#(My Longest Sighs As I Compile These) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

studiojeon · 3 years ago

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use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | - Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee).

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed.

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish. “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes.

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better.

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you.

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face.

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly.

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips.

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way.

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion.

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on?

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week.

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker.

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way."

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while.

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either.

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out.

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside.

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you.

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know".

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right.

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?"

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though.

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t.

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

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bitchassbucky · 3 years ago

Text

~Ｆｏｒｙｏｕ

📎Word Count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: MINORS DNI! angsty-ish, grumpy!avenger!bucky x new avenger!reader, bucky got detained for [redacted] reasons

📎A/N: MY FIRST COMMISSION POST!!! this is for @babyboibucky <3 love you boo! i hope you likey :D ps, if you catch the b99 reference i will love you 4eva

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK || Commissions Info (open as of January 10)

The harsh, white overhead light makes the divots and curves of Bucky’s face even deeper. The sound of people milling about and the ancient photocopy machine makes his ears ring to no end. The unfriendly coldness of the holding cell warms his eyes as he dozes off for what seems to be the millionth time today. What woke him up was the sound of an NYPD officer bellowing through the bars, “you’re free to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Great, he thinks, he’s gonna get an earful from either Steve or Sam—no doubt the latter one wouldn’t let it go for a week or so. He was already practicing a half-hearted speech in his mind when the officer ushers you to the front desk, “are you sure you’re able to bring Sergeant Barnes home?”

“Dude, yeah, I told you a million times, I know him—he’s my friend.” You quip, tapping your foot impatiently as you finish filling up Bucky’s release form. The ink of the pen too thick for the cheap, flimsy bond paper to dry completely.

The officer sighs, putting his hands on his belt, “that’s officer Deetmore to you, ma’am–“ squinting as he reads off your surname off the paper. “Do you want to be listed as one of the emergency contacts?”

The question aimed at you was answered by a grumpy Bucky, leaning against the desk with a deep scowl on his face—giving everyone at the precinct a death glare that would give their mother a chill up the spine, “no, she won’t.”

“I guess I won’t be.” You say, making a face and shrugging as Deetmore compiles the paperwork for you, stapling it together before filing it into a folder with “J. Barnes” as a tag. Not long after, the officer dismisses both of you, attempting to show you the door but Bucky was already halfway out by the time you bid farewell.

“Whoa, slow down! I’m here to pick you up,” the cold wind bites at your arms as you put on your coat, goosebumps making its way up your skin. The harsh smell of Brooklyn drilling itself into your nose as you catch up to Bucky.

Hearing your voice, he just walks faster, dodging stationary and side-stepping people. “Yep, you did and I thank you for that,” laced with sarcasm, Bucky answers back, not expecting you to catch up to him anytime soon.

“Was that sarcasm?” Your voice pops up from beside him, your brows furrowed not in annoyance but in amusement. Bucky thinks that this is the longest conversation that you both had with each other.

The sound of the street drowns out his hummed response and you continue to walk with him until an intersection comes into view. You stop to wait out the pedestrian light while Bucky attempts to cross the street already—your hand was quick to pull him by his hood though, not strong enough for him to tumble backward but strong enough so he stops at his track.

“What was that for?”

“The light was red.”

Bucky grumbles in response again—forgoing walking straight and instead, taking a right turn into an alleyway. “The subway’s right there—where are we going?” A genuine question was met by an eye roll and he suddenly turns around and stops walking.

“So go there, leave me alone,” the unshakable tenor of Bucky’s voice echoes and bounces onto the exposed brick of the buildings. The yellow light of the streetlamp was so much more forgiving than that of the lights in the precinct.

You shake your head, walking closer to him, bridging the physical and the metaphorical gap between the both of you, “Nope, no can do. They said that I was to bring you back to the tower and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Really? That’s your job now?” Annoyance itches in Bucky’s brain, there’s a boyish voice in the back of his head telling him to push your buttons more.

“Well, no—it’s just no one other than Steve wants to pick you up and the others are busy so I volunteered.” There was a hopeful ring to your voice—you were a good 10 feet away from him now. Both the streets that cut the alleyway bustling with people going about their night.

“Okay, you’re dismissed.”

“Not until you’re back in the tower,” and you were just as stubborn as him. “C’mon, Bucky, I take my assignments seriously.”

