The European Theater

June 11, 1943

Lottie’s heart was restless and mournful once more, with every beat she couldn’t help but notice the splinters and cracks that had webbed their way across its surface. Without her two best friends, she could never be completely whole. She put on a strong, clinical face, of course, but there were countless times that her emotional turmoil seemed as real as any wound she’d become accustomed to treating. Months had passed since Dr. Erskine’s assassination. It had been months since she’d been relieved of her duties on Project Rebirth. Months since she’d been torn away from Steve. One year, five months, and twenty-nine days since she’d stood on a train platform, watching as Bucky faded from view.

It had been a rather grim day when she’d received orders that she would be shipped out to London with the SSR. The morning after Dr. Erskine’s tragic death, she and her peers had been summoned to take blood samples from Steve; they were under the impression that it was for continued research purposes. The five of them had been exhausted, nearly asleep on their feet from staying awake all night. They’d tried to sleep at first, but all attempts were abandoned when all they could see was the lifeless body of their mentor every time they shut their eyes. They had held a silent vigil, nestled in their own beds with wide eyes, waiting anxiously for daybreak.

Once their duties had been completed, they followed Steve into the dimly lit central command room of the SSR. The room had been buzzing with energy, with agents milling about and Howard Stark in the midst of it all, tinkering away at some machine. Lottie had looked to Agent Carter, expecting new orders regarding blood sample analysis and re-developing the serum by studying Steve’s cellular structure; Colonel Phillips came along to crush her hopes of continued research.

“As of this morning, the SSR has been re-tasked,” Colonel Phillips began, his gaze firm on the nurses, “The president has ordered us to eliminate Hydra on the front lines. Project Rebirth had been officially shut down, and as employees of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, you ladies will be flying out on a new assignment with us.”

Nancy was the first to protest, “But sir, you said you wanted an army of Super Soldiers—”

Colonel Phillips held up a hand to silence her, “Ms. Powell, we are in the thick of a war, we don’t have the time or the money to redevelop a serum. You are all under contract with the SSR; these are your orders. We’re flying to London tonight.”

All that the nurses could do was look from each other to Agent Carter, who graced them with a small, sad smile. She’d just received the orders as well; it must have been somewhat of a surprise for her.

“What about Steve? He’ll be joining us, right?” Colonel Phillips stiffened slightly at her familiarity with the Super Soldier, most SSR agents accepted their strong bond, but Colonel Phillips never wavered in his beliefs regarding the relationships between soldiers and their nurses.

“Given that Rogers is our only Super Soldier, he is an extremely valuable asset, not one to be thrown willy-nilly into a war. He’ll be staying stateside while we handle the dirty work overseas. Senator Brandt has offered Rogers a promotion, which he's already accepted.”

Frustration bubbled in Lottie’s chest, “So we spent over a year slaving away in that lab and creating the perfect serum for your Super Soldier just for you to toss our hard work aside? He is perfectly capable of being on the front lines!”

The thought of Steve being sent into the belly of the beast that was Hydra had almost made Lottie sick, but the thought of her hard work going to waste agitated her to no end. Going to war was quite literally what he'd been made for, this was the goal from the get-go.

“Ms. Green, we know perfectly well what Rogers is capable of. He has exactly what it takes to carry out his mission here in the states flawlessly.” He dismissed them without waiting for a response, reminding them to “Be ready for takeoff at twenty-one hundred hours.”

The rest of that day had been a flurry of hurried goodbyes and the packing up of what little belongings they’d brought with them. Letting go of Steve was nearly impossible. They bade each other farewell on the runway, the airplane stood in front of them in all of its aluminum glory, moonbeams bouncing off of its surface.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this to you all over again.” Lottie’s gaze was sorrowful, focused on her sturdy black shoes. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye; his eyes always bore through her with an intensity she couldn’t handle at the moment.

“Hey, at least I’ll actually know where you’re going this time,” Steve half-joked. He nudged her foot with his own to draw her attention upward. His face had grown serious, “While you’re over there, make sure you keep an eye out for Bucky, alright? I haven’t gotten any word on where he is, but he’s with the hundred and seventh.”

Lottie knit her brows together and memorized the number. One hundred and seventh. One hundred and seventh. She would have to fight tooth and nail, climb every mountain and ford every stream, just to find James Buchanan Barnes once more.

But at the moment, she had to fight tooth and nail to get this Italian to sit still so she could properly disinfect and stitch his shrapnel-inflicted wound.

Shortly after their arrival in London, the SSR had shipped out to a base in Tunisia from which they could aid in Allied campaigns along the southern coast of Italy; there were plans to capture Sicily, but first, the Allied powers needed to station themselves on surrounding islands. So, they found themselves on the minuscule island of Pantelleria.

Unfortunately, the surrender of the island to the Allied powers was only achieved through 19 days of aerial bombardment. Lottie, her peers, and a small band of fresh-faced nurses had been left to deal with the casualties.

The mousy-haired nurse stood before a bedridden, red-faced man, whose plump fingers were wrapped around his thigh in an attempt to compress his wound. Lottie was armed with her newly acquired Italian-to-English dictionary, penicillin, bandages, and all that was needed to stitch up his wounds. She flipped through the pages of the dictionary; her mouth set in a firm line.

“Bisogno,” she began, gesturing to his freely flowing wound, “Pulire e cucire. Io aiuto.”

Half a dozen other nurses had attempted the same thing, all had offered to treat him, but the man had treated them all with the same oafish aggression that he was showing her.

“A fanabla! Non ho bisogno del tuo aiuto.” He used his free hand to wave her off, spittle spewing from his lips due to his intensely glottal speech. The movement of his deep brown eyes, how they flickered to and fro, indicated his increasing agitation in such a high-stress environment. Lottie genuinely understood his hesitation to accept her help; he and his kinfolk had just spent the past nineteen days trying to survive a deluge of attacks from the Allied forces. Why should he accept help from the very people who nearly destroyed their island?

Lottie gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her dictionary, “Prego, signore!” For once, she wished that Nancy would show up out of the blue to push her aside and take matters into her own hands, but there were far too many injuries for multiple nurses to work on the same patient at once.

“Lasciami in pace, cretina!” He growled, flinging his free hand out to knock her tray of supplies aside. Lottie stabilized the tray on his bedside table before any supplies could become contaminated, no way in hell was she going to spend another fifteen minutes re-sterilizing those damn syringes.

She’d about had it with the man. If she transferred him to another nurse, the SSR would surely doubt her abilities as a well-established nurse. Lottie would surely deal with more aggressive soldiers on the front lines. Forgoing any sort of decorum or professionalism, she pinned his free wrist down to the cot with her right hand, “Io aiuto. O tu morire.” The foreign words were awkward on her tongue and she didn’t sound nearly as assertive as she’d wished, but the Italian man finally gave in, grumbling what was probably an assortment of curses at her.

Lottie made quick work of removing the shrapnel that had embedded itself into the man’s skin in muscle. It was relatively easy, as she’d had enough practice that morning, dealing with what felt like dozens of injuries just like his. When the island had finally been surrendered, a bevy of nurses and medics had been flown in, Lottie and her peers included.

The Cadet Nurse Corps’ newly initiated training programs had been quite beneficial for such circumstances, but with such accelerate courses of study, many of the nurses were inexperienced and uncertain in their abilities. Thus, most of the morning was spent overseeing the work of the newer nurses; the advice was administered when needed and tasks were delegated to the older nurses when stitches were too tight and fingers too shaky.

The Italian man’s wound was just one of many, at this point. The only remarkable aspect of the interaction was his temperament. Sure, many other islanders had expressed distrust and dismay with the Allied forces, but they had at least been more eager to be treated for their injuries.

“Fatto presto, signore,” she murmured as she began the careful work of stitching his lacerations shut. Her Italian was dreadful, comprised entirely of juvenile phrases and briefly memorized words that could just barely communicate her intentions to her patients. She knew that she probably looked to be a bumbling idiot in their perspectives.

By the time she was finished, nearly every inch of her skin was damp with sweat— although the medic tent provided shade from the sun, its heat, combined with the body heat of so many civilians seemed to suffocate her. The air was thick, her curls clung to the nape of her neck, and her once crisp white dress had become damp and splotched with various hues of orange and blood, remnants of blood and dust.

The former nurses of Project Rebirth remained close, even after the termination of their research, they were often found huddled in one corner of the nurse’s tent, playing cards and smoking, or whispering gossip of their next assignment.

“How long do you think they’re gonna keep us here?” Mary glanced over the edge of her letter, looking to Gladys expectantly. Gladys was always in the know with these sorts of things, keeping quiet and listening in around the higher-ranking officers.

Gladys hummed in thought, rolling an unlit cigarette between her fingers, “From what I’ve heard, we might be heading toward mainland Italy soon. But I’m not sure.”

Lottie frowned, “But what about Operation Husky? I mean, we just bombed this damn place for a good base to capture Sicily.”

“Well, I’ve heard there’s a Hydra base on the mainland. These girls might stay behind for Operation Husky, but we’re better prepared for whatever Hydra has in store for us.”

Betty groaned, “I don’t care where they send us, so long as the soldiers aren’t great louts like these guys.” Lottie had to agree, the soldiers stationed with them in Tunisia and on Pantelleria had been rather uncouth. They drank far too heavily most nights, which typically resulted in uncomfortable interactions between the men and the nurses.

A voice piped up from the other end of the nurse’s tent, a girl of only around 19— her name might have been Nelly —smiled at them brightly over a newspaper, “Well wherever you go, I hope you get to see a USO show because I’d give anything to see Captain America!”

“Sorry, who?” The name was somewhat familiar to Lottie, but she and the other women had never shown particular interest in the USO. All that she knew was that their shows usually had chorus girls all dressed in short skirts and red lipstick, just what a soldier needed to see after what seemed like an eternity in hell.

Nelly ambled over and tossed her newspaper onto Betty’s bed, which the women usually crowded around. None of the women spoke as they took in the headline: “The Star-Spangled Man’s European Tour.”

“What the hell?” Betty broke the silence and held the newspaper up to the light, squinting at its front page. The mouths of the other four nurses were agape, they were at a loss for words as they processed the fact that the culmination of their hard work was being brandished as some sort of cheery mascot for the war effort.

Lottie felt a righteous anger building within her. It was one thing to separate her from one of her best friends for the sake of pursuing separate missions, but this? This was a joke. Laughable, really. She could only think of the late nights, the early mornings, every moment of their time at Camp Lehigh had been dedicated to perfecting the Super Soldier serum. Now that they had their Super Soldier, they decided to waste his talent and their hard work. It was a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. Lottie could only hope that Steve would be reassigned after his European tour; he was destined to be more than just a show pony, she was sure of it.

[firstofficerwiggles]

Dress Code, Part 2

Link to Part 1, Part 3 (T rated), Part 3 (M rated)

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Some swearing, Jealous!Din, sexy dancing, touching

Summary: You continue to challenge Din about what you choose to wear. Pretty fluffy overall. Plans for a Part 3.

Word Count: ~4200

Author’s Note: I am not good at making up planet names so I will admit to totally stealing these. Eridani is the name of a real star and Alastria and Chantil are both from Star Trek. Also again a little hint of Ed Sheeran in the dancing scene.

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

“Are you serious? More snow?” Your voice is incredulous as you fly over the frosted winter landscape of the planet Alastria. It’s been two weeks since you won your wager against the Mandalorian and you haven’t had any opportunity to wear anything that he could consider even remotely revealing. First he took you to Hoth, and although you and the child had a great time playing in the snow, you spent the whole time covered in sweaters and a giant parka. You had laughed it off though, enjoying his cleverness at finding a way to circumvent your win. But then, he had dragged you to Eridani and Chantil each one colder than the next. Plus to add to his diabolical plan, he has purposely been keeping the Razor Crest’s internal temperature low in order to ‘save on fuel’ so you can’t even wear your lighter clothes on board. You’ve been so covered up you might as well be wearing your own suit of beskar.

You suppose it hasn’t been all that bad though, you begrudgingly admit to yourself. The three of you have been spending more time together as you’ve been traveling. Lately it seems like Din always finds a way to be around you and the child. In the past he’s preferred his pilot’s seat while flying even with the autopilot engaged, but now he seems to find little projects to do wherever you are. Like the evening you were cuddled up with the baby telling him various fairy tales and Din had sat near you both spending the whole time cleaning the same blaster. Or when you were baking cookies, and he had decided to reorganize some supplies that happened to be right next to where you were working. Finally, the other day he had even thrown off the pretense of being busy and joined in and helped you and the child build a blanket fort in the hull. As the baby napped on a pile of pillows inside the fort, Din had stayed with you in there, just resting for once while you both had the chance.

With all of this closeness, you had hoped there might be some movement on the romantic front between the two of you, but there hasn’t been anything definitive in that area. You must have replayed him calling you ‘sweetheart’ a million times in your head, but he hasn’t said anything like that again. You’ve tried to show him how interested you are, wearing your necklace everyday so he can see it, smiling at him as much as possible, teasing him, and going so far as to touch him with little brushes of your hand, a pat on the shoulder, or even a squeeze of his arm whenever you get the opportunity. He seems receptive enough to your flirting, yet he’s given you so little response you wonder if he’s realized what you’re trying to do.

The Mandalorian’s voice brings you out of your musing, “I thought we could visit my old mentor, Davi. His town might be in the mountains, but it’s nice, I think you’ll like it, despite the cold.” He smirks a little under his helmet. He knows he should probably feel a bit guilty at the tour of icy worlds he’s been giving you, but honestly, he’s been enjoying getting under your skin each time you land on another freezing planet and he hears you sigh over having to bundle up again. He should probably admit to himself that he does miss seeing your dresses, but you look cute even under all those layers. Plus he was right, your necklace looks good with all of those sweaters and heavy knits you’ve been forced to wear.

“Who is Davi?” you ask, curious to know more about Din’s past.

“He sponsored me when I first joined the guild. I was his apprentice for two years before I starting hunting my own bounties.” Din tells you. “He’s retired now, and he lives with his niece, Isa. I think you’ll like them both.”

Even with the snow and ice, you can see that Davi and Isa’s town is charming, and you enjoy the quaint buildings with their pretty trim. It reminds you of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child in the winter. The majestic mountains make for a stunning backdrop too and you are glad that Din brought you here. He notices the happy light in your eyes as he says, “I knew you’d like it here,” rather smugly.

“Yes, yes, you know everything,” you reply, rolling your eyes only slightly at him.

You arrive at a brightly lit home that oozes warmth and coziness from its frosty windows, and when Davi throws open the door, you receive a cordial welcome that makes you feel like he is your old friend too. Davi is thrilled to see Din and even more delighted to meet you and the baby. Even though Din has introduced you as his friend, Davi teases the Mandalorian about finally meeting his lovely family. Davi’s niece, Isa is also quite pleased to meet you and she even hugs you in greeting. She’s a pretty young woman in her early 20s with bright eyes and a cheerful smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she tells you excitedly, “I thought I was in for another ‘guy’s visit’ having to hear all of their old hunting tales again.”

“Oh come on, Isa, you love that story about the crazy Gungan we had to chase through the swamp,” Davi reminds her with a laugh.

“Sure, maybe the first 100 times I heard it,” Isa retorts. “I’m looking forward to some quality girl time instead.”

“That sounds great,” you tell her. You have been living in a heavily testosterone-laden climate and it has been forever since you’ve had the opportunity to hang out with another woman and just do ‘girl’ things. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d love to go shopping and maybe get our hair styled too?” She suggests, “There’s this great party tonight and I wanna look fabulous!”

“Count me in!” you reply enthusiastically. You look over at Din for a moment though, hoping he’s not going to insist that he needs to accompany you shopping like he usually does. But he’s obviously comfortable here and he just gives you a small nod. “Let’s go now.”

Isa notices your exchange with interest, but doesn’t say anything, yet. She can’t wait to get you alone though and grill you all about your relationship with the mysterious warrior. You head back out into the snowy streets with Isa chatting excitedly about the shops and the fantastic salon that she’ll be taking you to. You arrive at a store with many party dresses, they’re beautiful but most of them are a bit risqué too. You’re just starting to look when Isa interrupts you with “Ok, spill, I want to hear all about you and Mando.”

“There’s not much to tell, I’m the nanny to his foundling.” You try to tell her, but your cheeks flush and she knows there’s more.

“Oh c’mon, I can tell you’re not ‘just-the-nanny’,” she laughs lightly. “He’s never ever brought a woman to meet Davi before.”

“Well, a few weeks ago I thought there was more starting to happen between the two of us,” you say and then tell her about the necklace and your silly wager. “I really thought that was leading to something…” you trail off and shrug, “but I guess not?”

“What?!? There is definitely something happening,” Isa asserts. “That was super romantic of him to buy you that necklace, and he clearly gets jealous of other men paying attention to you. He likes you.” She says it like it’s a fact. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Maker, I do, so much, probably too much,” you admit to Isa. “He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I know he seems rough and dangerous, and he can be, but he is also very kind, respectful, and considerate. You should see how gentle and soft he can be with the child. I don’t even care that I’ve never seen his face.”

“Your whole face lights up when you talk about him,” Isa is beaming at you. “I think you need to tell him how much you care.”

“But if he doesn’t feel the same way, it will just make everything awkward and weird.” You want to believe Isa, that Mando reciprocates your feelings, but the alternative scares you too much.

“He feels the same way.” She is confident about that. “But, maybe you could just give him a little push, feel him out more,” she says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Let’s find you a killer dress and make sure he takes you to this party tonight.” Isa turns back to the dresses pulling out several that are very sexy. “It’s in the hot springs caverns and it’s warm and steamy in there all the time,” Isa explains.

“Wait, so no bundling up?” you ask hopefully.

“Just for the walk there, but once we’re inside you’ll be plenty warm. So, we’re going find you something that shows plenty of skin,” Isa declares.

Gathering a pile of garments, Isa pulls you to the dressing rooms and then you both try on several looks that range from seductive to downright lascivious. She is partial to an electric blue dress that is tight on her figure and has several cutouts exposing various sections of her skin. The dress you find is surprise, surprise, silver, in a halter style. The bodice is tight fitting with a deep vee that ends just at the top of your stomach before flaring out into a flirty mini skirt looking like molten metal is pouring off of your hips. Your back is almost totally bare save for two delicate straps that cross over one another to hold the bodice in place. It is a lot more skin than you normally show, but you have to admit you look great. Light winks off of your necklace and you smile to yourself thinking about how your Mandalorian might react to seeing you like this.

“That’s the one!” Isa announces handing you a pair of strappy stilettos to try on with the dress. They are the perfect final touch. The rest of your time with Isa passes quickly in a happy haze of hair styling and gossip. She tells you about her friends and the guy she wants to impress. You’re really looking forward to tonight, but you’re worried, “How are we going to convince Mando to go to this party?” you wonder to Isa, “It’s not really his thing.”

“Leave everything to me.” Isa sounds like she is up for the challenge.

You and Isa return to her home giggling cheerfully about your big plans for the evening. Din loves seeing you so happy, his only regret is that you can’t have more days like this one. He had a long talk with Davi about all that has happened since he first found the child and the dangerous path it has thrust all three of you on. Fortunately for Din, his old mentor is more tactful than his niece merely providing a friendly ear as Din lists all of his concerns for your life with him. Davi can tell that Din cares for you more than he is admitting, but he doesn’t push the point. Instead, he calmly suggests that you appear to be able to meet the trials of living with a bounty hunter, otherwise you probably would have left by now. Din nodded in agreement to that, making Davi smile knowingly to himself.

As you sit down to dinner with everyone, Isa chats animatedly about your fun day together and suggests that you prolong your visit by a few days. Din, who ate his own meal in private beforehand, seems amenable to the idea, this town is fairly remote and only Greef Karga remembers Mando’s connection to Davi. As Isa talks, she manages to casually bring up the party to her uncle. Din is only half-listening as he is focused on the baby actually eating his food and not playing with it, until Isa says, “And you don’t have to worry about our safety, Uncle, because Mando will be there to watch over us!”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Din’s head snaps up.