He sighs as he sees a sliver of young Steve’s indignation in you, “let this one slide—I’ll tell ‘em that I was already out by the time you got there.”

You scowl, arching a brow upwards, “my name’s on your release form—I can’t- we can’t lie.” The thought of lying to your superiors back in the office makes your bones shiver, you shake your head like an etch-a-sketch board.

“Then make something up, I don’t know,” one by one, Bucky’s suggestions weren’t any help for you—not until he just goes with you.

You cross your arms, leaning on the wall to your left, “I’m not making something up—either you come with me or I’ll follow you around Brooklyn.” You start to wonder if this is the reason why most of your coworkers don’t want to pick him up.

“God, you’re just as stubborn as Steve, no wonder he plays his favorites with you.”

The backhanded statement took you out of your head—as soon as you process what Bucky meant, your mood changed. He surely felt it too as he quickly apologizes, although his heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m in this team because I work hard as anyone in it,” the tone shifted from a more serious perspective. “You know, I thought that this was my chance to be close to you.”

It was Bucky’s turn to arch up a brow, “close to me? Just like how others get close to me so they can pry me apart, is that it?” The sudden vulnerability of Bucky slips through, just as sudden as his attempt to close himself back up, “just go home.”

“Believe it or not, Bucky, I’m here because I like you and I want to be your friend. But if this is what I get for trying then—“ you shake your head and rummage around your bag, tossing Bucky a Metro Card that you bought for him. “You can figure it out.”

By the time Bucky got home, the common room was illuminated by the soft and warm nightlights installed under the furniture and the fix-ins. The words “I want to be your friend” keep echoing in his mind—it has been too long since anyone really wanted to be his friend without a life-or-death situation being the foundation of it.

While those relationships are great and were forged by a situation not everyone is equipped to deal with, he has yet to have a friend outside of his very small circle—build bridges with memories as his therapist would say.

A light crinkling noise from the kitchen brings him back to reality, his mind already going through the worst of the outcomes. Bucky let’s put a sigh of relief when he sees that it’s just you—and then the relief turns into hot embarrassment when he remembers how he treated you earlier tonight.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, knocking on the countertop. He wasn’t really expecting a reply from you.

You turn towards him, closing a utensil drawer, “you made it back, congrats. How’s the subway?” Even with how annoyed you are with him, you try to make small talk.

“It stinks, literally.” Bucky chuckles, shrugging off his jacket as he sits on a high stool. The only light source in the kitchen being the lone built-in under an overhead cabinet.

The silence that followed Bucky’s joke was like pinpricks for him—the still awkwardness of the situation pricks and pokes the skin on the back of his neck, “it gets worse in the summer.” You reply dryly as you wait for your popcorn to cook in the microwave.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” downcasting his eyes, Bucky examines the pattern of the countertop before looking up and meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again, genuinely this time.

“I’m sorry too, I think I tried too hard,” you shrug back, talking loudly in between the muffled pops of the kernel in the bag.

Bucky sighs and shakes his head, kicking up so he spins in his stool, “don’t do that—don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Before he forgets, he reaches into his discarded jacket’s pocket and slides the Metrocard from earlier across the countertop, “that’s yours, right?”

“That’s yours, I already have one,” you smile at him, carefully taking out the bag of popcorn from the microwave oven.

After transferring the food into a bowl, you sit across him, catching up on things that both of you have missed and learning similar things about each other.

“I guess you should apologize for one more thing, Bucky,”

“What is it?”

“That you stole my cereal.”

“That was one time!”

#bitchassbucky writes #works: commish #works: one shots #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au

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halfmoondaze · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Would you be willing to write about a reader with OCD and or anxiety?

If you are willing would you be able to write OCD in the aspect of obsessive thoughts and the need for things to be the same/ routine. Like always having to have the same things for breakfast or always the same coffee order. Idk if this even makes sense lmao

author's note: Im sorry, I took a different approach to this request. I decided to focus on the reader dealing with the fact that she had OCD just because I couldn't think of any plot surrounding the daily routine of the reader while having OCD. I'm sorry about it, but I hope you still like it.

Personal Records

You sighed as you waited at the other side of the line for Jack to pick up. At the third beep, he answered.

“Hey babe”

“Hey, how’s the tour going?”

“It’s good, I’m having my first show this weekend, and I’m very excited about it. But tell me about you, how you’ve been doing?”