“I think it’s a great idea!” Davi replies, delighted, “The ladies are all excited for you to take them to that party in the caverns tonight.”

“A party?” Din sounds like you are going to drag him to a deadly ambush. Except he feels more confident that he can handle the deadly ambush.

“Oh come on, you’re still a young man, you’ll have a wonderful time with these beautiful women. And I can take care of the little one,” Davi urges him, “after all he loves his Uncle Davi.” Davi tickles the child under the chin and receives a joyful coo in return.

“Please, Mando,” you give him your most hopeful look, “I promise we’ll have fun.”

Din sighs, but he knows he can’t say no when you’re looking at him like that, he’s not made of stone. “Alright.”

“Great! We’ll go get dressed!” Isa springs into action pulling you with her. You both manage to get ready in record time knowing that you don’t want to give Din any opportunity to back out on your plans. Before you leave her room though, both you and Isa make sure your cloaks are completely covering your outfits for the night. You caution Isa that if Din has even one inkling of what you have on, you won’t be going anywhere. You are thankful your cloak is so long that only the toes of your shoes peek out.

Isa leads you out of town towards the caverns and you see other young people heading in your direction. She discreetly stays ahead of you and Din the whole time under the guise of being the leader but mostly so you two are walking side by side. The new shoes are higher than anything you’ve worn for a while so you lean in and take Din’s arm. He seems to take this as perfectly natural and helps steady you on your feet. When you arrive at the caverns, balmy air hits you and you breathe it in welcoming the warmth. Isa ushers you in and leads you to a place where you can leave your cloaks. You can’t resist being a bit dramatic now that your big moment is here and you let your cloak drop from your shoulders in one fluid motion before handing it over. Then you do a small twirl to let the Mandalorian get a good look at you.

Din’s mouth goes completely dry and he feels like his heart skips several beats as he takes you in. He is thankful that his helmet hides his expression because there is no way he could hide the raw desire he is feeling right now. You look more gorgeous than he could have imagined. The silvery dress makes your curves sparkle alluringly and all he can think about is running his hands all over the silky looking material and then moving on to all of your soft exposed skin. Plus the color of the dress perfectly matches his armor, making it look like you belong with him. He feels as if all of the blood in his body is rushing to one sensitive spot and it’s making him slightly lightheaded. You are smiling at him expectantly, but he has forgotten how to speak. He has to clear his throat twice before he can ground out, “What is that?”

Ok, that wasn’t what you expected him to say. “It’s my new dress,” you retort, a little exasperated.

“That is not a dress. That is pieces of fabric pretending to be a dress.” He sounds frustrated and like he is trying to control himself.

“Hey, you remember our deal, you can’t say anything critical about my clothing.” You give him a pointed look.

“You look like walking sex.” He hisses at you.

“Well, I am going to take that as a compliment.” You flip your hair over your shoulder and huff off in the direction of Isa and a group of friends she has found. If Mando wants to be a fuddy-duddy all night, you’re going to let him. Isa is fun and you’re sure her friends will be too. You put your smile back on and square your shoulders in determination as you stride over towards them.

The caverns have been lit with several colorful lights which bounce off of the icy walls and the pools of hot steaming water. There’s a band playing music with a strong beat, a lively dance floor, and several servers circulating with fancy drinks. Isa cheerfully introduces you to her friends, one of whom is a handsome man with golden brown hair and a charming smile, named Guy. He seems to be a bit of a scoundrel, but when he voices how beautiful you are, you can’t help but be flattered. He’s telling you about his job as a pilot for a transport ship, trying to impress you with tales about near misses with ex-Imperials, when he notices the Mandalorian who is not-so-subtly invading your personal space.

Din had watched you walk away, a bit mesmerized by your swinging hips. Of course, by the time he gets his feet moving in your direction, some asshole is already flirting with you. He sees the man flash you a toothy smile and he even has the audacity to lean in and pick up your necklace, Din’s necklace, under the guise of admiring it, all the while staring blatantly at your breasts. Din hears his pulse roaring in his ears as he comes to loom over you and glare at this jerk.

“Hi, Mando,” you say a little sarcasm in your voice at the greeting, “meet Isa’s friend, Guy.”

“Guy?” Mando drawls out incredulously.

“Hey man, nice to meet you,” Guy is affable. “Didn’t catch your name?”

Mando just stares at him and then says, “Seriously, your name is Guy?”

“Guy was just telling me about making the Kuiper run in under 20 parsecs,” you break into the frosty exchange.

“Impossible,” is all Mando says drily.

“No, really,” Guy insists, “I managed to do it by skimming by a black hole.”

“It’s impossible,” Mando says again.

“Maybe you and Guy can trade piloting tips?” you say, adding a small chuckle to ease the tension.

“Not fucking interested.” Mando is being downright rude to him. You’ve never known him to act this way to someone who wasn’t a threat. Luckily, Isa comes to your rescue as she brings her friend Lisbeth over to meet Mando. He seems to come back to himself a bit and is polite as he greets Isa’s friend.

“Are you two together?” Guy questions you nodding his head in Din’s direction.

“Not like that,” you reply, “we’re just friends.” But you say it as if you don’t really believe it.

“You sure?” Guy smiles shrewdly at you.

“Well, he’s never said otherwise,” you conclude with a small shrug.

“In that case, how would you like to dance with me?” Guy holds out his hand to you and gives you a wink. You can’t help but glance back at Mando for a moment, but then turn your gaze back to Guy and say yes. You don’t imagine that Din will ask you to dance anyway as he seems determined to be a grump tonight, plus you’re pretty certain he doesn’t know how to dance.

Guy leads you to the crowded floor and you begin moving to the beat of the heart-pumping music. At first you’re just dancing next to Guy but then he starts closing the distance between you two and eventually puts his hands on your hips. He pulls you in a little closer to him but then suddenly he’s gone, being shoved away roughly by a beskar-clad arm.

“If you’re going to dance, you’re going to dance with me.” Mando tells you possessively. His hands replacing Guy’s on your hips, pulling you in close to him.

“Mando!” you squeak out in surprise at his abrupt appearance. “Is he ok?” You turn your head to look for Guy, embarrassed that Din has so rudely dismissed him.

“I don’t give a damn,” Din tells you as he reaches up and turns your chin so that you are looking back at him. Ironically, the lead singer of the band is belting out a warning to a woman not to fuck with his love. You face flushes as you look into the black visor of the helmet.

“I- I didn’t think you’d want to dance,” you stammer out, stunned by his actions.

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask you,” he replies and he begins to direct your hips to sway with his to the music. You move with him in a sultry pattern. You were wrong, Din does know how to dance. You move your arms up to encircle his neck as you let yourself relax into the movements, your bodies syncing together with the beat.

As the music changes a bit, he turns you in his arms and pulls you against him until you are flush with his body. You lean into his chest feeling the cool metal of his cuirass against your bare back and he dips his head down to your ear, and says “I like dancing with you.” His voice seems huskier than normal.

“I do too,” you tell him in reply. You’re feeling bolder now and you roll your hips over his and brush against something hard that is definitely not beskar. He groans deeply and then turns you around again so he can look in your eyes as he asks, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“I think I have some idea,” you say flirtatiously and give him a wink. He pulls you back into him with a growl and guides your body into a move so sensual it makes your head spin. His hands are on your bare back now and even though it’s only the leather of his gloves that touch you, the heat coming off of them is undeniable. You can’t resist telling him, “Your hands feel good on me.” He doesn’t say anything in reply but merely tightens his grip on you and then lets his hands explore more of your back.

You lose track of time as you focus only on the Mandalorian and the way you move together. You’ve both become quieter the more you dance as if you no longer can handle verbally teasing each other and just want to feel. Each song blends into the next, and it’s like you are the only two people in the room. A sonic charge could go off and you wouldn’t even notice. When the lights flicker to signal the end of the party, you’re surprised. It takes you a moment to come back to reality, you feel like you’ve just awoken from the middle of an intoxicating dream and your head is a little dizzy. Fortunately, Din seems more in control, and he guides you towards Isa and the exit. Isa! You completely forgot about her. When you reach her, she gives you a sneaky smile and hands you your cloak. As you take it from her, she leans in and whispers, “I told you so.” Din takes the cloak from your hands and places it around your shoulders covering you back up against the cold. Then he takes your hand in his and threads his fingers through yours as he leads you back out into the dark night. All three of you are quiet as you walk back to Isa’s home. When you arrive, Din tells Isa, “We won’t come in, we’ll just let the child sleep here and come back in the morning.”

“Not too early,” Isa says rather cheekily, “I’m sure you’ll need your rest.”

As you head back to the ship with Din, your stomach flips at the idea of being alone with him all night. You shiver a little in anticipation.

“Are you cold?” he asks, noticing the shiver.

“Only a little,” you tell him, not wanting to give away the real reason.

“Maybe you should be wearing more clothing,” Din says, but there is a teasing tone to his voice now.

You reach the ship and head inside. It’s a little chilly in there but not as bad as you thought it might be. You whisk your cloak off of you again, headless of the cold, wanting Din to see you in the dress again.

“I’ll make you a new deal,” he says, his helmet moving up and down as if he is looking you over. “I’ll take you to some warmer planets and I won’t complain about your clothing, but only if you promise to never wear that dress in public again.”

The dress has served its purpose, better than you could have anticipated. “Alright, it’s a deal,” you tell him with a smile.

“Although,” Din drawls out, “if you want to wear it again when we’re alone together, I’d like that.”

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

Thank you for reading! I promise there will be a Part 3 (if I can, I’ll do one T rated and one M rated). Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

@sleepwithacommunist @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings @mackycat11 @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @dee-rosemary @boomtownboy @mandosboobiez @hoodjarin @haley7242

[spookieloop]

WHAT THE DEAD MEN SAY

Chapter One:

Pairing: Ivarr Ragnarsson(AC Valhalla)/Female!Reader

Premise: You are an archeologist/linguist in the Victorian era, and your world is turned upside down when a certain Viking Warlord returns to life before your eyes.

Rating: Explicit(there is a bit of NSFT at the end, and there will be more in later chapters)

In truth, you hadn’t wanted to attend this party. The museum was...nice, but you were quite familiar with most of the exhibits. Your presence had been politely mandated by the foundation that pays your bills, if only on account of your relative fluency in a number of dead languages and scripts. Not that you were given the proper respect for your achievements. “Greatest Female Mind of the 19th Century,” to distinguish you from the men, who won far greater respect for far less work. You weren’t sure how many more questions about your ‘spinsterhood’ you could withstand; as though none of your accomplishments held weight without a ring on a finger or a child on your hip. The other scientists were the worst of course; they had seen you work, knew your intelligence, yet it served their egos to pretend as though you were lesser.

It is far too much frustration, with far too little alcohol. Perhaps wine, yes; a quick trip to the cellars to clear your head ought to do you some good. You excuse yourself, your colleagues all too willing to believe you some dithering lady with need to retire for a bit; as though they hadn’t seen you trek through hot sun and freezing rains.

You roll your eyes as you turn away, your heels tip tapping against the marble floors as you make your escape.

It is however, a large building, and the lower floors are beginning to feel more like a labyrinth than a basement. At this point, you are more interested in finding your way out than you are in seeking out more wine.

The further you go into the basement, the less light there is, fortunately, you come prepared. You rummage through your satchel for your candles and matches, shedding some light on your surroundings.

The breath is stolen from your lungs and you all but shriek at the sight before you, a wide skeletal grin seeming to stare down at you. You calm down quickly however, realizing that this must be where the museum keeps its new exhibits before they go on display. Holding the candle closer to the skeleton’s glass case, you see evidence of water damage, as though it had been found at the bottom of a lake after centuries of rest...you frown as your flame illuminates the brass plaque.

Ivarr Ragnarsson

Of course, this must be from the recent Viking Age find. You had been requested for this project, but you refused. Normally, you were a go-to for Viking cultural finds, but this...The Foundation had decided to dredge the lake in search of high-profile remains. You were sickened by the idea, it felt as though your colleagues were disturbing the extensive rituals of the honored dead. You loved history, but this...felt wrong.

Wrong could not even begin to cover what you were about to witness.

You watch in awe as the bone seems to rejuvenate from its formally eroded state; awe giving way to horror as blood and flesh materializes seemingly from nowhere, knitting together to reform the man from the inside out. His face wears a blank expression, not quite alive, as the scars tear across his flesh, ink bubbling up to the surface to reform his tattoos. Your fingertips ghost against the glass inquisitively, your fears all but forgotten as you marvel at his form. Until now, you could only guess at what the people of the distant past truly looked like; and now here he is, standing before you just as he was the day he died.

Suddenly his eyes open, and you recoil with renewed urgency, only barely keeping your grip on your candle. He hadn’t just regained his form, the man is alive. Your brain fires off quickly, desperately seeking some explanation for this...perhaps a gas leak? No, your candle would have had you up in flames.

His head tilts in confusion as he eyes you, blinking abscently as though he had woken from a long slumber. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but a look of animal panic flashes through his eyes when he realizes there is no air in this glass box.

You realize it too, instinctually rushing to his aid, moving to unlatch the glass box...too slowly. As you reach for his prison, he is already smashing his head through the glass like a battering ram, littering the floor with the glittering shards. In your surprise, you drop your candle; the light still glowing weakly against the marble floor.

Barely illuminated, the man-Ivarr, is a thing of terror; rage and confusion etched into his face. You scramble backward, pressing your back tightly to the wall as he fixes you with his murderous gaze.

“What, THE FUCK, is this?” he growls in thickly accented Old Norse.

You struggle a bit to understand him, you were much more accustomed to reading Old Norse than hearing it. His displeasure though, is obvious. He lets out a pained grunt as he steps down into the broken glass with his bare feet, quickly closing the distance between you.

“I don’t know!” You manage to stammer out in his own language, shrinking away from him as his nostrils flare with rage.

“I was in Valhalla,” he booms. “Fighting beside my family for endless days.” He looks around, even as he struggles to see in the darkness, he can tell how deeply unfamiliar this world is. “Now I am...where am I?” He growls, caging you against the wall with his hands on either side of your head.

You quake in your boots; even naked and unarmed, you know he could kill you-with ease if he wanted…and he certainly looks like he’s got murder on his mind.

“London,” you force yourself to answer.

He doesn’t let you elaborate before he resumes his barking, unsatisfied. “I have been to Lundon, they had nothing like this,” he says, gesturing to what little you can see of the modern furnishings.

“It is London,” you insist, earning a rough hand around your neck before you can finish your sentence.

“You lie,” he snarls, squeezing harder as you claw at his hand desperately.

“Please,” you urge, struggling to choke the words out. “You’ve been dead for a thousand years.”

You gasp deeply when he releases you, staring up at him as you scramble for breath. He looks confused, but not so shocked as he should be; you can only hope that he believes you.

“A thousand years?” He whispers, looking around abscently in consideration. He looks down at you as you sink against the wall. “What sort of magic calls me back to this world after so long?”

You shake your head, trying to regain your composure, eyes fixed firmly on his. “I’m as shocked as you; skeletons don’t exactly have a habit of coming back to life.”

He sighs deeply, shaking his head before he looks at you, much more calmly than he had a moment ago. “So I live again…” he runs a hand through his hair, eyes miles away before returning his gaze to you. “What happens now?”

Fear dissipating, you cautiously rise to your feet; he’s staring at you expectantly, as though somehow you are supposed to have an answer for him. “I-I don’t, wait,” you cut yourself short, pacing quickly to retrieve your fallen candle. He looks at you curiously as you return, holding the candle up between your faces. “This is an extraordinary opportunity!” You gasp, any lingering expression of your previous trepidation evaporating in the heat of your excitement.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, grinning wildly. “So much history from your time is lost to us, or tainted by cultural bias,” you explain with a fevered sort of enthusiasm. Your free hand slides along his bicep, getting a closer look at the intricate tattoo stylings. “My God, you are incredible. Think of what can be learned.”

He eyes you with a grin, clearly amused with your sudden zeal in contrast to just a moment ago, when he had you cowering against the wall. “You are an odd woman,” he says, lifting his arm so you can get a better look at his tattoos.

“What?” You look up at him, breaking your intense focus, if only for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. Already your attention returns to his tattoos. A deep chuckle escapes his throat as you kneel to trace the runes etched into the skin of his abdomen; translating them in your head. He takes you by the chin, just a tad too roughly to be tender. He grins down at you, satisfied that he’s got your full attention.

“I said, you are an odd woman.”

There is a certain growl to his voice that sends a warmth through your spine; you feel yourself blush as you realize just how much of this man’s personal space you’ve invaded.

You rise quickly to your feet, turning away from him in a failed effort to hide your embarrassment. “Sweet Mercy,” you whisper in your own tongue. “I am so sorry.”

He laughs, deep and loud from the pit of his stomach. “Sorry?” He steps closer, into the light of your candle, on full display. “There is no shame in liking what you see.”

Your free hand covers your face in scandal. Your profession affords you much less prudery than your contemporaries, but it is difficult to shake the Victorian Sensibilities with which you were raised.

He grins playfully as he approaches, his hand brushing yours as he takes the candle from you. “Look at you,” he beams, thoroughly delighted by your obvious discomfort. “You shook less when I was going to kill you.” He snatches your hand from your face, leaning into your comfort zone, but awaiting your response.

You bite your lip, focused on the hunger in his eyes. That is part of what you love so much about history, is it not? The Passion. Rarely in these modern days do you see such an unashamed lust for life. This man lived and died in a culture of unrestrained freedoms, unabashed pleasures. You gaze back deeply into his eyes; perhaps you’d like some of that pleasure for yourself.

You lean into him, pressing your lips against his, and he pushes you up against the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip as he tries to push your skirts up, but he quickly becomes frustrated with the sheer amount of layers you’re wearing. He sets the candle aside.

“Too many fucking clothes,” he growls in your ear, his hands sliding up to rip your dress open.

You gasp, ready to protest the destruction of your most expensive dress, when you notice him eyeing your corset with a frustrated sneer.

“Fuck, are you wearing armor?”

You fail to hold back your laughter as he pouts, like a dog denied his treat. Your eyes widen when he grips your corset, however and you quickly snatch his hands.

“This one is my favorite, don’t you dare-”

You hardly get the words out before he’s grinning like a madman, and you know he took it as a challenge.

“Wait, I can take it off-” You shout, but not quickly enough.

You cringe at the sound of the busk popping open. You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, but a pleasured squeal forces it’s way out instead as his teeth sieze the sensitive bud of your breast.

“Fuck,” You moan, your arms draped lazily around his shoulders.

He releases your breast with an obscene pop, pressing firm kisses from your chest up to your neck, before biting down on your soft skin with a lustful growl. You gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders as pain meets pleasure. You feel him start to move away, as though he’s concerned that he hurt you, and you whine.

“Do it again,” you beg, pressing your body against his with urgency.

He grins, toothy and feral, before pushing you a bit more roughly against the wall, teeth biting down on your neck. He takes your hand, guiding it to his waist. You know what he wants, and you are happy to oblige; your fingers sliding down to wrap delicately around his length.

You make long languid strokes, savoring the weight of him in your hand. You desperately want to feel him inside of you.

He groans in protest as your hand leaves him, and you laugh softly, your hands working to undo your skirts.

Your attention is so utterly consumed by him, that you hardly notice the room flood with light, until Ivarr’s attention leaves you.

“Unhand her!”

You blush furiously, shifting to move between Ivarr and your bosses, the Board of the Foundation.

Taglist: @youre-my-boshaw-baby

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

Grief softens, but it never truly leaves.

So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn’t surprised to find grief there as well. Pain has been a constant companion over the years but today’s grief is nothing but a dull throb in his chest.

He had a dream about his wife again. It wasn’t a sad dream, it didn’t hurt to look upon her face, but his heart ached for her regardless.