“Everything’s fine”

He quickly picked up on your change of tone of voice.

“Are you sure? You know, if something’s wrong you can tell me, you know that?”

You sighed. He did know you like the back of your hand.

“It’s nothing”

“It doesn’t sound like anything” he said.

“I’ve been…feeling really anxious lately and I don’t know why”

“Hm…have you thought about going to therapy again, you told me it helped you a lot in the past”

“Yeah, but I don’t know…”

“Hey, there’s no shame in asking for help, I know you’re so used to doing things on your own but we all need help from time to time, so don’t beat yourself up over that”

“You’re right, yeah I’ll do that. So how was the show?”

Following my conversation with Jack, I decided to follow his advice and go to therapy.

I had my first session yesterday and I didn’t know what to talk about. I decided to give it some thought while I waited for my next session. Before I knew it, I had made a long list of all the things of things I compiled throughout the week every single time I was upset or anxious.

By the time my next session came around, I got some confusing and surprising news.

I had OCD. “Oh no this is not good”

“Y/N, there’s no reason for you to be scared of this-“

“No, no you don’t get it. I would start imagining that I have different symptoms and obsessed over them”

“Well Y/N….you actually have all the symptoms”

Even though this was kind of confusing, I was still happy about getting a diagnosis, because, in a way, I felt less alienated about what I was feeling for the longest time.

Today Jack was performing at the University of Massachusetts and even though I was happy for him, I just couldn’t help feeling extremely anxious about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was bothering me.

I had just finished my Italian Renaissance Art History Class, and I was currently sitting in the food hall with my best friend Cove.

“…and I don’t know I think it was a completely valid point, don’t you think?”

You snapped out of your head.

“What?”

Cove gave you a look.

“I’m sorry I've just been a bit anxious”

“I can tell” she said laughing. “What’s wrong?”

“Jack hasn’t responded to my texts in a while and I’m starting to get worried”

“About?”

“You’ll think it's stupid”

“Try me”

“I- I can’t help thinking something really bad happened. Like yesterday I googled University of Massachusetts shootings and bus crash just to make sure nothing bad has happened”

“I’m sure everything is fine, why don’t you just give him a call?”

Maybe she was right. That night, while getting some work done, she got a call from Jack.

“Hey, babe”

“Jack, hey” you said trying to hide the distress in your voice.

“Are you ok?”

“Yea, why you ask?”

“Your friend told me you were distressed but she didn’t go into a lot of details. What’s wrong?”

There was no point in hiding it anymore.

“My OCD was acting up again”

You got into everything that happened these past few days and he listened to you.

“Hey, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I got caught up-“

“No, you don’t have to apologize”

“I was going to surprise you, but I figured I just say it now. I was planning on stopping by your campus and visiting you”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I figured you probably needed to some company”

It was though coming to terms with what Y/N was going through but knowing she had a support system around her was comforting. It made her feel like it would get better, and she was deeply grateful for having that in her life.

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heliads · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 955 times in 2022

That's 323 more posts than 2021!

900 posts created (94%)

55 posts reblogged (6%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thatfangirl42

@heliads

@musicallisto

@mystic-writings

@thereagles

I tagged 950 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#not writing - 532 posts

#marvel - 101 posts

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#avengers - 66 posts

#avengers imagines - 64 posts

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#avengers x reader - 63 posts

#mcu - 61 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#most of my fic planning is just daydreaming then watching tiktok povs in youtube compilations for five minutes and then writing 2k words

My Top Posts in 2022:

hi!! i was wondering if you could write a minho x reader, something fluffy like they’re both runners and it’s bonfire night in the glade, or maybe even once they get to the safe haven. you’re crazy awesome at writing btw!! <3

thank you so much!! also i adore minho, thx for the request!

masterlist

“So, are you and Minho actually together, or do you guys just flirt all the time because you think it’s fun?”

The question, directed at you just a bare few minutes before dawn, is far too much to handle right now. You stare at Ben, your fellow Runner and apparently avid interrogator, with an expression that you can only sum up as confusion, bewilderment, and a fair amount of grief.

“What does that mean?”

Your returning question is kind of pointless, but it buys you time to fully react to whatever the hell Ben is talking about.

Ben shrugs, as if he hasn’t just threatened to upset your entire known universe. “You know, you and Minho are always saying those over-the-top teasing comments to each other. Does it mean you’re together or not?”

You look at him incredulously. “You think Minho and I are dating just because we make jokes? That’s absurd.”

Ben doesn’t appear to take this for a proper answer. “You don’t joke like that with anyone else.”

“Yeah,” you say, “because no one else would know how to take it. For instance, if you thought I was fully wed to Minho because we like to use bad pickup lines, I’m afraid to think about what would happen if I used them on you.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “That’s different, you don’t mean them with me or anyone else like you do with Minho. I’ve never seen two people try harder to make each other blush. To be honest, thinking that the two of you are dating isn’t the strangest assumption to make, and you know that.”

For some reason, you can’t entirely deny this. “Listen, Benny Boy, if you want me to flirt with you, just say it.”

Ben makes a face. “Not a chance. Please don’t do anything of the sort.”

You’re about to chastise him when Minho jogs up to the two of you.

“What’s going on?” He asks. “And Y/N, why do you look like you’re about to punch the lights out of Ben?”

You sigh dramatically. “He said that he didn’t want me to flirt with him. Can you believe that?”

Minho snorts. “He’d pass up such a fantastic opportunity? Shame. The highlight of my day is, of course, flirting with you.”

You laugh at that. “Exactly. I just can’t understand it.”

Minho’s eyes brighten as he remembers something. “Oh, by the way, we’re running partners today. Dan twisted his ankle so we had a change of schedule.”

You flash him a thumbs up. “Sounds good. I’ll see you at the Doors in a couple of minutes.”

Minho nods, jogging off to go talk to Frypan about getting some breakfast. You’re left with Ben, who’s staring between you and Minho as if he’s just seen a particularly thrilling episode of a TV show.

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. No normal person talks like that.”

You roll your eyes at Ben’s words. “We’re very normal, Ben. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Ben scoffs. “He said that the highlight of his day was flirting with you. I mean, I don’t think the two of you could physically be any more obvious.”

You give Ben a look, then shrug. “Think what you want, but trust me. We’re just friends. Friends with stupid jokes, yes, but friends.”

Ben looks as if he dearly wants to contest this, but his own running partner, Hank, is calling him over to get going, so the conversation is thankfully ended. You wave goodbye to Ben and head over to the Doors, which are just starting to open. Minho, breakfast secured, meets you with a grin and the usual joking comment before you start running for the day.

As you go, though, you can’t help but wonder if Ben was right. You’ve always said these sorts of things with Minho, swapping terrible pickup lines back and forth like trading cards. They’ve never meant anything before, but then again, have they? You’ve said each flirtatious comment with a little more fervor as of late, but you’re fairly sure that it’s just you.

Besides, it’s not like you could really help it. When someone as honest-to-god beautiful as Minho winks at you and says something about how he’d gladly follow you around forever, just so he could remember what it’s like to see a goddess in the flesh, who wouldn’t feel something afterwards? Minho’s faking it, you’re not, but hell, isn’t it fun to pretend otherwise?

The aforementioned boy glances over at you now, as if he can tell whenever his name comes up in your thoughts. If this were actually the case, you think you’d be in a great deal of trouble, although it does certainly seem so now.

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866 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

harry potter request!

well, can you please do one with Theodore Nott where he's grumpy with everyone, but he seems to be very humorous around the reader? like teasing her or doing something to get her attention bc they are rival academics? i would appreciate it! tysm.

sorry if it sounds confusing.

ok i've never written for theo before so i hope this isn't extremely out of character lol but it was fun!

masterlist

You are on the verge of greatness. Merlin, it’s so hard to focus on essays these days, especially with the weekend just around the corner, but you think you might manage it now. The words are flowing smoothly from your pen, plucked out of your mind like a fresh fruit and laid to rest on your parchment. You especially need your focus now, because your counterargument is looming around the corner and you haven’t quite got it down yet. This essay is due soon, too, so you really, really need your concentration–

And it’s gone, snatched away by the boy sitting behind you. Of all the places to study in the Hogwarts library, you’re not sure why he had to choose the table right behind you. Your backs are practically touching. It’s awful, and you certainly can’t pay attention to your thesis right now.

Vexed, you drop your quill pen with a clatter to the table and turn around so you can face the aforementioned boy. “Theodore Nott, you do realize that I actually need to be studying, right?”

Theo, as charming as always, just flashes you a smile. He’s already looking at you, forearm draped casually over the back of his chair.