In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that wasn’t quite in Sokovia or Spain, but rather a mix of them both. You were there, too, laughing and smiling alongside her.

She was taking the time to explain something to him, something you already seemed to understand. You both laughed when he failed to get the joke.

With a sigh, Helmut sits up in his bed and turns toward the window.

It’s dawn. The rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow and you sleep soundly beside him. He traces little circles unto your shoulder as he thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you. The answer is obvious, really.

He then turns his thoughts toward his mission, whether or not Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

He also thinks about what you may do if he kissed you awake.

He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him.

And as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breath, he thinks that he’s truly happy.

***

You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev and Helmut didn’t offer.

News of his death never reached any headlines in Spain or any other International News Broadcast for that matter.

There were the occasional rumors of a scandal, many of which were exacerbated by social media, but nothing outside the ordinary.

His demise was attributed to liver failure and he’d given his entire inheritance to a young woman about a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy and he didn’t like to see you so scared,) but there were plenty of opportunities to conduct research.

And on some nights, you’d talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

He’d sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you flowers when you completed a commissioned project, and asked plenty of questions about some of your more unorthodox means.

Sometimes you’d take breaks together and watch television or read.

It was strange, just like the day you first hugged him, Helmut felt as though the two of you had breached something.

He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently.

So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, red and brown, you were no longer just a friend his wife had—you weren’t even the wife of a friend that he had.

You were a friend to him as well.

*

“Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

“See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

“This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward so close that the curve of your bosom pressed against his arm for just a moment before you leaned away. For the sake of your pride, he pretended not to notice.

The articles mattered more than creating an awkward situation.

He learned that you found articles about the Avengers to be the most interesting. Each headline would often read something like: ��Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Minister Holds Firm.’

They were engrossing.

“They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

“Something I’d like to see.” Was his thoughtful reply. And it was true; because even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

The weight of his failure still haunted his sleep.

So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder. He worked late into the night to complete his research, learned everything he could about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier to complete his plans.

He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to that promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he had forgotten them.

There was no other way to justify his actions. In what other way could he be happy in a world where his family was dead?

He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, brandy, and vodka, couldn’t provide a balm for his soul. Not the way your smile did.

So clearly drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn’t let his thoughts linger on you.

He couldn’t compromise his mission.

But then one day, in mid-November, something changed.

Helmut read the headline for an article he knew would suit your fancy, but you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you open when he knocked on your door.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” you told him—but you never came.

*

You left your room around noon but you barely spoke a word.

Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, the chance to focus without you stealing his gaze, but he couldn’t ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

Over the past 7 months, you encouraged him to talk about his feeling, to open up more—but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

You left the house a word to him.

So Helmut waited for you to return:

He conducted his research and decrypted more files.

He brewed a pot of coffee.

He prepared lunch.

Had a glass of whiskey.

He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you.

He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front.

He checked his phone again.

Had a glass of whiskey.

And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn’t come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor,) and looked around the space.

There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface, their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even held it in his hands.

It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

He frowned, and his eyebrows knit together in concern for you.

You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time. The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

So he set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home 20 minutes later.

“Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

“Oh—hi.” You paused by the door, a bag of groceries in hand. He followed you into the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

“No, I’m… I got it.” You placed the bag on the counter, unloading a bag of flour, eggs, and a box of powdered cocoa.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, but then pause when you opened the spice cabinet. Your movements slowed before you stilled completely.

“Helmut? Did you…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just… I…”

Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets when he returned from duty. It was his way of telling you he was home if you weren’t there to greet him.

It was that gesture that broke you.

You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him but you only shook your head. "Let me help you.”

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

“His… his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. “He wanted me to bake a cake.”

You set a yearly reminder to try new recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it. That’s I’m a...that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

“… I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but I never would have considered it before I met Heike… but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved ones died and you survived. He didn’t know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the day he first brought you to Spain.

“… He used to wonder if he made a mistake,” Helmut started, “If he’d done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He released a bitter laugh at the memory. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation that crossed his friend’s face, a look you then mirrored exactly.

Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

“He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake… your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re right… he would want me to, want us both to…”

He sat beside you for the rest of the night. He’d listened to you talk and then when there was nothing left to say, he sat with you in peaceful silence, your head against his shoulder.

And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake.

You stood in the kitchen together, mixing batter and flouring pans. The sweet scent of your creation spread and the home you shared was filled with joy and warm memories.

By the time you finished, you were exhausted, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

It was the least he could do for you.

*

When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation—Zemo, a party of two—and she checked his name off a long list that he somehow managed to get ahead of. The hostess noticed your wedding bands, and as she stepped away from the podium, she said,

‘De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’ Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

Your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as you turned to him, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess, his jaw set closed.

It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn’t concern him, but he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

“That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

“Should I have corrected her?”

“It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

And that was that.

You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

And besides, Helmut thought while taking in his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, and the way your heels gave shape to your legs.

He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. Like meeting someone whose face one begins to see everywhere they go, he began to notice it more and more.

When he signed for your packages the delivery person would look at his ring and never bother to ask for familial confirmation. The old woman at the bakery would smile a secret, knowing, smile when he asked for two pastries to take home with him. The list of culprits went on and on. Everywhere he went people saw his ring and they’d assume he had a wife at home—that you were his wife at home.

*

On a gloomy day in January, you convinced him to visit an art gala with you. You made a group of friends around the area but one fell violently ill after a trip to New Jersey. You didn’t want to go alone so he agreed to put his work on hold for the evening.

You lead him to a room of abstract paintings and his attention was torn between the open bar and dizzying array of dark shapes pressed across the underside of a canvas. He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

As he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece and a gentleman approached you.

He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face. The man seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

“It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

“Yes, well, thanks for that.” You continued on politely. He didn’t seem to notice the exasperated edge. He opened his mouth to say something else, to perhaps touch you on the shoulder, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that didn’t happen.

“Драга,” Dear, he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail from the table, one he was about to drink himself before the man made you uncomfortable. You smiled, a look of relief on your face.

The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features, gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

“Хвала ти љубави,” Thank you, my love, you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing.

Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been oblivious to his blatant flirting, before guiding you away.

“I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of an Artificial Intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii. How truly genius.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

“I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

“Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head in contemplation.

“He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slowed your steps and you looked at a statue in the center of the room. It was clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms created a tangle of limbs that hurt his eyes to look at.

It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

“Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” Honey. You exaggerate.

“Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery.

Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set your empty glass on a table with dozens of others. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and something he thought to be tunes from an action movie. The music found it’s underscore in the murmurs of the guests who indulged themselves in cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

He watched them for a moment and a dark feeling filled his belly.

This was the life he should have been living—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous and amazing. This was the life you deserved to live.

Had it not been for Ultron, for the Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours.

He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without even thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the polished floor of the gallery. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

He took a breath and he made himself smile.

“Would you like to dance, драга?”

“I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don’t.”

“You wound me.” He said, pulling you toward the others anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.” (Or perhaps you did, at his wedding or your own, but it wasn’t the time to bring that up.)

He unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

“You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice waltzing than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain than the gesture implied. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

And he did.

Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

“I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

“They can take notes,” he replied. You were the only person in his gaze.

You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design. With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward in your eyes—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

But the U.N. taking actions against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

Still, part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. He tried to look away but then somehow ended up noticing the soft curve of your mouth and the fullness of your lips.

When the orchestra stopped playing, your dance slowed to a stop. But you couldn’t stop staring at each other, both cursed with the knowledge that something between you had changed.

***

Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

Tag list:

@actuallyanita @fillechatoyante @viviace @buckyandlokicanhaveme @sapphiredreamer26 @robur-bellicum

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[obeiii-mee]

*is just projecting at this point* what about the brothers with an MC who likes to knit?

I always have such respect for people who can knit! It requires so much patience and I can’t really relate lmao. Anyway, thank you for the request :) I had a lot of fun writing it.

————————————-

The Brothers with an MC who likes to knit:

Lucifer:

-He is probably aware of your hobby already

-I mean, he saw your knitting equipment in your room and kinda put two and two together

-He didn’t expect you’d be knitting much because DevilDom is hot as balls and making woolly hats and scarves would be stupid

-But you were like: fuck it

-You didn’t bring the freaking knitting kit down to hell with you for nothing

-You made everyone pillows with the symbol that represents their sin sewed on them

-Lucifer was pretty shocked to see how handy such a frustrating hobby could become

-You made knit bunting banners every time Diavolo threw a party as decorations

-Lucifer really starts to appreciate your talent when you start making him things

-Like that one time you gave him a knitted neck tie

-Which he wore proudly any chance he got

-He’s not exactly into these sort of things as I imagine he would snap pretty easily if he were to try it out

-But Lord almighty does he respect you for having the patience to create all these things

-Really supportive but in his own way

-By treasuring and safe guarding any knitted gift you have ever given him

-What a big ol’ softie he is on the inside

-Don’t fell him I said that-

Mammon:

-Knitting? The fuck is knitting??

-100000+ year old demon and he has no idea what knitting is

-Once you showed him how knitting worked, he was a bit disappointed

-“MC, not gonna lie, that looks boring as shit.”

-I mean, you can stay still and do that crap for hours on end? Is this what humans do for fun?

-You should see how quickly he shuts up when he sees the results

-You can make yourself handbags out of wool?? And really fluffy jumpers with crazy complicated designs on them???

-Jeez this man couldn’t be more smug about it. I mean, look at his human being so talented on top of being the kindest creature he met

-You tell him you can sell these things for money and he is already setting up a business for the two of you to start

-He suggests you start working for Majolish and you make some woolly clothes for them to distribute but you have to insist you only knit for fun

-You made him scarves and hats to match with his outfits and he’s so happy??

-The only thing that he would never consider selling is any gift given to him by you

-You made him a fake wallet out of wool as a joke one day

-He has it on him all day every day and uses it sometimes too

-Though he gets bored easily, he becomes so awestruck whenever you start knitting, he’s watching you intensely a lot

-He demands you teach him how to knit

-He tells you it’s because he wants to sell his own creations and make profit instead of relying on you

-He actually wants to have as many things in common as you do and give you hand made gifts in return too

Levi:

-“Haha you’re such a normie.”

-Doesn’t really understand the point of knitting

-I mean, is it really that entertaining?

-More entertaining than his raids??

-Well, if knitting makes you happy, who is he to judge?

-He doesn’t really have much room to talk

-He’ll probably call you a normie several times but would never insult your interests

-He knows it can be really hurtful when someone else disses your hobbies

-If anything, he grew really accustomed with you humming as you worked while he played his games

-You made him a jumper with Ruri-chan on it which took you a really long time

-Actually screamed when you gave it to him

-You made that for him?

-Why?

-Why waste your talent on an otaku like him?

-He wears that thing everywhere

-Even if it’s a very hot summer in DevilDom

-His brothers tease him but does he give a fuck? No, no he doesn’t

-Gets jealous if you make stuff for his brothers

-You made him a knitted body pillow ffs

-Actually very understanding of how long it must take to create all these things end encourages you to take breaks

-Considerate boi

Satan:

-He finds knitting kind of interesting actually

-He likes how convenient it can be at times

-You want a new bag but don’t have the Grimm for it? Boom, a knitted handbag. (Those actually exist and holy Lord Diavolo do they look impressive)

-It takes a lot of patience and self coordination to make these so he’s lowkey proud

-He knows that if he ever tried it, he would throw the entire kit out the window so you have his respect

-Not to mention he loves how happy you look when you finish one of your projects

-I saw these knitted animals that people can make online and Satan would love those-

-Seriously, he would keep them in his room, fully visible for anyone to see

-You two would have these cosy little chats in library while he reads and you knit

-He likes the gifts you made for him as well but the man would be too flustered to show his gratitude besides a quiet ‘thank you’

-We sure love our little angry boy

Asmo:

-Girl, you can knit??

-He makes such a big deal about it even though it’s just something you like doing from time to time

-He brags about your hobby to people more than you do

-He’s always nearby when you do knit

-Asmo will be offended if you don’t ask him to wear your scarves and hats

-He’s usually the one suggesting what colours you should make them out of and will wear them accordingly

-I mean, you can knit and he’s into fashion, so there are times he asks if he can help you in any way

-Oh but don’t spend too much time on knitting OK? You still have to give him a lot of attention

-Not to mention it’s bad for your skin to obsess over a hobby!

-He likes doing your hair while you knit, brushing it and gossiping about anything that comes to mind with you

-Pleass teach him how to knit too! He’s interested enough even if he doesn’t get it the first time around!

-Half of his closet is made of your woolly jumpers and other pieces of clothing you made

-They also kinda remind him of you whenever you’re away

-They’re like a comfort objects for him because they smell like you and he’s lonely

Beel:

-You like knitting? Cool

-He doesn’t really react

-I mean, he’s supportive but he doesn’t want to seem annoying by asking you many questions

-He really loves how your face lights up whenever you start talking about your hobby

-It makes him equally happy

-Beel does want to know what you do in your spare time when you’re not eating with him

-So, he’ll watch you sometimes as you knit, asking questions every now and again

-He finds it endearing with how determined you get when you want to finish a project

-However, he gets worried about you

-He’s a bit anxious that you’re not getting enough rest or food with how much you spend on knitting

-So he often brings you snacks and encourages you take breaks

-He gets as excited as you do whenever you finish something

-He will feel absolutely honoured with a capital H if you were to make him anything

-But, he‘s kinda scared he’ll start munching on your hand made gifts if he’s too hungry

-Is surprised that you can make so many things out of wool?? And it’s not even edible wtf????

-He would love to learn how to knit as long as you’re willing to teach him!

-His hands may be a bit too big for him to do so but he’ll try!

-He’ll do anything if it means he gets to see your smile

Belphie:

-“Can you knit a pillow?”

-Literally the first thing he asked

-The moment you said yes, he’s wide awake

-At first, he wasn’t really interested in a human custom like ‘knitting’

-He was still going through his “I hate every human being except you my dearest MC.” phase

-But he liked the sound of you knitting as he slept

-And he found watching you knit was kind of relaxing too

-It lulls him to sleep in a way

-You made him a small cow printed pillow one day to match his actual pillow

-And he adored it

-He usually has it on him

-He loves anything you give him, especially if you made it yourself

-Like Asmo, he seeks comfort in your knitted creations whenever you’re away

-He likes anything cuddly and fluffy that you make whether it’d be pillows, or knitted plushies or even clothing

-He shares most stuff with Beel so in the end you made identical cardigans for the two of them which Belphie appreciates immensely

-It’s a bonus for him to see you so fired up and excited about something too

-He finds your bubbly attitude when it comes to knitting cute

-He doesn’t have the patience to even attempt knitting but again, he loves watching you do it

-He honestly doesn’t think he deserves any of this but he will embrace it

-But uh, hey, take a break will you? Go take a nap with him before finishing that

Al~

[luffles424]

Zombie Bites

☼ Pairing: Yoongi x reader

☼ Genre: college!au, f2l, light angst, fluff, smut

☼ Count: 13.2K

☼ Warnings: alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, teasing, biting, marking, messy sex (look you fuck him in zombie makeup, of course its gonna be a little messy), blood? (its fake but like, it’s still there and described)

☼ Summary: Your friends have always been willing to assist you when you need a model to practice makeup on. And with the upcoming zombie film on campus is no difference. But something feels different this time, can a zombie movie be more than just a zombie movie? 

☼ a/n: Adkjsdfgdf this was supposed to be for Yoongi’s birthday and I’m clearly a little late! But, it’s here! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

You kick the door, hands too full to even attempt shifting things so you could properly knock and if your hands were free enough to knock, then you’d just open the door yourself. You hope at least one of them is home, you really don’t want to have to carry all of this back home. Although you know Taehyung should be home and he lives nearby so you can always go there if this falls through. You know Yoongi should be home though, he doesn’t have classes today, but you can never account for his personal schedule for the studio. Primarily because it doesn’t exist and Yoongi goes when Yoongi feels like. You’re fairly certain Jin has a rehearsal today, but you can’t quite remember. You’re hoping to catch Yoongi anyway. You enjoy practicing on Jin, or any of your friends, their willingness to always let you do whatever to their faces makes you so grateful to have met them. 

Yoongi and Jin were the first ones you met. You and Yoongi met in your stagecraft class freshman year. You both were hopelessly lost. Although you suspect Yoongi was more so, given that he is more involved in sound. Jin once told you later how late Yoongi would stay up researching so that he could help you in class and when you would meet to study together. As for you and Jin, you shared a beginner film class, being forced to pair up for a project but finding that you worked remarkably well together, each of your passions melding well. 

You discovered they knew each other already when you went to Yoongi’s dorm one night to study and Jin answered the door. From there, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook all slowly joined through shared classes and mutual friends. Now you’re in your senior year with a tight knit group of friends who you’d do anything for and who would do anything for you in return. Like right now, when you desperately need a model to practice on. 

And while you love your friends, Yoongi is your favorite to practice on. And that’s only partially because you may or may not be also crushing on your best friend a little bit. But it’s hard not to fall for Yoongi. For all that he acts like a tough guy in all black and leather jackets, he’s the sweetest. He’s brought you food and coffee when you’re spending long hours in the art studio working and you do the same for him. Even his teasing towards you is sweet, it’s only sometimes upsetting because it’s exactly how a guy might tease his younger sister. 

But beyond that, Yoongi’s the most patient. Taking the hours they sometimes have to spend in the chair in stride and not shifting in the slightest. Hoseok’s the worst at it, he enjoys talking too much and is animated when he does so. You keep shorter projects for him. Hoseok’s face suits subtle makeup more anyway. You’re really not sure why you want to make Yoongi look beat up. Well you do know why, but you’re choosing not to think about that reason. 

It takes a few moments after your knock for the door to be opened, revealing a slightly disheveled Yoongi, which means you’ve woken him up from a nap. He’s going to be a little harder to convince if you just woke him up. It looks like he’s been at the studio all night again. His eyes narrow at you like he knew it was you, before his gaze trails down to the bag of food in one hand and your makeup case in the other. 

He groans, but steps back anyway to allow you to enter. You count it as a win that he doesn’t slam the door in your face. Not that it’d do much, all of you have keys to each other’s places. Namjoon just lamented the other week, when he’d once again lost his set of keys, meaning everyone had to get new copies for him, why all of you don’t just live together. Jin suggested the better option was just to not give Namjoon keys.

“I brought lamb skewers.” You pipe up before he has a chance to say anything. He eyes you suspiciously for a moment as you set everything down on the table. You turn to him with a hopeful smile. “Where’s Jin?”

Yoongi ignores you in favor of digging a skewer out to munch on before deeming you worthy of an answer. “Apparently smart enough to not be here when you come by looking for a guinea pig.” He says around a mouthful.

You pout, wringing your hands for extra effect. “Do you guys really find it a bother?” You look down, you know Yoongi doesn’t like seeing you sad. “I can just post some fliers around if you don’t want to do it.”

You hear Yoongi huff then his arm is wrapping around you. It gives you the perfect way to hide your victorious grin. He’s a little too predictable. 

“What are we doing today? Please no glitter. Jimin is still shedding it from last week.”

You giggle, moving to open your case and sort through the makeup you brought with you today. “Jimin was the prettiest fairy, thank you very much. And he wanted the glitter for the video. Have you not seen it? It’s… stunning.” You wave the thought off. “But no, no glitter for you. You get this instead.” You turn and hold up a bottle of fake blood. “I need to practice my horror and gore type stuff. We have a short film project in a few weeks and I have never done a full zombie before. Plus it’ll help me round out my portfolio.” You grin conspiratorially with him. “Plus, I figured we could prank the others.”

He lets out a put upon sigh, but you can see the grin he’s trying to hide. You know he’s always down to fuck with the others, the perks of such an artsy school giving you the ability to do so frequently in creative ways. “Okay, fine. What do you need me to do?”

You tug the white shirt you’d bought and hold it out to him. “Put this on first.”