“Is that not what you were doing now? I suppose I’m confused as to why you’re suddenly addressing me.” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Because you haven’t been staring at me for the past half hour? I know you’re doing it, by the way. What could possibly be so entertaining about watching me scribble out an essay?”

Theo flashes you a bright grin, all sharp teeth and twinkling eyes. “Oh, nothing. It’s just funny that you think you’re going to get the top grade on that essay. We both know I’m far better at Transfiguration.”

You arch a dubious brow. “I’m sure you are. Didn’t I get an Outstanding on the last exam, though? As my memory serves me, you only got an Exceeds Expectations. That’s almost laughable.”

Theo doesn’t seem particularly fazed by this. Indeed, he only leans closer to you, gaze sparking as if you truly are his favorite form of amusement.

“Almost laughable? Y/N, my dear,” he says through lips tugged upwards, “I’m hurt. Truly.”

You laugh. “If I actually believed that, I would be out of my mind. Not unlike you thinking that my essay isn’t going to totally blow yours out of the water, by the way.”

Theo grins back at you. “I appreciate your confidence. It is terribly misguided, of course, but I’m glad you can keep your spirits up at a time like this.”

You give him a look. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Theo replies. “Absolutely. Positivity is important, but it will not save you from getting the second best score. That’s a proven fact.”

You strongly consider sticking your tongue out at him, but decide against it just in time. “Proven by whom? A certain Mr. Theodore Nott?”

He arches a brow. “No, although I’m sure he’s a very credible source. I’m talking about every class ever. I get it, you want to block that out of your mind, but the truth is the truth. I suppose I’m just too good.”

You open your mouth to argue with this, but you’re cut off by the ring of the bell signaling the end of study hall. You settle for a cross look, and start to gather up your supplies. Behind you, Theo pushes in his chair (as if he’s got any manners whatsoever, the git) and has the audacity to raise a casual hand in goodbye before he goes.

You watch him go with a purely irritated look, and find yourself surprised to notice that the corners of your mouth refuse to flatten out of a smile. It’s easy enough to distract yourself by pushing your quills and stacks of parchment into your bag, and once you head out of the library, you’ve almost forgotten the whole encounter. So you tell yourself, at least.

There’s somebody waiting for you just outside the library door, a dark-haired girl with her arms crossed viciously against her chest.

“You were supposed to meet up with me fifteen minutes before study hall ended, you know,” she complains, “I’d like to know what happened to stop that from happening.”

You just laugh. “Come on, Pansy, that wasn’t my fault. I was trapped by a very irritating Theo Nott.”

Pansy Parkinson may be the scourge of all Gryffindors and the occasional Ravenclaw who’s crossed the line, but to you, she’s one of your closest friends. You’ve long since learned to disregard her sharp tongue, as most of her barbs aren’t meant to wound.

Still, to any stranger walking by, Pansy appears to be just as nettled as ever. “Theo, huh? How could he possibly get in the way? The guy refuses to talk to anyone he deems below him, which is basically everyone.”

You raise a brow, glancing over at your friend in bemusement. “Seems familiar, doesn’t it?”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop with the attitude. I’m just telling the truth. Theo is constantly in a foul mood, and he never talks to anyone unless he can help it. Of course, I have noticed him talking to you, though. Today is just another example of that.”

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942 notes - Posted June 7, 2022

Okay so here come the Enola Holmes requests; hear me out, Tewksbury best friends to lovers where the reader makes things out of paper and tries to teach Tewksbury how to make paper flowers when he asks. He SUCKS at it, but he's head over heels for her and so he spends hours alone practicing and he makes her this cute bouquet out of newspaper and maybe it has like a little love confession note or something in it idk idk but my brain is in overdrive rn

YES this idea is literally the cutest thing ever to me, hope i did it justice!

masterlist

Tewkesbury doesn’t know that he’s lost until he sees her. It’s been too long since he’s been able to get away like this, trade off the drama of the House of Lords and every rule he’s expected to follow for the actual thrills of life. It may be his destiny to grow so deeply entrenched in politics that he stops seeing the difference between his working life and the rest of his waking one, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Needless to say, the second he was able to skive off another day spent around the members of Parliament, Tewkesbury did so with a flourish. He could think of nothing better than tracking down his best friend and spending the rest of the weekend annoying her without pause, but now that he’s actually here, he finds himself coming up short. It was supposed to be nothing out of the ordinary, these couple of days away, but yet when Tewkesbury stares at the girl who’s been like a sister all of these years, he suddenly wishes that connection would disappear in his head forever.