He looks like he has something to say but just shrugs and does as you ask. He tugs his current shirt off and you try your best not to stare. Jimin was shirtless in front of you last week for hours for his fairy makeup and you were completely unphased by it, something you know that many people on campus would boggle at the fact that you had that in front of you and did nothing. Yet Yoongi is just changing his shirt, something you’ve seen plenty of times over the course of your friendship. All of your friends have seen everyone else in the midst of dressing for one thing or another, you’re all comfortable with each other. And with many of your degrees being what they are, you have to be comfortable with people in varying states of dress. But with Yoongi, this time, it’s a little hard to remind yourself that you’re friends and this is for practice. Something about the end of senior year drawing so near makes every moment with Yoongi feel slightly different. A little more charged than before. 

Once he’s got the new shirt on, you grab a pair of scissors and the front of his shirt with your other hand so that you can pull it away from his skin. 

Yoongi jerks backwards at the sight of the sharp object so close to his chest. “Woah! I thought this was supposed to be fake!”

You roll your eyes, tugging him back towards you. He goes with no resistance, despite his vocal protests. “I’m cutting the shirt, dumby. Not you.”

He pouts at the name. “Well how should I know that?”

You give him a flat look, does he really think you’d use scissors on him? “You think if I wanted to hurt you that I would lug all of my makeup over here to do it?” You glance at the open container of food, grinning evilly. “Besides, if I really wanted to hurt you, I’d go for your precious skewers.”

Yoongi gasps with horror and you really hope it’s fake horror. With him and Jungkook though, there’s a very real possibility that they would react this way and be completely serious. No one should be that theatrical over some lamb on a stick. “How dare you.”

You pluck a skewer from his protective hold and bite into it. “I said if. You think I’m gonna just get rid of my best model?”

“You’re just saying that so I don’t kick you out.” He grumbles, reluctantly setting the container back down like he’s scared that you’ll do something to it, but not before eating one more. 

You murmur a quiet ‘uh huh’, finally making a few cuts to the shirt and ripping them a little more with your hands to make it look more natural. You scrutinize it for a moment, maybe also taking the opportunity to admire the way Yoongi’s chest stretches the fabric and the glimpses of skin you get through the rips. Maybe you should’ve had Yoongi doing more full body stuff for you. You nod your approval to the shirt and pull out a brush and small jar filled with a dark brown powder. Yoongi watches you curiously as you open it and start to add streaks of it to his shirt to dirty it. 

“Is this supposed to be dirt?” He questions in disbelief. You nod distractedly as you continue to focus and you miss the face Yoongi makes. “Did you buy that? You know there’s dirt outside right?”

You finish, giving Yoongi an unimpressed look. If he really thought he was about to question how you do your job then maybe you should’ve used the scissors on him. “Do you want to go roll around in the dirt?” Your half tempted to make him go do it if he’s going to be a stickler for realism. You hold back a laugh when he shakes his head quickly, eyes wide cause he knows that you’ll follow through. “Then don’t question my fake dirt, brat.” You tap his nose with the brush, leaving a small splotch behind. You gesture to the stool nearby, the one that’s become the de facto makeup chair here. “Sit please.”

Yoongi does so as you gather up the few things you decide to use for this practice run. You don’t want to go too crazy for practice, especially if this is to be believable. Plus, you don’t have to do just zombie work, you’ve got to do the human too. So this is the perfect time to try that. You begin to work, falling into a companionable silence. Yoongi always stays quiet, eyes tracing your face as you work. Namjoon always questions what you’re using and doing, always wants to learn, even if he’s not particularly good at it. They all question, even Yoongi, but they usually wait until after you’ve finished to ask about something.

You step back, head tilted as you trace over Yoongi’s features, now dirtier, faint bruises adorning his cheek and jaw, along with a scraped cheek and temple and a split lip. 

Yoongi speaks up while you inspect your work. “I thought you said zombie?” He looks adorably confused, so at odds with the beaten look he’s currently sporting.

You nod absently, picking the bruise wheel and sponge back up and adding more detailing around his eyes. Yoongi obediently closes his eyes without being told. You could kiss him, he’s the only one you never have to remind to do this, reading you and your movements more than well enough to anticipate what you need him to do. It’s definitely part of why he’s your favorite model. “I did. But I’m doing both the zombies and the human so I need to practice this too. And we have plans tonight and zombie makeup will take too long. I’d practice on Jin but I’m gonna have to do this on him enough for shooting.”

Yoongi peeks an eye open to look at you. “Jin’s working on this too?”

You switch your wheel and sponge out for a brush and the bottle of fake blood, thick enough to make small cuts and drips without spreading out past where you want it. “Yeah. I got the project first.” You pause and roll your eyes, memories of Jin begging you to do his makeup for his audition. There may have been a promise of all the alcohol you could drink, one that you definitely took him up on. “And I’m pretty sure he would’ve gotten the part regardless. But he wanted makeup like this done for his audition. Said he wanted to go in in character already and he wanted them to be able to see how he’d look in the role. That’s why I know I need to practice this. It was good enough for just a simple audition, but it’ll need to be perfect for the shoot.” 

You add a few drips of blood to the shirt and step away again. “I’m actually surprised that you don’t know about this already. It’s a big collaboration between a bunch of the departments. I’m pretty sure Tae and Kook are doin camera stuff. And music definitely seems like an important part to include.”

Yoongi shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders so he doesn’t move too much for you. “We usually don’t hear about projects until later. We’re not as needed for earlier parts. If it’s starting soon, we’ll probably be told soon then.”

You close the cap on the blood, admiring your work with a pleased grin. You knew he’d look good a little roughed up. He looks every bit the bad boy he pretends to be, you just need to convince him to wear his leather jacket too. That’ll complete the look. “It’d be cool to work on a project together within our disciplines. I don’t think we’ve done that yet.” You laugh. “Imagine it, our names on the big screen together.” You sigh a little wistfully, it might be the only way your names are up somewhere together. 

You miss the curious look Yoongi gives you at your sigh. “Yeah, too bad Jin’s name will be first. And bigger. We’ll just be tucked down at the end where everyone stops paying attention or leaves.”

You nudge his shoulder playfully. “I pay attention.”

He smiles softly at you as you begin to clean up. “I know you do.”

You finish cleaning quickly, you didn’t use that much to begin with and tug your phone out and grin. “Your favorite part. Picture time.”

Yoongi groans, foot kicking out in a show of protest. “Do I at least get to see what you’ve done to me first?” 

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but flip the front facing camera on and hand your phone to him. His eyes widen briefly when he finally sees himself. He turns his face, looking at it from different angles, a low ‘wow’ escaping him as he gingerly prods a bruise like it will actually hurt if he touches it. He grins as he hands the phone back. 

“Excellent work as always.”

You feel yourself grow warm, hiding your pleased smile behind your phone as you direct Yoongi’s poses so you can get shots to work from for final ideas for the film. You tuck your phone away once you're done. 

“Great let’s go. I think everyone else should be at Tae, Jimin and Jungkook’s by now.”

You grab Yoongi’s hand before he can enter the apartment, you can hear the others already inside. He turns to you with a questioning look but you ignore it as you make a few last second adjustments, fixing his hat and brushing the shoulders of his leather jacket before giving a satisfied nod. He ruffles your hair and you swat at his hand as you dart around him to enter. 

Your appearance is met with gasps and Jimin is quickly hurrying over, completely ignoring you in favor of Yoongi, hands hovering like he’s scared to hurt him more. “Are you okay?! Oh my god, you shouldn’t be walking, come sit down.” 

You bite your lip as Jimin ushers Yoongi to the couch, watching as the others flock to him as well, all throwing questions at him at once. You notice Jin in the kitchen doorway and he smirks at you, clearly knowing exactly what’s going on, but he seems more than willing to keep quiet in favor of whatever your plan is. You don’t know how long to let this go on, but it’s too funny to watch. Yoongi actually looks a little flustered and it makes the scene all the more adorable to watch.  

“Who did this!” Jungkook pushes Jimin aside and squishes Yoongi’s cheeks, looking imploringly into his eyes. “Please tell me you remember, I’ll beat them up for you.” 

Taehyung swats at his arm. “You’re gonna hurt him more idiot, let go.”

He does so instantly, wide eyes glued to the tacky blood that’s transferred to his hand. 

Yoongi chuckles. “If you’re gonna beat them up, my money’s on her winning.” He grins and something about it makes him look cocky and cocky is an oddly good look on him right now and you almost missed what he says completely.

They all look at him, varying degrees of confusion on their faces. “Her?” Namjoon presses.

Yoongi nods and gestures towards you, smirk still in place. “Yeah, she’s the one who did this to me.”

The three youngest look at you warily, Jungkook looks a little like he wants to take back what he said about beating up whoever did that to Yoongi. Namjoon’s eyes narrow, he’s too smart sometimes. “It’s makeup, isn’t it?”

You grin, giving a small shrug. “Guilty as charged.”

Hoseok appears at your side, puppy eyes in full effect. “That’s so mean to do to us. We were worried about him. You know he can’t fight.”

Yoongi protests with a weak hey, batting Jungkook’s hands away as he prods at the makeup with glee now that he knows it’s safe to touch. You feel like they misjudge Yoongi a little. Yoongi could definitely hold his own in a fight if he needed to. You remember very well watching him work with sets during your stagecraft class. You maybe almost ruined a few things by getting distracted watching him work. It’s definitely where your crush began, you’ve always been a sucker for watching a guy work up a sweat. 

You smile and pull Hoseok into a hug. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I needed practice and it seemed like a waste that no one else got to see it.”

Hoseok’s arm wraps around your neck as he quickly turns your hug into a headlock, rubbing your head as you squirm. “Hobi, stop!” you giggle, prying ineffectually at his arm. “I give! I give! I’m sorry!” 

Hoseok gives one last rub before releasing you, smug smile in place as you pout at him and attempt to fix the mess he’s created of your hair, not that it matters. The boys have seen you after all nighters and hungover, mussed hair is nothing in comparison. 

Jin finally pushes himself off the doorway with a clap to grab everyone’s attention. “Right, now that that’s over with, are we ready to celebrate this project?”

Your days quickly grow busy, full of planning meetings and brainstorming sessions. You have little time to practice between classes, the meetings, and research. Although some of the research devolves into group binges of various zombie movies, all of you claiming it’s in the name of preparing for your various upcoming roles. But you know part of it is because you're all getting too busy to hang out as a group and if you can at least claim to be researching for the shoot as well. Hoseok hates the binges the most, he’s never been great with horror but the others have fun with it, picking the movie apart by the different aspects that they’re interested in. You get too wrapped up in inspecting the makeup that you don’t even really realize what most of the plots are or what the others do. 

Yoongi offers to watch them all again with you, all in the name of research of course. He does it a couple of times, sacrificing sleep and time to work on other projects to stay up late watching zombie movies on your’s or his couch. He even points out ideas for you and pauses the movie when you start talking about a technique on screen, watching you with a fond smile.

Now you finally have some free time and you’ve been thinking about what you want to practice all week, all the ideas and plans you’ve created after your film viewings. You’ve just got the difficult task of finding out which boy is free and you luck out and find Jin and Hoseok together. Jin groans the second you enter the apartment and he catches sight of your case. 

“I’m too pretty to be a zombie,” he whines. 

You roll your eyes. You’d normally fight him on it, but with Hoseok here too, you decide to let it slide this once. “That’s fine. I can practice your makeup for the film and see how it will look with a zombie.” You turn to Hoseok with pleading eyes. “As long as I have a zombie.”

Hoseok looks like he wants to protest, glancing at the books in front of him, but he gives in with a sigh rather quickly. “Yeah, I suppose I could use a break.” 

You give a small cheer. “Thank you! Dinner’s on me then.” You look over the two of them before deciding to give them the choice. “Who wants to go first?”

Jin jumps up. “Me, if I read anything else about camera techniques I think my brain might melt.”

He quickly settles into the chair, letting you get to work. His makeup is simple, you do much of what you practiced on Yoongi with a few modifications you’d decided on while doing research during the week. Jin and Hoseok chatter with each other while you work, you occasionally add things to the conversation when you happen to catch what’s being talked about, but much of your focus is on your work. 

Once finished, you look him over before nodding happily. You pull your phone out to get a few solo shots, something he takes great joy in making difficult for you by posing in over exaggerated ways. You finally shoo him away and Hoseok replaces him and you purse your lips, tugging at his shirt. 

“Lose this. I need your neck.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, tugging his shirt off. “If you wanted me naked so badly, Y/n, you could’ve just asked. I’m sure we can ask Jin to give us some time alone.” He winks.

You snort, about to respond that you just don’t want to hear him complain about his shirt being ruined but before you can say anything Jin’s answering. “She doesn’t care about you being shirtless. There’s only one of us she would care to have shirtless in front of her.”

Your cheeks heat and you glare at Jin. You never should’ve gone drinking with him and you should’ve known he was doing it just to pry information out of you. Wanted his makeup to look authentic for the audition, my ass. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

Hoseok perks up, looking at Jin. “She likes someone? One of us? Who?”

“No one.” You cut in, tugging his chin back so he’s facing you and quickly starting your work on his face. It’s incredibly hard to work around the shiteating grin on Hoseok’s face. You maybe blend some spots a little harder than necessary if the way Hoseok occasionally winces is anything to go by. 

“Oh, she does. She told me herself. Rambled on about how nice he smells and how he takes care of her. Waxed poetic about how she wishes she got to see him shirtless more often because she just knows that he looks good shirtless.” He waggles his eyebrows.

You point the brush in your hand menacingly at Jin, you wonder if anyone would believe it was justified. “If you don’t shut up, you won’t have to wear makeup for the shoot.”

Jin looks at the brush, completely nonplussed. “You wouldn’t dare when I live in such close proximity to a certain someone.” He singsongs. “And gosh, I just say such crazy things when I’m studying and sleep deprived, ya know?”

Your eyes widen, heart in your throat. Hoseok looks confused for a moment before you see the lightbulb go off and he grins too. “You like Yoo-”

You slap your hand over his mouth. This is so not happening right now, this is just a bad dream. Fueled by far too many zombie movies this week. You’ll wake up and be in your own bed and Jin and Hoseok won’t be teasing you about liking Yoongi. “Shut up, I don’t like anyone.” You hiss. 

You feel his grin so you squeeze his cheeks, shaking him just slightly. “Say it. Say, ‘you don’t like anyone’.”

He’s about to respond and you can just tell by the glint in his eye that he’s not going to repeat what you told him to say, but the sound of the door opening takes everyone’s attention and you look up, blinking owlishly when you see Yoongi enter. He quirks an eyebrow when he sees you squeezing Hoseok’s cheeks and you quickly jerk your hand away. You’d really like to disappear now. It would’ve been bad enough to be here with Jin when Yoongi got home and now he’s got backup with Hoseok. You’re going to die of embarrassment by the end of the night, you just know it.

You quickly busy yourself with getting back to work on Hoseok, absolutely ignoring the delight in his eyes at Yoongi’s sudden appearance. 

“Hey Yoongi, what’re you doing home already?” He calls and you wonder if anyone would believe you if you said the brush just slipped and poked him in the eye. It’s happened before. 

Yoongi wonders over to the three of you, inspecting your work on Hoseok so far. “Apparently studying at the coffee shop was code for date? And I didn’t know that?” He says offhandedly. 

You feel your heart stop. “You went on a date?” You blurt out before you can think better. That was supposed to just be a thought, you didn’t mean to say it out loud. You wish you could take the words back, especially when you see the way Jin’s eyes light up at your slip. 

Yoongi nods, turning to look over Jin’s makeup next. He still looks like this conversation isn’t that important to him. “Yeah, Seulgi asked if I wanted to study for our class together at the coffee shop. Apparently I missed the memo that said it was actually a date.”

You swallow, studiously staying focused on Hoseok, tilting his head slightly so you can begin to create a bite mark on his neck. You don’t want to hear anymore of this conversation, you’re already really close to crying. Yoongi says something about needing to shower and meanders away. Hoseok must notice the glassiness of your eyes because he reaches out to give your thigh a reassuring squeeze. You give him a pained smile and continue to work. 

Jin’s about to say something but you shake your head. “Don’t. Please.”

He remains quiet, letting you finish Hoseok’s makeup in silence. You’re incredibly grateful. For all that Jin can be a little shit, he still does care about his friends. You finish quickly, getting some solo shots and then getting some reference photos of the two of them together. They take great joy in being over the top once you get the base photos you need, posing and acting out silly scenes in full makeup. You snap pictures the whole time, you don’t need them for reference but they do manage to bring a smile back to your face and make you momentarily forget about Yoongi and his date. 

You scroll through the photos, checking them out when you gesture towards the bathroom. “You guys can go wash up and we can go grab something to eat.”

You don’t see the devious grin Jin sends Hoseok. “Hmm, I don’t feel like going out. Let’s just order something. I’ll see if Yoongi wants anything.” You can only watch in horror as Jin calls for Yoongi down the hall. Yoongi reenters, hair still wet and looking cozy in sweats and a tshirt. “Y/n’s buying dinner. You hungry?”

Yoongi glances at you and you busy yourself with cleaning up. “Sure, I’ll always eat if it’s free.” He grins. 

“Freeloader.” You grumble, turning to him with your hands on your hips. “You didn’t even do anything.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow challengingly. He looks from Jin to Hoseok and grins, then he tugs his shirt off and nudges Hoseok out of the seat to sit himself in front of you. His grin turns smug. “There, you can do some more practice.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, but you’re at a complete loss for words. Your gaze flits over his bare chest before quickly darting away, Jin’s words from earlier coming back to haunt you, only this time with Yoongi’s actual bare chest. You’ve still got nothing to say and you can hear Hoseok and Jin snickering over your dilemma. It’s not like you can tell him no, he’d only get suspicious. Yoongi knows you never turn down a chance to practice, especially if you have something as big as a film shoot coming up.

You take a deep breath, you can do this. You can totally be professional. You’ve worked on a bunch of shirtless people. You’ve worked on Jimin and Jungkook. This is nothing. It’s just Yoongi. You straighten and roll your eyes at him. “Any other time I want to practice and you’re too busy.”

He beams at you, clearly thrilled that he’s won. “Yeah, but you’re buying dinner so...” He shrugs nonchalantly. 

You stick your tongue out him and turn back to your makeup case, pulling your tools back out. You start your work, gently tilting Yoongi’s head so you can create a bite mark on his shoulder. His skin is soft and the smell of his body wash is overwhelming this close. 

Just as you’re applying the base outline in latex, Jin speaks up. “How’d the date go, Yoongs?”

You jerk to glare at Jin, inadvertently dripping latex down Yoongi’s chest. You blink as it begins to slowly make its way down his chest, glancing up to see Yoongi giving you a worried look. You ignore him, turning back to the mess you made, forcing yourself into work mode and thinking about how you’re going to fix this mess because all you can do is try to fix it to make it seem like you did it on purpose. The only thing you can think to make this work without ripping all the latex off is to turn the bite into a bite that ripped skin off too. With a loose plan in mind, you begin adding more latex to his chest, creating a rough outline for the torn flesh, different scenes from zombie movies flitting through your mind as you use their looks as guidance.

Yoongi surprises you by actually responding to Jin once he decides you’re okay and have begun working again. “It was awkward as fuck because I didn’t know it was a date. I mean, who asks someone on a date under the guise of studying?” he snorts though he’s clearly not amused by the situation. 

“A lot of people, Yoongi. A lot,” Jin laughs. “That’s like, the primary way people ask others out if they share a class. It’s all, hey let’s go study and then no studying happens.”

You can see the way Yoongi wants to move in response, the muscles under your fingers twitching and you appreciate that he is at least still restrained physically even if his mouth continues to run. “That’s dumb. I just wanted to study.”

Jin makes a noise of surprise. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi shifts and you sneak a peek at his face, noting the way his cheeks are beginning to turn red. “I just… Well I mean- Look, she’s just not someone I’m interested in that way.” He eventually stutters out, his eyes shifting to you before quickly jerking away to stare at the wall behind you.

You can hear the smugness in Hoseok’s voice when he speaks. “Oh?” he asks, full of faux curiosity. “And just who are you interested in? Do we know her?”

Yoongi splutters. “I- What? I- I’m not interested in anyone right now.” No one seems to believe him, even as much as you don’t want it to be true, that’s the weakest denial you’ve ever heard from him. You are a little curious to who caught his interest. He’s had girlfriends in the time you’ve known him, but you’ve never been able to pin down what they had in common to catch his interest. “Look I’m too busy anyway. I’ve got my classes and now the soundtrack for this to work on. I don’t have time for that.”

You stand up, effectively blocking his view of the others. “You got the soundtrack job?” you ask incredulously. Why hadn’t he told you?

Yoongi smiles sheepishly at you, clearly knowing this was coming. “I found out yesterday. I was actually going to probably come by your place and tell you tonight, but you ended up being here anyway. Surprise?”

You pinch his cheek, you knew he’d be asked to work on the soundtrack.. “That’s so awesome! I knew you’d get it!” You beam, you resist the urge to hug him and ruin the work you’ve done so far. You make sure to get him extra to celebrate later and lean back down to get back to work, adding offhandedly. “You know, if you’d just said that beforehand, I would’ve offered to get you dinner without the need to let me practice on you.”

Yoongi whines. “Not fair.”

You finish the rest of Yoongi’s makeup in relative peace. Jin spends half the time trying to pester Yoongi into spilling who he’s interested in and the other part looking through take out places, loudly sharing his opinion on what sounds best, his obvious attempt to get you to order from where he wants. Yoongi resolutely ignores Jin, keeping quiet and still while you work. Hoseok moved back to work on some of his homework, patiently waiting for you to finish so you could get new pictures of them all together, though you do sneak a picture of him while he’s working but the image of a zombie doing homework shirtless is too funny to pass up. 

You put a few last details on and look him over. Frowning, you poke at his unmarred pec. “Have you been working out?” His pec looks fuller than it used to, it would also explain why his shirts have been so stretched across his chest lately.

Yoongi flushes, hands coming up to cover his chest in a bid for modesty, as if you hadn’t just spent 45 minutes staring rather intently at it. “So what if I have? What’s wrong with that? Jungkook works out and I don’t hear you giving him a hard time.”

You blink at the outburst for a moment before doubling over with laughter. That certainly wasn’t the response you were expecting, you were mostly just expecting a yes or no. “Oh my god. Do you even listen? We all lovingly tease Jungkook about his muscles.” You wipe away a tear as you straighten back up. “I literally call him my muscle bunny. No one should be that buff and adorable at the same time.”

“Been working out for someone special Yoongs?” Jin teases and you very much don’t like where this is going. “Someone who has perhaps mentioned that they like guys with some firm pecs?”

You both glare at Jin. You know he’s teasing you for what you said while drunk. You assume he’s also still trying to get Yoongi to spill who he likes. You wonder if she also works out at the gym Yoongi goes to and that’s the reason for his newfound interest in working out. You tug your phone back out swiftly, needing the distraction from that train of thought. “Right so pictures.”

You’re incredibly pleased with how Yoongi’s makeup turned out despite the slightly rocky start and almost disaster. There’s definitely still some parts that you need to practice a little more and places to improve, but for essentially having to wing it, it looks really good.

You get new pictures, where they once again pose for goofy ones, forcing a very reluctant Yoongi to participate though once he sees your delighted smile in response to the silliness, he quickly acquiesced to silly pictures. You wait for Jin and Hoseok to go wash their makeup off, tugging on Yoongi’s arm to keep him from following. He looks at you questioningly. 

You give his arm a squeeze, momentarily distracted by the way his muscle flexes at your touch. You shake your head slightly and smile at him. “I’m really proud of you for getting the soundtrack.”

Yoongi smiles back, face soft. “Thanks. I really was gonna tell you today.”

You nod. “I know. I’m always the first to know.” You nudge him towards the bathroom. “Go clean up, I’m ordering for your favorite place.”

Yoongi’s face lights up and giving your hand a squeeze, he hurries off down the hall to clean the makeup off. 

You practice as much as you can over the next week, using the pictures you take as reference and taking them to meetings to decide what’s good and what needs changed. Jungkook takes particular joy in having you do gore pieces on him now so that he can go scare the others, primarily Jimin because Jimin never fails to get scared. He tried only one time with Yoongi and Yoongi almost punched him in the face out of instinct so he steers clear of him if he happens to be in makeup. 

You open the door to Yoongi and Jin’s apartment, calling out an absent minded ‘hi’ like this is your own apartment and you set your makeup case down before collapsing on the couch. Yoongi appears a moment later from his room, eyebrow raised when he sees you sprawled out. 

“Last time I checked, you don’t live here.”

You wave him off dismissively, you’re too tired to do more. “Your’s was closer. Be nice to me.” You pout. 

Yoongi eyes you over, noticing your case nearby. “More practice?” He pushes your legs out of the way so he can sit.

You shake your head and stretch, throwing your legs across his lap, a pleased grin forming when he lets you. “No, I was helping Joy with a project. Was bigger than planned. Like I said, you were closer.” You shift to stretch again, muscles aching.

Yoongi grabs your ankle to stop your wiggling. “You’re a menace.”

You look him over thoughtfully. “Hm, you don’t seem to particularly care that I’m here. So clearly you don’t really think that. Besides, if any of us are the menace, it’s Jungkook. He’s been a terror this week. I’ve created a monster.” You gasp and sit up, hand against your forehead dramatically. “I’m Frankenstein. How shall I live knowing what I’ve done? Oh the angst, the guilt. Will Jimin survive my creation?”

Yoongi snorts, shoving you back down and you dissolve into giggles. “You should’ve been an actor. I’m pretty sure you could give Jin a run for his money.”

“I’ll take that as a complement. But really, if Jungkook wasn’t doing camera work for the film, he should’ve tried out for one of the zombie roles. He would’ve done great.”

Yoongi nods in agreement. “He would’ve. But I think he would’ve had too much fun climbing all over Jin for the sake of ‘being in character’.” 

You hum, closing your eyes. You’re hungry, not having had time to eat while working. You wonder if Yoongi’s eaten yet. If he was in his room then he most likely was working so he probably hasn’t and you wonder how you can get him to buy you dinner. It probably wouldn’t be too difficult, you’re pretty sure you bought last time it was just the two of you.

He gives your ankle a squeeze to get your attention and you peek an eye open to look at him. “You eaten yet?” 

 “No?” You squint at him, suspicious, but you delight in the fact that he could practically read your mind. Or maybe he just heard your stomach.

He nods, ignoring your suspicious gaze. “Cool, I’ll order us something.” He tugs his phone out to presumably order food without even waiting for a response. 

You nudge him with your foot. “You never offer to buy food. I have to pester you usually.” 

Yoongi shrugs and sets his phone down, grinning at you. “If you’d like I can just eat all of the food in front of you instead.”

You sit up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, cheek squished against his shoulder. “Noo, I’m sorry, don’t do that. Thank you for feeding me Yoongi.”

He chuckles, patting your arm where it's nearly strangling him. “Down girl, it’s just dinner.”

You wink at him. “I usually have to dress up and try a lot harder to get someone to buy me dinner.”

Yoongi flushes, slipping out from under your legs to quickly go to the kitchen. “Do you wanna drink? I think I need a drink.”

You tilt your head as you watch him go. Not that it’s particularly odd for you both to drink when you hang out, but his reaction seemed a little out of place. Maybe the score is giving him trouble, he usually will get a drink if music is being difficult. You hope it’s not from the girl he likes. Ever since Jin brought up her existence, it’s been on your mind, wondering what Yoongi’s type was. Briefly wondering what made you not his type. You’re very glad you’ve been so busy that you haven’t had a lot of time to obsess over those thoughts this week. “What do you have?”

Yoongi looks through the cabinets and fridge. “We have a bottle of cheap wine leftover from I think our last wine night. A bottle of nice wine, that I think is Jin’s and he’d probably kill us if we drink it. Aaand some spiced rum.”

“No Jin would kill you if you drink it. He likes me too much to kill me.” Yoongi gives you a look and you just grin back. He knows you’re right, though it’s not that Jin likes you more, you just have dirt on him. The one downside to his plan to get you drunk and ply you for information was that it also left him vulnerable to you getting your own information. “Rum is fine.”

Yoongi busies himself making you both drinks, coming back and handing you yours. You take a sip, coughing at the surprising burn of alcohol.

You raise an eyebrow as you look at him. “Tryin to get me drunk, Yoongs?” you tease.

He flushes, avoiding your eyes and taking a long sip of his drink. “Just made drinks, everyone’s gotta be a critic.” He grumbles.

You reply is interrupted by a knock on the door and Yoongi shoots to his feet to go answer. You take another drink, much more careful now that you know how strong it is, waiting for Yoongi to return with the food. He lays everything out on the table and it takes you a second to register he ordered from your favorite restaurant. You feel giddy, you haven’t gotten to eat here in a while because most of the others don’t care to go there, you usually have to order it on nights when you’re alone. 

“You hate this place!” You look at him with wide eyes. 

“No I don’t. It’s a good place.” You frown. There’s more to that you can tell, but Yoongi looks like he’s about to run away so you just let it go. You don’t know what’s caused the sudden shift. Although you suppose Yoongi has never explicitly stated that he hated the place, he’s just never spoken up in favor of it when your friends are gathered together and trying to find a place to eat.

You nudge him until he looks at you and you give him a shy smile. “You’re the best. Thank you.” You really don’t know what you’d do without Yoongi in your life. 

Yoongi puts something on TV for you both to watch and you eat in relative silence, only making occasional comments on the show. This is what you love most about spending time with Yoongi. It’s easy, the silence between you doesn’t need to be filled. The two of you content to just enjoy each other’s presence. 

Yoongi refills your drinks when they run out and you feel the pleasant buzz spreading through you. Yoongi sprawls out on the floor after he finishes his second glass, a good sign of his tipsiness. You stretch out on the couch on your belly, chin propped on the edge to look down at Yoongi. You poke his stomach and he squirms, batting at your hands when it turns from a poke to tickling. 

He rolls over, away from you and catches sight of your case. Leaning up on his elbows, he drags it closer and opens it. He looks through it, pulling different things out to inspect before putting them back. He glances at you. 

“You should do my makeup.” He decides.

You snort. “No I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t look good.”

Yoongi turns onto his side, head propped up on his hand as he looks you over thoughtfully. “Nothing you do could ever look bad.” He muses and it seems almost like it’s more to himself rather than to you. His eyes alight with mischief and he rests his free hand on his pec. “Ah, I get it. You are just scared to get so close to such perfect pecs again? You’re just intimidated by them. I mean, I understand, how can you work with perfection?”

You blink at him and burst into giggles, you love drunk Yoongi. “Oh, yeah. You caught me. I’m just trying to protect myself from that. I would never survive, I may just faint.” 

Yoongi nods, looking like he isn’t fully catching your sarcasm. Although it isn’t completely sarcastic because you don’t think it would be wise to be near his pecs when you’ve been drinking. “It’s okay, I understand.” He tugs his shirt off, flopping back onto his back once again. “Come on, do it. I bet you can’t do something amazing.” He challenges.

And against your better judgement, you rise to his bait. Him lying pliant and shirtless on floor and taunting you is too strong for you to resist. You climb off the couch, settling next to him and pull your makeup closer. You don’t even know what kind of makeup to do. Your case is a mixed mess right now because you had to clean some of your zombie supplies out for things for Joy’s shoot. You think you have enough supplies to do some minor wounds and decide that you can just take the opportunity to practice and maybe use the opportunity to work mostly on his chest and stomach. You just hope you don’t get too distracted while working, you know he’d be insufferably smug about it. 

Plan in mind, you begin working, but you don’t get very far in your work before Yoongi starts squirming. You huff, you should’ve known this was a bad idea, Yoongi always grows restless when he’s been drinking unless he’s cuddled up to someone.

You poke him. “Stop moving.”

Yoongi makes a face at you, he looks like a disgruntled toddler. “I’m not.”

You roll your eyes, but get back to work, chalking it up to him just needing to get comfortable. A few minutes later though and he’s shifting again. You give him a warning look and when he moves again you huff in frustration and throw your leg over his waist so you’re now straddling him, effectively holding him still. He blinks up at you with wide eyes for a moment before they darken. 

You grin victoriously as he attempts to buck you off. You lose your balance slightly, hand shooting out to rest on his chest to maintain your balance and you giggle when he tries to buck you off again but your grip keeps you upright. He pouts beneath you and you’re about to taunt him further but you’re stopped by the sound of the front door opening. You sit up straight, craning your neck to try and see who’s entered. A moment later, your question is answered when Jin appears, looking just as surprised to see you as you are to see him. 

Yoongi chooses that moment to try to buck you off again and your hand tightens as you try to maintain your balance. Jin’s brows furrow in confusion and he makes his way around the couch. The second he sees Yoongi beneath you, he’s turning his back on you both with a noise of disgust. 

“Yoongi, what the fuck! I thought we agreed a long time ago that there would be no fucking in the living room!” he yells, arms flailing as he speaks. 

Your cheeks heat and you quickly look down, realizing what a compromising position you’re in and how it must’ve looked to Jin. You violently shove yourself off Yoongi’s lap, back hitting the edge of the coffee table and causing you to wince. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” you protest. 

You know Jin is rolling his eyes, not believing you one bit. “Oh please. I know what I saw.”

“I was just practicing some makeup! Yoongi wouldn’t stop squirming. I was just trying to get him to sit still so I could work.” Your defense sounds weak even to your own ears.

Jin pauses and seems to debate something before hesitantly turning to look at you over his shoulder. His gaze goes from you to Yoongi and the half finished work on his chest to your makeup case and then he throws his head back with a groan. He stomps off to his room, muttering something about not being able to deal with both of your oblivious asses.

You frown, watching him go, perplexed by his words. What were you being oblivious about? 

Yoongi taps you to get your attention and you turn back to see his smug grin. He glances pointedly to his chest where when you look, you see that you’ve accidentally smeared purple across his pec when you’d pushed yourself off of him. 

“That’s not fair! That doesn’t count because that has extenuating circumstances.” You pout. 

Yoongi just shakes his head, clearly deciding that this means he has won his little challenge. Not wanting to go down easy, you turn to your case, looking for one of the glitter creams you’d put in there for Joy’s shoot and before Yoongi can react, you smear it across his other pec. 

You laugh in glee as Yoongi belatedly tries to move away and fails. You manage to dart your hand out, smearing more glitter across his cheek. He glares at you before tackling you and wrestling the bottle from your hand. He grins down at you in victory from his perch atop your thighs and he quickly dips a finger into the bottle, swiping it across your cheek. You try to fight him off, but it only succeeds in smearing more glitter on both of you. 

You’re both breathless from laughter and the room slowly settles around you as you grin at each other. The glitter on Yoongi’s cheek matches the way his eyes shine and you stare at each other, the moment charged, tension thick. You wonder what he’s thinking and almost in answer, his gaze drops to your lips. Then there’s a bang from somewhere else in the apartment and Yoongi twitches, breaking the trance you both were in. He blinks a few times then slowly slides off of you, replacing the cap on the bottle. 

“It’s late,” he murmurs. 

You nod but remain on the floor. “Bring me my pillow please?” You jut your bottom lip out, hoping to convince him. You don’t want to move but you also don’t want to be uncomfortable. 

He rolls his eyes. “Just come sleep in the bed, stupid. It’s not the first time.”

You chew your lip for a moment, you don’t know how to say that this time feels like it’ll be different. So you don’t say anything, letting yourself be pulled to your feet and following Yoongi to his room. He digs some of your sleep clothes out of a drawer and sets them on the bed beside where you’re sat. He leaves and comes back a moment later with some makeup wipes and a damp cloth, gently wiping you clean of makeup. 

You’re stunned into silence, watching him as he works to clean you and you idly wonder if this is what it’s like when you’re doing his makeup. It feels scarily intimate and you don’t know if it’s just this moment or if this is how he always feels, that scares you more. You’re always so focused on your work, you’ve never noticed. He’s close enough that it wouldn’t take much to lean up to kiss. 

Your heart is in your throat, you could do it. If it went bad, you could always blame the alcohol, but you're positive that he was about to earlier too. You’re snapped out of it by Yoongi straightening back up, giving you a soft smile. 

“I’m going to clean up. I’ll be back.”

You feel startlingly sober after he leaves, changing your clothes mechanically. Once changed you slip into his bed, on your side, and try to think about how you’ve done this enough times that you actually have a side on his bed. But you and the guys all share beds often. This is not any different from those times. Except, it does feel different. You feign sleep when Yoongi re-enters and he moves around quietly to not wake you. He brushes a few strands of hair from your face and presses a kiss to your forehead before turning to go to sleep.

You try to keep from being awkward around Yoongi, the memory of his lips against your skin haunts you, but given the circumstances, you think you mostly manage to be mostly normal. At least normal enough that when you beg him to come to your studio to test the bite prosthetic that you’ve been trying to perfect, he agrees to it easily. 

But that seems to be the easiest part. Now, with Yoongi in your campus studio alone, no chance of interruptions, the tension is thick in the air. You know you probably need to talk about the other night, there’s no way Yoongi didn’t feel the shift, doesn’t still feel it as your hands move across his chest, neck, his waist. But you both remain silent. You’re reminded of when Yoongi was washing the makeup off of you and how that closeness felt to you and you wonder if he feels that now. You sneak a glance at his face, but it gives nothing away, face relaxed and eyes closed as you work, if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he’d fallen asleep.

You shake yourself out of it, if his eyes are closed, clearly it’s not the same as it was for you. You ignore the sting you feel in your chest at the thought and continue working.  

Your hands lightly trace Yoongi’s side as you draw away, scrutinizing his torso. Looking for any last details to tweak or improve. The wound between his ribs and the bite marks, actually more of a chunk ripped out of his side and a bite mark on his neck, look good. Coloring right, depth good, his face looks sunken in the right places, he’s paler than usual, it’s all just missing one thing. You walk to the work bench while he remains in the middle of the studio, eyes now open again with the absence of your hands on him. Looking through the various bottles of red lining the wall, you finally select one, a little runny but the right shade to look like it’s been dried to his skin for a while. 

You pause when you get back to him, eyes flicking to his pants then back up to him. “Um, do you care about those pants?”

He glances down, seeming to not have known what jeans he was even wearing. He frowns. “Uh yes actually. These are my favorite.” You try to hide your disappointment, but Yoongi must catch it anyway, because he continues. “But I can just take them off so you can do the blood. Can’t properly test the makeup without all the makeup, right?” He winks and your heart swells that he’s so willing to do so much for you.

You chuckle and step back as he tries to carefully shed his jeans without ruining the makeup covering his chest and stomach. He doesn’t get very far, unable to bend over to push them down very far and too tight to have any hope to just kick off. You bite back a laugh and step forward. 

“I can help?” You offer hesitantly. It’s suddenly hitting you that Yoongi is about to be in front of you in just his boxers. 

He swallows, clears his throat, before giving a curt nod and looking away, his makeup hiding the ways his cheeks blaze with his thoughts. You kneel, setting the bottle of blood aside and reach up to grab his pants. You hesitate for a moment with your hands in front before moving to the much safer location at his sides, taking hold and gently pulling them down. You do your best to focus on the task and ignore the way his crotch is basically in your face and the fact that you're on your knees in front of him. Maybe you shouldn’t have knelt down to do this, giving the compromising position it’s put you in. You really should’ve thought this whole thing through before telling him to take his pants off. 

You instead focus on the ground as you work his pants off. Once off and tossed safely to the side you look back up to him, which turns out to be a mistake. Because on the way up, you don’t miss the unmistakable twitch of his dick in his boxers, but you do miss the way his dark eyes follow your movements, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Your eyes widen and you quickly busy yourself with grabbing the bottle and getting back to your feet all while studiously ignoring Yoongi and the way your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. 

He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

You want the ground to swallow you up. It’s worse that he’s acknowledging it, you both could’ve just pretended that his dick isn’t half hard and that you most definitely saw the outline of it. You shake your head. “It’s fine, really.”

You open the bottle of blood. You hope if you get to work that Yoongi will stop talking, won’t make this more awkward, give more tension to this situation. Yoongi goes silent as soon as the bottle is open, straightening his back and assuming his usual position and you’re grateful. 

You use a dropper to get blood into the wounds, watching the paths the blood tracks down Yoongi’s skin once it overflows, following unti the drops hit his boxers and seep into the fabric. You continue, adding extra splatters and drips, blooding up his face as well. Your eyes trace the tracks left across his body, it’s missing something but you can’t place your finger on what. You step back, tilt your head to the side as you study him. You look from the bottle back to him, hoping it will hit you, but nothing comes. 

After a few minutes, Yoongi moves, scratching lightly at the corner of his mouth and accidently smearing some of the blood there. He looks worried when he sees the red painting his finger tip. 

“I’m so sorry, it just tickled, I thought I was avoiding it.”

You’re not listening though because the smear on his mouth is the answer you’ve been searching for. The blood you’ve put on is too neat, it looks unnatural. No zombie is going to just stand there and no human being attacked would be so still. They’d fight and squirm and blood would smear. You shake your head quickly when he goes to apologize again and step forward, reaching out and smearing the blood around his mouth a little more, fingers lightly tracing his lips. You only give yourself a small moment to appreciate the feel of them. You work down his body, smearing areas that need it and adding more blood when it seems like somewhere isn’t bloody enough. 

Your fingers brush the hem of his boxers and you jerk your hand away, avoiding his eyes and trying to ignore the fact that he’s only gotten harder since you took his pants off. You step back quickly looking over your work again, not letting your gaze drop below his waist. It’s still missing something. You look at the bottle and your bloodied hand and look back at him, trying to piece out what you think is missing. You look at your hand again and get an idea. You pour a little more blood onto it, setting the bottle aside and stepping back to Yoongi. You look him over slowly, trying to figure out the best place for it and your eyes stop on the bite on his neck. 

You study the other side of his neck, looking starkly bare next to the gore of the bite and your place your hand gently on his neck, thumb brushing his chin. You can imagine the jerking movement that your placement would have actually been had you been going for his throat and your caress seems all the more strange, so gentle compared to the violence that your makeup appears, to the bloody print you’re leaving behind. 

You meet Yoongi’s gaze and are frozen by the heat in his eyes. Your fingers twitch against his skin but you can’t find it in yourself to pull away. You feel like you’ve been staring at Yoongi for an eternity, but it couldn’t have been more than a handful of moments, before there’s movement, you can’t really tell if it’s you or him who moves first. But then Yoongi’s lips are pressed to your own and you can now fully appreciate their softness. 

You can feel the blood smear around your own mouth, taste the bitterness on your lips when you grow bold enough to let your tongue dance along the seam of his lips until he opens up to you and the bitterness of the blood is quickly lost to a taste that is wholly Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi groans and pulls you flush against him and you can feel the blood seep into your clothes but you can’t really find it in you to care when he abandons your mouth in favor of trailing his lips across your jaw and down your throat to nip and suck at the skin there, marking you with set of bite marks. . 

You moan at the sharp sting, squirming against Yoongi’s hold. He growls, arm wrapping tighter around you as he quickly maneuvers you to the floor, situating himself between your legs to keep you pinned with his hips. You gasp when you feel his hard cock press against you. He makes a noise against your throat and grinds against you a few times. You tangle your hands in his hair, staining the blond strands pink and red and give him a gentle tug. He lifts his head at your urging, looking down at you with hazy, hungry eyes, eyes that are at odds with the makeup surrounding them. You heart stutters in your chest, for a moment it’s easy to forget that Yoongi is human, the makeup and hunger in his eyes make him look ready to absolutely devour you. 

Which he does when you pull him in for another kiss, muttering a ‘Yoongi please’ against his lips. He licks into your mouth and you feel wholly consumed by him. He gives you a squeeze before one hand is slipping between the two of you. His hips shift, cock pressing against your thigh so that his fingers can press at your clit through your panties and leggings. 

Yoongi groans and bites your bottom lip. “Fuck… You’re already so wet and we haven’t done anything.” He leans back, a teasing smirk in place. “Zombies and blood get you that hot?”

You glare at him, reaching down and into his boxers to wrap your hand around his dick. His mouth drops open and you grin in victory. 

“Like you have room to talk.” You begin to pump him slowly.

Yoongi grumbles and kisses you again to keep anymore smart remarks from coming out. He continues to rub you through your legging and you can feel your slick slowly soaking the fabric the more he presses against it. You whine, squirming against his fingers.

He shushes you. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll give you what you want.”

You huff, squeezing him tighter until he gasps. You smirk. “Then give it to me.”

He chuckles, giving you one last peck before he’s pulling away. “I should’ve known you’d be just as mouthy like this as you are any other time.” He sits back on his heels and grabs your leggings and tugs them and your panties off in one go, leaving your bottom half bare aside from the smears of blood. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’ve thought about how I’d be like this?” You tease. 

He pauses and you’re about to question him when he’s diving back down to silence you with a kiss. Had he thought about you like this? His reluctance to give a straight answer makes it seem likely and that sends a thrill through you. 

He shoves his underwear down enough to get to his cock, brushing it along your folds. You gasp into the kiss, hands coming up to grab at his sides, one hand meeting the latex of the mark on his side. 

He presses in slowly and when he bottoms out he jerks himself away from the kiss to stare down in wonder at where you’re joined, like he can’t believe this is happening. You’re not entirely sure this isn’t just a very weird wet dream. After a moment too long of his inactivity, you whine and squirm again. His eyes snap up to you and the lust in his gaze makes your breath catch in your throat. Yoongi’s features are much sharper with the makeup, more intense. You never thought blood would be a thing, but Yoongi covered in it while towering over you is apparently a thing you are very into.  

His lips curl up devilishly and with the combination of makeup, he looks potently lethal right now, like he’s about to absolutely ruin you. You’d let him too. He draws out slowly, smirk still in place, until just the tip remains inside. Then he snaps his hips forward and you cry out. He starts a quick pace and your hands slide around to his back to dig your nails in. You vaguely think that you ripped some of the bite mark up, but Yoongi makes no indication that he felt anything. And you couldn’t care about ruining all your work when you’re doing your best just to hang onto your sanity as Yoongi’s cock drags against your walls in all the best ways. 

Yoongi buries his face in your neck, hand slipping between you both once again to rub at your clit. “Come on baby, cum for me. Fuck, cum on my cock, love.”

He punctuates his command with a nip to your neck and you shudder, orgasm swiftly rising. A few more circles of your clit has your back bowing as you cum, pussy convulsing around Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi’s pace stutters slightly from the sudden constriction but as soon as your orgasm begins to subside, he’s grabbing your hips and thrusting harshly into you to chase his own release. 

Tears gather in your eyes at the onslaught of overstimulation. “Yoongi… Fuck, please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. “Yoongi…”

He groans and kisses you messily as he gets a handful more thrusts before he’s cuming, flooding your pussy. Your gasp, shuddering at the warmth and his hips twitch at the sound. After a few moments of catching his breath, he carefully pulls out, flopping beside you and gathering you to his chest. 

You both lay there in silence. Your mind is blissfully quiet for a while, until Yoongi presses a kiss to the top of your head and suddenly everything feels like too much, ming in overdrive because what was this supposed to mean? You’d been so careful to keep your feelings hidden and you feel too exposed. You need to leave, you need space, you need to think. You jerk up, quickly looking for your leggings. Yoongi sits up slowly, he looks confused and in your rush to find your clothes, you miss the flash of hurt on his face as he watches you. 

“Sorry, I forgot we had a meeting for the film tonight. Everyone’s so busy this was the only time we could do it.” You babble out. You know you don’t sound particularly coherent, you can’t even properly stand.

You can’t find your underwear so you give up on them, you need to get out of here or you’re going to cry. You tug your leggings on, ignoring the cool tackiness of the crotch or the way they instantly get soaked further with your and Yoongi’s mixed releases. 

Yoongi looks like he wants to say something but remains silent as you gather your things. You pause at the door and chew your lip. You turn and give him a little wave, the best smile you can muster in place as you do. You know it’s not very good, but it’s the best you’ve got. 

“I’ll text you after. I’m so sorry I’ve gotta go.” You murmur as you slip out. 

Yoongi sits on the floor for a few moments after you leave, cement floor cold against his bare ass. Eventually, he pushes himself up and moves over to the sink to begin cleaning himself up. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and pauses to observe just how much of your work was ruined. The bite mark on his side has been almost completely torn off, only hanging on in a few spots. The makeup and blood has been smeared into one big mess and he’s pretty sure most of it just rubbed off onto you. 

Yoongi sighs. You hadn’t even gotten a picture of all this work before it’d gotten ruined and there’s no hope of him getting any picture worth while. He continues his trip to the sink and cleans himself up, completely used to the sting of removing latex from his skin. The methodical cleaning lets his mind wander and he regrets that he let hormones get the best of him in this situation. He’d wanted to ask you out first, maybe a couple of dates before anything physical like this. He’s liked you for so long and this was his chance. He tries not to think of your rushing out as meaning anything other than what you said about your meeting. He’s had his share of strange meeting times. 

He finishes and dresses himself, taking it upon himself to clean up the supplies you’d left out in your haste to leave, a fond smile finding its way to his lips as he recounts the many times you’ve lamented your messy studio mates who leave supplies out. Once finished, he shuts the lights off and decides to head home.

He expects his house to be empty when he returns, it’s past midnight at this point and you had said there was a meeting for the film and if you had to go that meant that the actors would be there as well. But to his surprise, Jin is lounging on the couch, watching some drama on Netflix when he enters. 

He frowns. “Is the meeting over already?”

Jin gives him a questioning look. “Meeting?” Jin looks him over, takes in the pink skin from where the latex had sat. “Where were you?”

“I was helping Y/n with some final tweaks to the zombie makeup. That didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know what meeting you’re talking about, Yoongi. There was no meeting tonight.” Jin catches the way Yoongi’s face crumples and sits up, gaze intent on Yoongi. “Why? Who said there was?”

Yoongi ignores him for a moment, goes to the sink to get a drink of water and Jin follows, waiting patiently for Yoongi’s response.

“Y/n said there was. She remembered after we-” He cuts himself off abruptly, cheeks turning crimson. 

Jin picks up on it, perking up. “After you...?” he presses. When Yoongi doesn’t immediately speak up, he continues. “Did you finally ask her out like we’ve been telling you to?!” Jin’s about to excitedly continue when Yoongi cuts him off with a soft ‘no’. His face falls. “What happened then?”

“We- “ Yoongi rubs his hands on his face then sighs. “We fucked. In her studio. It just… It’s been building up for so long. But I had such a good plan laid out to ask her out. But... “ He trails off and doesn’t finish.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Jin murmurs, pulling the other into a tight hug. “I promise you this will work out. She likes you too and I’m sure she’s just a little scared about what this means.” Yoongi sniffles and Jin hugs him tighter. “It’ll be okay, Yoongi. Promise.”

You’re incredibly grateful that shooting started the day after your night with Yoongi in your studio. Your thoughts have been a mess. That night seemed like the culmination of something, but when you tried to think of just what it meant, you found yourself terrified of what the answer may be. So you did the safest thing and ran. 

Jin tried to talk to you a little bit while filming, but he was still fairly easy to avoid with excuses of needing to touch up the zombies' makeup. You could see the sadness in his eyes and after the first two days he stopped trying to corner you and so you tentatively sought him out during break one day, talking about topics that stayed safely away from Yoongi. You assume Yoongi had told him at least something about that night, but you’re too terrified to ask what he knows. 

But now here you were, almost two weeks later and you’ve only seen Yoongi in group settings. It’s the longest you’ve gone without hanging out with just him in almost the whole time you’ve been friends. He looked tired, but when anyone else brought it up to him, he’d wave it off that he was just busy with the film soundtrack. His eyes linger on you and you know he wants to talk to you, but you don’t know if you can handle that just yet. But you resolve that after the film is over and you’ve had time to process, you’ll seek him out. You at least owe him that much.

The premiere is tonight, it’s relatively small, mostly people who worked on it and their friends, plus some other students from the campus who get first chance to see films that will get screened to the public later. Your friends all gathered with you in a row and you can see Yoongi at the other end of them. The film turns out as good as you knew it would and as the credits begin to roll, people begin to filter out. Jin tells you that they’ll meet you in the lobby, they know how much you love to sit through the credits and appreciate everyone who worked so hard to put out a film. 

You watch the names as they go by, overwhelming pride when you see your friends' names up there. Then it gets to the soundtrack and you bite your lip. Yoongi did most of the soundtrack, these are his babies and you read through each one and feel so much pride you might burst. 

The grin on your face falters a little when you see the last three titles and you jerk to your feet, hands gripping the seat in front of you tightly. They can’t be. But there in black and white, “midnight meeting”, “old friends”, and “so much more to give” scroll by you. They could just be titles, maybe Yoongi didn’t even name them. But you know Yoongi would never send a track out unnamed and he names everything with purpose. Everything he creates has meaning. And there’s only one thing those three together could mean. 

As the realization hits you, you gasp, hand covering your mouth and tears welling up in your eyes. This is his way of confessing because you’ve been avoiding him. He knows how you always stay behind to watch the credits. 

A chuckle sounds behind you and you startle, turning to see Yoongi still sitting in his seat down the row from you. “I’m glad I chose this way so that no one sees you cry at the end of a zombie movie. They might get the wrong idea,” he teases. 

“Yoongi…” you breathe. 

He nods towards the screen. “Good idea, huh? Can’t say many people get confessed to through movie credits during the soundtrack part.”

He pushes himself to his feet, moving closer to where you remain frozen, mind still not fully caught up. He looks nervous when he stops in front of you and you haven’t said anything yet. 

“I hope I didn’t read everything wrong?” He looks scared.

That snaps you out of your inaction, reaching forward to grab his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. “Fuck, I love you, Yoongi.”

He grins into the kiss, arms wrapping around you. “I love you too,” he murmurs. 

Zombie movies might be your new favorite genre.

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday 2

I’m posting two WIPs today because they’re both currently being absorbed into another fic and will never again see the light of day in this form! So here is the second one!

This BOTW scene, but written in a modern fantasy way is: Link is officially named Zelda’s appointed ‘knight’ (but it’s agent because modern).

Goes along with this other earlier scene using the same Link and Zelda where Link saves Zelda from a Guardian with a pot lid (but it’s not a pot lid).  

~~~

“You wanted to speak with me, Father?” she asked politely, not waiting for his permission before taking one of the seats in front of his great desk.

He sat with a stack of paperwork that he pushed to the side while Zelda was here. “There are some things we need to discuss. Things of the utmost urgency. For one, the proposal that Robbie and Purah sent in. I know you had a hand in it, but you cannot be working with them. Not when your time is better spent trying to unlock your powers. That brings me to my second order of business: you must return to the springs.”

“No, father—”

“—Don’t interrupt me, Zelda. You’ll return to the springs and try again. This time, you will not be going with a large escort, but a single guard. An… appointed agent, if you will.”

“And who is this agent?”

“Well, you met yesterday, from my understanding. Send him in,” he called out.

Zelda turned as the doors opened and watched a young man, just a few years older than her, walk in. He was in street clothes, unlike the palace guards. And it only took her a minute to figure out why.

“You! You saved me yesterday. How is your arm?”

He bowed slightly. “It’s well, Princess.”

She turned back to her father. “One of my undercover guards is going to accompany me?”

“He will be in a uniform, not undercover. I pulled him from training for this meeting. Does he look familiar, Zelda?”

“Of course. We met yesterday.”

“No, no, not that,” the king muttered, waving his hand. “Think harder.”

Zelda stared at the man, unsure where else she was meant to know him from.

He was attractive, that much was undeniable. For a moment, she tried to think of magazine covers or advertisements, wondering if perhaps the man who’d saved her had been a world-famous super model. He had a rugged look about him, hard features, a sharp jaw, a piercing in each of his ears. She hadn’t expected him to be quite so tall either. How had she never seen him as one of her undercover guards? Surely she’d have noticed the incredibly attractive stranger following her everywhere.

Intense blue eyes. A stare that was beyond focused. A knit in his brow. 

Tired eyes. A set jaw. Worry lines.

His long hair was tied back into a low ponytail, though his shorter bangs didn’t quite make it into the elastic and fell in front of his face. Under her intense scrutiny, he made a point to push them behind his ears.  

“I’m sorry, Father,” she finally said, giving up. “I can’t place him beyond yesterday’s encounter.”

“This is the Hero of Hyrule, Zelda.”

Zelda’s head whipped toward her father so quickly that she could hear it snap a bit. “Excuse me?”

“The Hero of Hyrule.”

Her eyes went back to The Hero, much slower this time.

The Hero.

“The real one?”

The guard’s head bobbed once, tight and restrained, like an admission he didn’t want to reveal.

“You have the sword? You’re the man who went into that freaky forest and pulled the sword from the stone like? You?”

This time, he looked away, embarrassed. So, her father affirmed that it was him.

There was no sword on his hip though. Only a gun, something that she knew only the most elite of guards carried. It wasn’t a common weapon, and they were still working to perfect its efficiency, but the guards knew how to use it well enough to quickly load, aim, and fire at something to temporarily debilitate it. “Well, do you keep the sword with you? Is it under your shirt or something?”

“Zelda, you’re being unkind,” her father scolded. “Obviously he does not roam around swinging a sword. He’s well trained in—”

“Oh yes, we’ve all heard the stories of how well trained you are. ‘The Hero of Hyrule strikes fear into the heart of the enemies in Labrynna.’ ‘The Hero of Hyrule receives recognition for his acts of selfless bravery in the war.’ ‘The Hero of Hyrule strikes again, saving an entire platoon with his courage and skill.’ Believe me, Hero, we’ve all heard of you.”

“Zelda!” her father hissed. “This attitude of yours is unbecoming a future queen. This is Link Forrester, and you will address him without your snark. He’s to accompany you. Your life is in good hands with him.”

“My life? Am I not just going to pray again?”

The King finally stood up from his desk. “There have been… more attacks by the Yiga Clan. We have received intelligence reports stating that you are a target. I’m so sorry, Zelda, but you cannot be flouncing around unattended any longer. There is too much risk involved. You and Link will be acquainted here for the time being, and when I feel confident enough in his demonstrated skills, I will grant you leave to pray at the springs again.”

“Father, I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been doing fine with my guards,” she countered, though inside, she was nervous. She was a target? But there was no way she could show her father, of all people, that she was succumbing to another failure. This time, a lack of courage.

“Enough, Zelda. You will not have a say in this. It’s decided. Starting tomorrow, Link will be your new guard. Agent,” he said, turning his attention from his daughter. “You’ve been assigned a new room on the same floor as the Princess Zelda to better accommodate her security.”

“My floor?” Zelda balked. That was taking things too far. A true invasion of personal space. “Is this not excessive? Am I the only one who doesn’t like this? I don’t want this. No. I want to keep my guards. I don’t need the Hero to be my shadow. Father, can we discuss this privately?”

Relenting to just that, King Rhoam nodded. “Leave us,” he said, as everyone behind Zelda headed back outside the room.

It was just the two of them, father and daughter staring at each other in open opposition.

“Father, I don’t understand!”

“What don’t you understand about this? You claim to be such a scholar; figure it out!”

“I’m perfectly happy with my guards! They do such a good job. They’re scarce when I need them to be, and they’re on top of me when I’m in danger. I don’t know why you think it’s safer for me to forsake my trustworthy and loyal companions for him. You’ve heard the stories, same as I have! I don’t want him.”

“Zelda, please,” Rhoam sighed.

“No! You must understand my ire better than anyone! You know how much I’ve struggled to earn the Goddess’ favors, and they will not smile on me for even a moment. But Link,” she spat his name like it was a curse, “is beloved by Hylia and her people. He is lavished with praise and inspires devotion from all who look upon him. The people treat him like he’s a god. The Goddess is likely to choose him as her consort rather than her hero at this point. She favors him enough.”

“Zelda!” Rhoam scolded. “Perhaps if you’d stop insulting the gods, you might earn their favor as well.”

“Please,” she begged as if he hadn’t spoken. “Anyone but him. I’ll dutifully accept any glorified babysitter so long as it isn’t him. Please, Father. Please.”

Rhoam stood and crossed the room, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. As much as he wanted to oblige his only child’s wish, this was not something he could budge on. “He is to be the Hylian Champion in the fight against the Calamity. He has the Master Sword. He is among the most accomplished and decorated soldiers in all of Hyrule--”

“Oh yes,” Zelda interrupted, “Tell me all his accomplishments once more. I’d forgotten them.”

Rhoam shot her an annoyed look. “He is the most qualified to protect you against the Yiga. He will be your partner when the Calamity comes. He can keep you safe from the monsters that are roaming Hyrule. And if you tell me how ‘wonderfully’ you evaded that moblin one more time, I swear to the Goddess herself, Zelda, I will not let you leave this castle.”

With a deep sigh, Zelda knew she was losing. In truth, the time she’d escaped a moblin’s notice while on her own was one of her proudest moments, though she might have used the story one too many times on her father to prove her capabilities. 

“What will happen to my regular guards?’

“They’re needed elsewhere, Zelda. And the Sheikah must return to work on the Guardian project. Let it go all, Zelda. You will not win this one. And you should go talk to him. This will be too long if you ignore him.

Zelda scoffed. “According to the stories, he barely speaks--”

“You speak enough for two,” the king muttered.

“--he’s blessed by every god and goddess in our kingdom--”

“What a horrible thing, to be sure.”

“-- and he’s just so serious! I have never known a thing about his personality, even from the gossip around the kingdom.”

Rhoam placed his hand on Zelda’s shoulder and began to lead her out. “Now you’re going to believe gossip? Surely you of all people know what lies are spread through gossip.”

“Please, Father,” she tried, one final time and with defeat ringing clear in her voice.

Rhoam stopped her at the door. “As your father, I sympathize. As your father, I want you to be safe as well as comfortable. But as King, I must insist you stop fighting me on this matter as my mind will not change. He’s here, and I, the king, will have no lesser soldier by your side given the threats on your life. You will accept this. Now go.”

 Zelda turned with a huff and headed out the door, listening to her father mutter something behind her as she followed the long hallway from his rooms. And immediately, Link was behind her.

“You’re starting now?”

He bowed his head, an apologetic affirmation.

“Ridiculous,” Zelda muttered, heading to her room.

[chaseatinydream]

first kiss || j.wy (atz)

➵ pairing: reader x jung wooyoung (ateez)

➵ word count: 3148

➵ genre: convenience store date; confession; fluff

➵ synopsis: wooyoung just wanted cup ramen at 12:05am with a dash of seasoning “you”.

>>>

You’re startled out of sleep by the ringing of your phone.

For a moment, you’re tempted to reach for the accursed device and hurl it at the wall, but rational thought catches you before you can do so… that phone was expensive. Sitting up groggily, you push back the messy hair falling into your eyes and glare at your alarm clock. You feel like you’ve barely slept since the night before.

And with good reason, because it’s only freaking 12:03 AM in the bloody morning.

Your phone rings again and you scowl at it, willing it to somehow magically shut up so you don’t have to get up from under the warm covers of your bed, but alas, you don’t have any telekinetic powers and are required to crawl over to it like a poor, ordinary human being.

Flipping your phone around, you almost screech in agony as the unholy brightness of the screen seems to sear your eyes and you chuck it to the side. You barely got a glimpse of the Caller ID, but a mere glance at those first few letters is enough for you to know who it is.

Only one person is close enough (and also stupid) to call you in the middle of the night without fear of violent retribution the next day.

Grumbling to yourself, one hand fumbles for the device and you press it to your ear, burying your face into the plush pillows. You want to go back to sleep.

“What is it, Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung’s voice is much too cheerful for a Tuesday night, but its energy is infectious, as much as you hate to admit it. You don’t need to, he knows it already, that the longer he keeps you on the phone, the higher his chances are of you acquising to his often ridiculous requests. Knowing Wooyoung, it’s probably going to the nearest convenience store to buy ice cream in the middle of winter.

“Hey! How’s my favourite best friend in the whole world doing, Chin Hae?”

Honestly, you sometimes wonder if Wooyoung is a vampire. He never seems to sleep, living and thriving purely off a diet of caffeine and energy drinks and perhaps human blood. Maybe you should start wearing garlic the next time you see him.

“I dunno, but I’m pretty sure San is at home cuddling with Shiber in his sleep.” You reply with a completely deadpan voice, not at all amused at being woken up so early at night. Early at night? Or is it the morning? Late at night? Why are you even thinking about this?

“Aww, you know that you’re my best friend.” You can practically hear the pout on his face over the phone and let out a massive snort, rolling over on your bed to stare at the ceiling, internally letting out a massive sigh.

Best friend. A goddamn best friend is all you are to him. Stupid Jung Wooyoung and his stupid pretty eyes, stupid pretty face, stupid pretty everything. The two of you had met a couple of years back when you’d first started college, seated next to each other on the first day of school. Upon glancing upon his face, you had nearly choked. Knife like jawline, near flawless skin, adorably big eyes behind rounded minimalist glasses, you had momentarily wondered what a model was doing in your school. He could pull off silver hair without looking like an eighty year old man, for god’s sake.

Next to you, no less. You didn’t like how he was making you look like a pig just by existing.

That had already been enough for you to instinctively dislike him, so when the professor had asked for all of you to introduce yourselves to each other, you had intended to give him some silly, standoffish answer and never speak to him again. You knew it was petty, yes, but who had given him the right to look so good?

No one. That’s who.

But to your absolute shock, the young man had simply grabbed your hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically, seemingly overflowing with too much energy to contain.

“You look like my new best friend!”

And everything had sort of… gone downhill from there.

Being Wooyoung’s best friend is somehow simultaneously one of the most beautiful and terrible things you’ve ever had to experience. He’s unbelievably kind, unlike what you had expected from such a pretty face, and possibly one of the most perfect beings to walk the surface of this earth. That’s the good part. You sometimes still can’t believe you’re friends.

The bad part is that you’re in love with him.

It’s no surprise, honestly. Who in this school isn’t in love with Jung Wooyoung? What you hate is that there are so many prettier, sweeter, nicer girls who all want a chance with your best friend, and you find yourself constantly grinding your teeth as they pass you love letters and chocolates with perfectly manicured hands, fighting the urge to throw them in the trash right before their eyes. You wish you could be half as bold as they are, but every time you so much as muster the courage to open your mouth to confess, Wooyoung’s breathless grin stops all brain activity and it just… somehow hasn’t happened for the last three months.

Swift and decisive, that’s you alright.

You scream into your pillow.

Best friend. Oooooh, you hate the sound of those words like it’s the screeching of the devil itself.

“Uhh, Chin Hae? You alright there?” Wooyoung’s voice suddenly drops in tone, a little more concerned and you’re tempted to chuck your phone out of the window while screaming obscenities to the heavens. He’s really not helping with this whole barely buried crush on him. In fact, you’re not sure how he hasn’t noticed. You’re pretty sure San already has.

But the phone. The phone is expensive.

You try your best to force a smile back on your face even though he can’t see it, raising the phone back to your ear. “I’m fine, Wooyoung. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you woke me up. Why exactly did you call me again?”

There’s a brief pause at the other end of the line.

“Do you wanna go and grab some cup ramen?”

You actually lift the phone away from your ear to stare at the screen, as if Wooyoung would be able to see your incredulous face somehow. “Wooyoung, it’s 12.03 in the morning.”

“12:05, actually.” Wooyoung pipes up unhelpfully in a hopeful voice and you groan, rolling out of bed as you search for something appropriate to wear in this ungodly temperature, hoping that your fingers and toes won’t freeze off in the meantime. Shivering and dancing around once your feet touch what feels like an ice block under your feet, the cool marble of your bedroom floor chills you to the very bone.

“Ah, cold, cold, cold!” You yelp, scooting over to the wardrobe as fast as you can, fingers rifling through your selection of puffy coats before they still momentarily on a furry collar. You glance down at your current outfit, a lumpy, knitted sweater and fuzzy socks with reindeer print on them. Maybe you should wear something that looks better in front of Wooyoung?

“Chin Hae? Hurry up, it’s cold out here!” Wooyoung exclaims into your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you shake you head as you imagine your best friend with an adorable pout on his stupid perfect face, pulling out the thickest black coat you have, one that Wooyoung gave to you a couple of months ago. Then something strikes you.

“You’re there already? Without knowing whether I’d be coming? In this weather?” You say almost incredulously as you shrug on the coat, adjusting the sleeves to fit better around your arms, the phone wedged in the space between your cheek and shoulder.

“Well, I knew you’d come!” Wooyoung says proudly, voice filled with so much surety that you’re tempted to cry for a moment. Maybe it’s just your infatuation, but everything he’s said lately has caused butterflies to flutter in your chest. You both love and hate the feeling at the same time, but it’s not like you’ve had much control over it. “I’m such an amazing friend-”

“Are you stupid?” You grumble, slipping down the hallway and grabbing your boots from the door side. Wooyoung gasps dramatically over the phone at your words.

“How dare you? I am hurt, you know. Are you questioning my mental capabilities?”

“Every single day.” You retort dryly, opening the door only to get hit by a blast of cold air right in the face. Holy shit it’s so cold you’re going to turn into an ice popsicle before you leave the house and maybe you should just go back to that warm, comfy bed-

Wooyoung’s laugh and perky voice comes over the speaker, echoing in your ears. “I’m waiting for you! Be there or be square!”

Before you can protest that he’s absolutely off his rocker for thinking that anyone in their right mind would leave the comfort of their home in this near hellish weather, the call ends and you’re left staring at your phone in wide eyed shock. His contact photo blinks back innocently at you, cheerful, bubbly smile on full display with his arms thrown around your shoulders, the two of you splattered with bright green and red paint after finishing your art project a year ago.

“I’d take being a square any day.” You mumble, then you smack yourself in the head and groan when you feel your heart melting. You’re not supposed to be this whipped for him, damnit! But you can’t find it in yourself to get angry at him in the least.

“You’re lucky I love you.” You hiss vehemently at your phone. And as you stalk towards the convenience store with murder in your eyes, you can’t help but feel like you really need to get over this stupid crush on Wooyoung before he makes you do something stupid.

When you do reach the midnight convenience store, it’s open and you step inside, glad to be free from the bite of the icy winds. It’s absolutely freezing out there, how Wooyoung can come out with the most ridiculous of plans is something you love about him, but will probably never understand.

Standing in the aisle, you wave at the lone cashier at the counter, he’s playing a game on his phone but returns your greeting, and your eyes scan the rows of snacks and bottled drinks in search of your best friend.

“You made it!”

A frightened squeak leaves your lips as you startle at the noise. Then you see Wooyoung sitting at the table near the glass wall with five cups of ramen before him, an endearing shit eating grin on his face.

You smack him in the shoulder hard as you slide into the seat next to him, grabbing your own cup from him with a pout. Wooyoung chuckles in amusement, rubbing at his arm in mock pain.

“I can’t believe you made me come all the way here for cup ramen in the middle of the night.” You tell him with a scowl on your face as you open up the lid. Steam creeps over your numb fingers and warms them up, and you grab your chopsticks to eat your ramen as fast as possible.

After that trek through all that snow, you’re ravenous.

“Hey, don’t eat so fast or-”

Shoveling the piping hot ramen into your mouth, you nearly choke on the first bite as the noodles scald your tongue. Coughing, you set the cup and chopsticks down and you can hear Wooyoung laughing hysterically at your side, his high pitched laughter bouncing off the walls of the empty store.

“Stop-” You cough again and hit Wooyoung on the arm in embarrassment. God, you should have never left the safety of your house. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Alright, alright.” He stifles his chuckles, passing you an uncapped bottle of iced coffee. Grumbling about betrayal and false friendships, you snatch it from him and down what’s left, his warm hands coming up to rub your back soothingly.

“You’re wearing those socks I bought you last Christmas. You swore you threw them out the second you unwrapped them.” Wooyoung remarks with a teasing grin and you growl at him, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You saw nothing.” You whisper menacingly into his ear, Wooyoung’s eyes glinting with amusement as his gaze meet yours. Your heart stutters for a second.

Then he sticks out his tongue to brush your palm.

“Ew!” You yelp and yank your arm back from his face, only to find him howling with mirth. Scowling, you plop back in your seat and grumble under your breath, picking up your chopsticks.

For the next hour or so, you and Wooyoung eat cup ramen side by side and watch the snowflakes outside fall gently to the ground, covering your footprints from earlier in a blanket of soft, powdery white. Wooyoung speeds his way through the first two cups of ramen before finally slowing down on the third one, his lips adorably red and swollen from the spicy taste. The two of you talk about nothing and everything, merely enjoying the company of each other.

When the two of you step out of the convenience shop and start on the road home, the snow has stopped for the most part aside from a few stray snowflakes here and there, but it’s still freezing cold. You raise your hands to your mouth to blow on them and rub them together, shaking your head in exasperation.

“I still can’t believe you ate five whole cups on your own, Wooyoung.”

“You know me, babe.” He winks impishly at you, but then his gaze softens a little as he looks at you with a fond smile. You watch the snowflakes land in his soft grey hair and for a moment, he looks so ethereal that he really just steals your breath away.

“Don’t call me that.” You bop him on the nose and he jumps, taking your hands into his.

“You’re freezing!” He comments with a pout, puffing out hot little breaths over your fingers. You try to wipe the warm, content smile off your face before he can see it, fixing your face into a scowl.

“Of course I am, who do you think dragged me out at 12:03 in the morning to eat cup ramen?” You shake your head in exasperation as you glance at the head of silvery grey hair before you, his head rising to give you a mischievous grin.

“Alright...” He drags the word out playfully, his cheeks flush from the cold. “Where else do you want me to warm you up?”

You point to your cheeks. The sides of your face feel near frozen. “Here.”

Wooyoung ducks to the side, blowing warm air on each cold cheek. They turn red upon contact with his breath, whether it’s from the cold or embarrassment, you hope he never finds out. “Where else?”

You point to your ears. You can’t see them for yourself, but Wooyoung has always told you that they flush pink in the cold winter air. Wooyoung grins and blows on each too, and warm blood rushes there in response to his touch. “And?”

You point to your nose. “It’s cold here.”

Wooyoung’s face leans forward to meet yours and your eyes slide shut. His breath ghosts over your nose, tickling you just a little, and you can feel his lips brush against your skin ever so gently before he pulls away.

“Where else?” He hums, squeezing your hands lightly in his. There’s a distinctively teasing smile playing on his lips. You touch your own in response.

“Here.” You point at your lips. They get cold fast, and in the winter they always get chapped, which you absolutely hate-

Wooyoung’s mouth dips down to meet yours.

You don’t register it for a moment, the taste of spicy ramen lingering on your lips as you ponder the flavour. It’s faint, not quite as strong as earlier, and you mumble against his lips. “You really ate too much ramen, Wooyoung, even your mouth tastes spicy now-”

Then you freeze.

Your eyes fly open in shock at what has just happened, a sharp intake of breath passing your lips. Wooyoung looks temporarily confused for a moment, before he too, realises what he’s just done.

The two of you spring apart, both turning red as tomatoes. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, your brain short circuiting as if you’ve walked straight into a power generator.

“You kissed-”

“I kissed-”

The two of you fall into utter silence for a moment, merely staring at each other in shock. Wooyoung’s face is as red as a cherry, a rosy red blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, mouth sputtering out nonsensical words of its own accord. “You... I... if... kiss... become...girlfriend?”

You shriek and bolt down the path at the last word.

Your short circuited brain can’t take any more.

Wooyoung sighs as he watches you go, shaking his head under his breath. Yes, he has feelings for you. Yes, he has been crushing on you for the last six months. Yes, he has asked you out tonight to enjoy your company because he loved seeing you like that, face bare and hair thrown into a messy bun, completely and utterly real.

But he never intended on kissing you out of the blue!

“I... I just need to apologize to her tomorrow and tell her it was all a mistake.” Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, teeth worrying his bottom lip anxiously. What if you’re too awkward to look him in the eye after this? He smacks himself in the forehead with a groan.

He’s such an idiot.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of crunching snow and blinks in confusion, raising his head. The second he does, soft, warm lips press against his too, moving so gently he feels all the air leave his lungs in one gasp.

Then all too fast, you pull away and Wooyoung only blinks at you owlishly in shock.

“Your lips were cold too!” You shout in his ears, face burning bright crimson with embarrassment. “See you tomorrow, Wooyoung!”

And then you’re running off again at top speed, nearly slipping on the snowy road and his heart leaps into his chest in a panic. But you catch your balance, slipping and sliding, before disappearing around the corner of the street.

His tongue darts out, sliding across his lips in wonderment.

His first kiss tastes like spicy ramen, iced coffee and best of all...

You.

[sdktrs12]

( Day 1 ) ( Day 2 ) ( Day 3 )

Sometimes he likes to swing by later in the day, when the kids are just getting settled into bed and the house is quieting down.  

Most of the time they don’t interact, but on occasion one of the kids will come down and pop their head in and giggle out a “Hi” before running away.  

There’s always a slew of emotions that come with those interactions, no matter how slight they are.  

They don’t shy away from him and he doesn’t blink an eye when it comes to them and really, he’s a parent too, so why should she expect any less?  

It had been the same with her and...and Marcus.

She wonders if any residual anger still courses through his veins when her and his son are in the same space together.  

They never talk about it (of course they never talk about it) and she wonders if there will ever be a time when these interactions will just...be.  

(And does she even really want that?)  

Tonight is one of those nights where he drops by as the sun is setting and the sky is erupting in dusky pinks and oranges and purples and Kenny is just walking out of the kitchen after getting one last glass of water before bed just as Rio walks in.  

Kenny greets him a little nervously, but mostly plays it cool and Beth has to bite back a smile as Rio gives him a little head nod before he darts off and up the stairs.  

She raises an eyebrow as he settles into a stool across from her and he rolls his shoulders back as he brings his hands down and laces his fingers together in front of him. “He’s a good kid.”  

Beth hums in agreement, more pleased than she’d ever admit out loud to hear him say that, even though sometimes she has her doubts. Can see bits and pieces of Dean peeking out of him.

“Whatchu doin’?” He asks, brows knitting together as he watches her flit around the kitchen.  

“The PTA’s raffling off a gift basket and I volunteered to help fill it with some treats.” She answers, but her mind is still on Kenny. On the last time she saw them interact. Her curiosity gets the better of her and the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. “What did you say to Kenny? That day we were at the pumpkin patch?” She asks slowly, actively avoiding eye contact as she gathers up the materials she’ll need to make her candy apples.  

“Nothin’. Jus’ told ‘im to make sure he’s helpin’ out his mama.” He slides off the stool as he answers, rounding the island to hop up onto the counter next to where she’s sorting out her ingredients. And she’s almost positive that isn’t all of it, but she’s momentarily distracted by the fact that now he’s in her way, crowding her space, and she glares up at him as he just grins back down at her. 

She swears he does this crap on purpose with the specific intent to irritate her.  

And it works.  

She’s about to reprimand him, thinks briefly about just shoving him off the counter without a word, when he starts before she can even begin. “Don’t those things come already prepackaged at the store?”  

“Well—yes, but why would I buy them when I can just make them?”  

“Nuh mama, you got them two things backwards.”  

Beth rolls her eyes as she slides her baking sheet over and lines it with parchment paper. “Some of us don’t have money to burn left and right.” She snidely points out as she quickly butters the paper and then pushes it aside.  

“That’s funny cause I seem to remember hearin’ a lil story about you burnin’ plenty of money.”  

And that just—god damn Annie and her big mouth. A few shots and a couple of vaguely threatening looks from the King of Smoulder himself, and she was more than willing to spill all the details of their many mishaps.  

“The point is, I know how to make them, so I do. And this way I can make them any way I like.”  

Beth turns to the saucepan on the stovetop, dumping in the already measured out ingredients and turning the knob on to bring everything to a boil.  

While she waits, she turns back to the counter and starts prepping the apples—taking them over to the sink and cleaning them with the fruit and veggie spray before thoroughly rinsing them.  

She feels Rio’s eyes on her the whole time, quietly observing her from his spot on the counter and she wills herself not to let him fluster her.  

And she realizes then—

In these moments, when she’s busying herself in the kitchen with meals or projects for the kids, when she’s in an almost constant state of motion—in these moments, his attention never strays from her.  

He’s always watching her, in an almost unnerving way—like seeing her here, like this, in her element...

It’s just as fascinating as it is for her to see him in his.  

The thought causes something in her chest to constrict almost painfully and she quickly pushes it aside.  

She moves back over to the stove after drying off the apples and turns the heat down, and then brings the apples back over to the counter.  

“Look, if you’re going to be here can you at least help?” She asks, and it doesn’t escape her that he hasn’t given an actual reason for being here and she hasn’t asked. She grabs up an apple and a wooden stick and holds them out to him and he grins, his fingers brushing against hers as he gently takes them from her hands.  

“Thank you.” She says quietly, then clears her throat before adding, “Just, shove it in there about halfway.”  

She freezes for a second after she says it and he huffs out a laugh as he shakes his head. “You know you make it too easy sometimes, right?”  

“Shut up.”  

They work in a companionable silence—after the mixture reaches the right temperature, Beth removes the pan from the heat and works quickly, dipping the apples in, coating them in the sugary concoction before handing them off to Rio, who rolls them around in the mini marshmallow and chocolate chip mixture she’d set out, before setting them out on the baking sheet to cool.

And she’s not sure if he registers it at the same time she does—just how...domestic this has all been, but she can feel him withdrawing when it’s all done, ready to make his exit, disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared.  

He’s halfway to the back door without a word and Beth panics a little, her eyes catching on the candy apples, and she calls out for him to wait, and he actually does, and it takes her a minute to recover from that, before she’s moving quickly, grabbing a clear cello bag out of one of the drawers and a candy apple off the sheet, cursing a little that it isn’t dry enough yet as she shoves it inside the bag as carefully as possible.  

She meets him by the door, holding the bag out, slightly shaky as she says, “For Marcus.”  

For a split second she thinks he won’t take it.  

Or worse, he will and throw it in the trash and she regrets every single decision that has led her to this exact moment right before he does take it, and he doesn’t throw it in the trash, offering her a small smile and his knuckles nudge her chin gently before he’s walking out the door with it and Beth is left standing alone, her heart feeling like it might beat right out of her chest.

[thecassadilla]

A Scarf to Keep Him Warm

Pairing: New Dream/Rapunzel x Eugene

Word Count: 1,754/AO3

Summary: Rapunzel decides to take matters into her own hands when she notices that Eugene doesn’t have any wintertime accessories.

Author’s Note: Hi again! I still hate fall, but I wrote another New Dream fic so yay! I was able to write about a skill that Rapunzel and I both share in this one - knitting! Although this is a modern!AU, Rapunzel is a skilled knitter just like she is in the movie. Writing this fic made me want to knit something even though I’ve devoted all of my time to writing these days lol. Anyway, enjoy!!!

In the years since she’d met him, Rapunzel learned a lot about the man known as Eugene Fitzherbert. From his meticulous hair styling and grooming routine, to the way he took his coffee, and everything in-between.

But the one thing that she couldn’t quite understand was his lack of preparedness for the colder seasons. A chill formed in the air, and while Rapunzel had added a hat, gloves, and a scarf to her outdoor ensemble, Eugene hadn’t added anything. He simply wore a black leather jacket, his hands buried deep in the pockets when they were outside for a prolonged period of time. 

The first winter they spent together, Rapunzel kept making the foolish assumption that he’d eventually add those missing pieces to his wardrobe. But soon, the air grew warm, and there was no longer a need for such accessories, and the assumption changed. Her new assumption was that he had a high tolerance for cold weather. Nonetheless, their pea coats and leather jackets were traded in for shorts and tank tops. 

But the seasons are cyclical, and autumn eventually returned. On one particularly brisk October morning, Rapunzel and Eugene sat at his kitchen table, discussing the rapid change of weather.

“Just yesterday it was sixty-five degrees!” he griped, setting two steaming mugs of coffee onto the table. “Today? It’s forty degrees! Should I break out the shovel just in case there’s an unexpected blizzard tomorrow?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Rapunzel shrugged, cradling the mug between her hands and relishing in its warmth.

“I’m getting really tired of the seasons,” he moaned. “I want to move somewhere where the seasons never change. Somewhere tropical and sunny. I hate cold weather.”

“I see,” she remarked, furrowing her eyebrows together and placing her mug back on the table. She leaned back in her chair, pondering what he had just said, before proceeding with her query. “How come you never wear anything that keeps you warm?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t exactly wear clothing that keeps you warm during winter,” she explained. “I feel like if you wore a scarf or gloves, then the cold would be more tolerable.”

He sat still for a moment before answering, his face softening. “I never really had those things when I was growing up. So I guess I never really thought about buying them as an adult?”

“Eugene,” she cooed, reaching out and taking his hands in her own. “That’s awful. No wonder why you can’t stand the changing seasons - you suffer every time you go outside because you’re cold.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Sunshine,” he promised, averting his eyes. He was trying to downplay the situation. “I’m used to it. I’ll survive this winter, just like I survived the past twenty-three winters: with a bit of complaining, and my trusty old leather jacket.”

Rapunzel was not satisfied with his response. Why would he want to continue to suffer when the solution was so simple? So, she decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. If he didn’t want to buy a scarf, she would make him one. It would be more expensive and labor-intensive than simply buying him a scarf, but it would be worth it.

Knitting was one of the many talents that she acquired, but never put to use. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hobby, and she was grateful that she’d finally be able to put her skills to work. The following day, she spent hours on the Internet, researching patterns and types of yarn before taking a trip to the craft store. She wandered for what felt like hours, picking up the supplies that she knew she needed - particularly, size eleven needles - and the supplies that she wanted. After consulting with the sales associate, and taking trips to a few other craft stores, she finally found the yarn she was looking for; skeins of dark grey cashmere. It would match his leather jacket, and it would be softer against his skin than wool. Finally satisfied, she returned home to her apartment and set off to work.

The pattern she chose was fairly simple, and nothing to fuss about; a simple two-by-two rib stitch pattern. She followed the pattern closely, casting on thirty-nine immaculate loops. Knit two, purl two, repeat. Row after row, she sat for hours under the soft glow of the floor lamp in her tiny, cozy living room. It was easy to keep going; her hands growing accustomed to the back and forth motion of the needles, and the constant pulling of the yarn. When she finally put the needles down and glanced at her cell phone, she realized exactly how much time had passed. Fifteen text messages from Eugene that had gone ignored. Instead of answering them she decided it would be easier to call him. He answered after a few rings.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he crooned, his voice low and gravelly.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s alright,” he insisted, and he suddenly sounded much more awake than he did the minute before. “I dozed off on the couch. I’m glad you called, we didn’t get to talk much today.”

“Sorry about that,” she grimaced. “I was a little preoccupied.”

“No need to be sorry. You were busy.”

“I still should’ve checked in.”

“I’m just happy to hear your voice.” She could practically hear him smiling through the phone and she found herself blushing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No,” she sighed, glancing down at the project in her lap. “I have plans after work. Tuesday for sure, though.”

“Okay,” he said, softly. “I think I’m gonna head off to bed now.”

“Same here. My eyes are starting to burn.”

“Goodnight, Sunshine. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled. “Sleep well, Eugene.”

Though, instead of making it to her bedroom, she settled back into the chair and slept there, too tired to move.

When she got back from work the next day, she settled into the same routine. Knitting and purling under the glow of her lamp until she finally felt satisfied with the length of the scarf. She began to bind off, making sure that the edges were even and perfect. When she finished the very last stitch, she rolled her shoulders back, releasing the tension that had built up while she was working on her project. She stood up, dropped the needles onto the chair and brought the scarf over to the mirror. She draped it over her own shoulders and around her neck, trying to picture what it would look like on Eugene.

She eventually took it off, and gently folded it so it would easily fit into her oversized purse, as the best way to catch him off guard was to not put his gift in a gift bag. And for the rest of the evening, she twiddled her thumbs and hoped that the clock would move faster so she could finally give the scarf to him. 

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Rapunzel was buzzing with excitement by the time she finally made it to Eugene’s apartment, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hide the scarf from him for long once she actually saw him. She knocked a few times before he answered.

He was already smiling when he opened the door. “Hey, Rapunzel.”

“Hi,” she said, walking into the tiny hallway. They shared a quick, but sweet ‘hello’ kiss before she shimmied out of her jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They had barely made it any further into his apartment before she nearly exploded with eagerness. “So, I have something for you,” she said, rocking back on her heels and clutching her purse in her hands. “Something I made.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You have to close your eyes, though.”

“Okay,” he agreed, squeezing them shut.

“No peeking,” she warned.

He shook his head. “No peeking.”

Content with his promise, she reached into the bag and unraveled the scarf. Taking it in her hands, she dropped the purse on his coffee table and stepped closer to Eugene, balancing on her toes before loosely draping it around his neck. Her cold fingers gently brushed across his cheek as she created a single loop, adjusting it so each end of the scarf was even and flat against his chest. Smiling, she took a step back, satisfied with her work.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

He did as he was told, and his eyes immediately darted down to the unfamiliar object that had been placed around his neck. A small smile appeared on his face and he gingerly took one end of the scarf in his hands, admiring the soft texture and the perfect stitches.

“You made this? For me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

She nodded, her own lips creeping upwards. “That’s why I couldn’t see you yesterday. I wanted to finish it.”

“I don’t know what to say, Rapunzel,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her craftsmanship. “This is the most generous gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

Before she could respond, he was pulling her into a hug, squeezing her as tightly as he could, and burying his face into her neck. “I didn’t want you to be cold this winter,” she explained.  

“I didn’t even know that you knew how to knit,” he remarked, his voice muffled.

“I never mentioned it. It’s been a long time since I knit anything.”

He finally pulled away enough to look at her face. “I still don’t know what to say. I’m in shock.”

“I’m just glad that you like it.”

“How could I not like it? It’s so beautiful and thoughtful.”

“I could make you gloves, too. And a hat, if you want. The only thing that I can’t make you is a sweater because of the sweater curse.”

He looked puzzled. “The sweater curse?”

“It’s an old superstition. If you knit your significant other a sweater before you’re married, then the relationship will end.”

“Don’t do that,” he laughed, waving his hands. “No curses here, please.”

“No curses,” she promised.

“Thank you again, Rapunzel. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You shouldn’t have to suffer through the cold weather, and I wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t,” she smiled. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

Without any hesitation, he took her back in his arms, both of them as safe and warm as could be.

[starshineandbooks]

Come away with me, One last adventure? Chapter four

In which they open gifts and manage to completely miss Logan’s soulmark

Chapter one   Chapter Two   Chapter Three 

AO3

Spotify playlist for cD roman is given

words - 1644

Roman wakes to a cold bed and a missing Logan, that is upsetting to his gay disaster heart and friend senses. He sits up quickly, to listen for any sign of logan, instead finding a note on his nightstand.

‘Roman, I have gone out on a walk after a series of bad dreams, I will likely be back by the time you wake up but if not feel free to text me. I’ll grab breakfast while I am out.’

Roman does feel free to text Logan, “Hey where are you?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the door opens two minutes later, revealing Logan holding a drink carrier and a pastry bag, “Good morning Roman.”

“Happy birthday!” Roman smiles, “Did you discover your soulmark?”

“Nothing.” Logan says swiftly, “I woke up at midnight, and I found nothing, no mark at all.”

“O-oh.” Roman blinks, “That’s uh-”

“It’s fine. Just- Don’t touch me right now. Bad sensory day.” Logan sighs, shaking his dark, black hair out of his face.

“Okay.”

“I have caffine and breakfast.” Logan sighs, “And a lack of apparent soulmate.”

“Logan-”

“It’s fine,” Logan shakes his head, “I suppose I am just a little bitter.”

Roman’s lips purse, almost a pout, and Logan can’t find it in himself to chide himself for wanting to kiss those unfairly pretty lips. Logan sighs, setting the bag down and handing Roman a coffee, not meeting his friend’s eyes, careful to make sure he doesn't touch Roman’s hand at all, saving himself the pain for today.

Roman can’t help letting his eyes roe over all of Logan’s exposed skin, he’s never been able to, but he desperately wants to find where someone else will take away what Roman loves so dearly, where a soulmate will mark Logan as theirs forever.

Roman hates to think of that, but he hates even more to think that Logan, who deserves the world, wouldn’t get the exact soulmate he wants. Roman also hates the idea that if likely factual, that when Logan finds his soulmate -because surely the beautiful nerd has one- that he will leave for college and forget about Roman.

Roman knows Logan will promise not to if it was brought up, but Roman also knows that when you fall in love the rest of the world, no matter how bright, isn’t as important.

“Stop your moping Roman, it’s a lack of soulmate, not a lack of soul.”

“That can’t be right.” Roman counters, “Everyone has a soulmate!”

“That’s what Disney says, that’s what the cards say Roman, but this is real life, not everything works out perfect.”

“I know that!” Roman sighs, softening his voice, “I know that okay, God above do I know that L.”

“Well… Good. Now, drink your caffeinated death before it gets cold.” Logan’s voice is distant, as he moves to drink from his own styrofoam cup.

Roman sighs, following suit, “How long were you out?”

“Since midnight.”

“Specs it’s seven in the morning. What-”

“Bad dream, nothing important.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah…” Logan sighs, “I- It wasn’t great.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You died.”

“I what?!”

“You died, in my dream Roman. It was rather upsetting.” Logan sighs, shaking his ead, “But it is okay, you are breathing and that- that is enough.”

Roman can’t find the words, but the way Logan looks so upset- he sighs, reaching and pulling a wrapped rectangle of the ground, “Open it for me?”

Logan sighs, setting his cup down and reaching for the gift, before moving to grab Roman’s.

“Wait!” Roman says, then his alarm goes off, “HAppy birthday Specs, welcome to being officially eighteen!”

Logan snorts, “Thank you.”

Roman pulls the gift Logan made for him off the bed stand, “Open them together?”

“Yes, if that’s amicable to you?”

“I suggested it didn’t I?”

Logan does not dignify that with a response, instead nodding slightly, before he turns to the gift as he sits on the bed, moving the blue wrapped object to his lap.

Roman stares down at the red paper, “Go!”

The two begin to tear at the paper, brows knit to see who can open it faster. Competitive as always but in a fun way.

Roman wins, because the gift he’s opening is smaller. He grins, “A CD case specs, did you make me a mixtape?”

“Listen to it and find out.”

Roman just grabs Logan’s laptop, booting it up and logging in.

Logan stares down at the scrap book on his lap, a galaxy print cover and beautiful calligraphy reading ‘Logan memories for the ages Part one of many’. He chuckles softly to himself, “A scrapbook?”

“Look through it, Specs, I spent- a long time.”

“Is that why your hands were covered in blue and silver glitter for a week and a half?”

“Maybe.” Roman pills up the CD room and goes to hit play.

“Wait! Headphones, and- listen to the whole thing first?”

“Uh- sure?”

Logan nods, “After this we should buy tickets to disney for tomorrow.”

“We should.”

Logan turns to rifle through the scrapbook, finidning shades of blues and black, and galaxies, stars, and a nasa logo on different pages. Roman must have spent hours on this, weeks probably longer.

The first page is a picture of Roman and Logan when they were probably five, Roman sits on the counter with a bandaged knee and e teary smile as Logan holds out an otter pop to his injured friend. ‘My hero’ It reads.

A second picture sits on the same page, this time Roman and Logan appear to be sixteen if the blue streak in Roman’s hair is any indicator. Roman and Logan stand arm in arm for homecoming, Roman’s date had ditched him the night before for some pretty boy or other. Logan had stepped in and broken off from the group the nerd had planned on attending with just to make sure Roman had a fun night. The second picture seems to continue the message of the first, ‘Forever and ever.’

Soft silver glitter is on the second page, a large picture of Logan and Virgil takes up the majority of the page, the two are hunched together watching conspiracies on the laptop they’d borrowed from their triplet Bia, said girl in the background threatening Roman with a curling iron.

The message for that page is silly and looping as ever, ‘Except when the conspiracies rot your brain and your sister threatens to straighten my hair with her curler if I scare you.’

Logan laughs softly, turning the page and gasping.

Roman glances over but just smiles at the picture on the third page.

Logan stares down at a picture of Logan and Roman with their moms, the boys are probably eight, and dressed in almost matching outfits. Black pants, dress shoes, and button up shirts in white. Except, they both wear bow ties, Logan’s is a dark red while Roman’s is a dark blue. ‘Sometimes, we steal each other's color.’

The next page is Logan at the planetarium, alone in the shot but looking starstruck as he stares up at constellations, pointing them out to someone out of view, probably Roman or one of their friends. ‘As stunning as the stars you so love.’

The next page is a picture of Logan with his siblings.

Remy stands with his- they were a he at the time of photo- arms about Logan and Virgil’s shoulders, sunglasses ever in place and a smirk. Virgil’s got one arm hanging loseley and the other about the youngest sibling, and the only blonde. Anne, the blonde, smiles at the camera. Logan has his pinkies hooked with his female triplet, the two identical, save for Logan wears glasses where Bia wears contacts. The group stands in matching print swimsuits on the beach.

‘You have more fun and emotion and love than you’d let most people know but you’re a big softie.’

Logan continues to rifle through his favorite memories, most of them with Roman himself or Logan’s own siblings. His eyes sting, Roman put so much thought and love into this project, and Logan is going to keep it forever.

When he is done reading he turns to watch Roman shut the laptop and turn to Logan as well, almost in sync. Logan will miss this, the easy everything he has with Roman.

“Thank you Roman.” Logan says simply, “This means a lot to me, I- It’s beautiful.” Logan manages to bite back the quip Roman would love to hear, just not from Logan. Manages to keep from saying, ‘Almost as beautiful as you are.’

“I’m glad you liked it!” Roman grins, going to ruffle Logan’s hair but stopping as he remembers Logan asked to not be touched, Roman drops his hand, “Sorry I was just so excited I blinked for a moment.”

“It is okay Roman, You stopped and you remembered, and then apologized. That is all I can ask for.”

“I mean, you could ask me for anything.” Roman shrugs, and his voice isn’t teasing like he’d meant, it’s soft and vulnerable and earnest.

Logan shakes his head, “Not anything.” Logan sighs, shaking his head.

“Anything. But uh- Thank you for the music Logan.”

“Of course.”

“I like all of the songs, of course! But uh- they were all love songs?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Roman nods, “Well, Thank you very much, it was- a beautiful playlist.”

Roman stares only a little besottedly at eyes of stormy depth in Logan’s green gaze, and he can’t help but wish the playlist was a confession, but it isn’t, Roman knows this.

Logan wishes Roman hadn't just rejected him so outright with ignoring that the playlist is a confession, but here he is.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Logan smiles as best he can around what feels as if his heart is stabbing itself violently. “We should take a walk around dinner time, after is ideal.”

Master post    Chapter five