The problem is that the girl who looks up at him with a smile when she sees him looks different somehow, as if spending a mere month or two out of her company has been enough to completely rewrite Tewkesbury’s entire mental picture of her. Do her eyes always shine like that when she sees him, or is that new? Has he always wanted to smile like mad whenever they’re together, or is that the lingering affection of some new affliction Tewkesbury doesn’t think he could name if he tried?

It shakes him to the core, this sudden feeling. One moment, he’s rounding the corner to meet up with a friend, just that, and then he’s looking at this girl and all he can think about is that he never wants to leave her side again. Politics can go to hell without him. Tewkesbury only has an excuse to leave the government buildings for this weekend, but he wishes it could be forever.

He doesn’t have all of eternity to ponder this, though. Y/N L/N races up to him when their eyes meet, and then he’s standing before her, breathless and wondering how on earth he is supposed to go about as if nothing has changed when he’s pretty sure that every possible thing has.

Y/N, however, seems utterly devoid of the miraculous transformation currently wreaking havoc in between Tewkesbury’s ribs. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she beams, “I was beginning to think that you’d gone ahead and moved into the Palace of Westminster forever. I haven’t seen you in years.”

Tewkesbury finds it within himself to scoff at this blatant lie. “That’s absurd. I saw you not seven weeks ago.”

Y/N arches a disbelieving brow. “Yes, seven weeks ago. That’s a perfectly ordinary time to go without visiting your best friend even once, you traitor.”

Tewkesbury clasps a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Cruel. I have never once been a traitor to you.”

He doesn’t know that he could, now. He can’t imagine a world in which he is not following her around, either in endless loops around the London streets or in constant cycles of daydreams in which Tewkesbury is able to put an actual name to the emotions currently driving him mad.

Y/N grins. “I’m glad to hear it. I was worried for a second there, you know.”

“No you weren’t,” Tewkesbury laughs.

“Perhaps not,” Y/N says with an elaborate shrug, “but I like to keep you on your toes. It makes for a more dramatic weekend if we’re both slinging accusations left and right.”

“Not as fun, though,” he argues.

Y/N concedes this point through a solemn nod. “No, not as fun. I’ve never had to worry about fun with you, though.”

She looks up at him with a smile, and Tewkesbury thinks that his heart might explode out of his chest. He wants to say something, needs to say something, but all he can manage is–

“You know what would be fun? If you showed me how to make those paper crafts. I know you can do it, I’ve seen you make tons of stuff from paper before. It’s really cool, and I missed seeing you do it. I missed–”

He cuts off the hopeless flood of words before he can say something incriminating like that he missed her, but Tewkesbury gets the feeling that he’s already said too much. Also too little at the same time; Y/N promises him that they’ll get to make the paper shapes as requested, but he swears her face drops a little, like she could sense that there was something Tewkesbury was trying to say but just couldn’t manage. He wants to try again, but the words choke up his throat and he can’t get out a single syllable.

Instead, he contents himself with watching Y/N as they walk, how the sun dapples her skin with endless patterns of gold. He watches as they leave the streets as well, once they head for Y/N’s house down the block. Tewkesbury pushes the door open; it’s always been more of his home than any other corner or annex of his family place. This is where he feels at peace, and although he’s always thought that was just what came with finding a friend like Y/N, he’s starting to think that it could be more. That maybe they could be more.

It is a false hope, however, and one that will only serve to make him bleed, to rob the happiness from his chest whenever Tewkesbury looks over and sees Y/N. They are friends, compatriots, brethren in a war that all young children grown old must face at some point. Never have they been closer, and never has he wished that they could be closer still.

He’s caught staring as they head up the stairs, and he looks away hastily although the damage is done. Y/N laughs at the blush forming on his cheeks. Although Tewkesbury reacts by habit and shoves her with an outstretched, playful arm, he can’t seem to stop his hand from lingering there on her shoulder, fingers reaching as if to pluck some sort of love out of her through willpower alone.

He finds it not, though, and is forced to stay satisfied with smiling to himself and wondering if the rest of his life will be like this, just watching and hoping for a happy ending that may never come his way. Tewkesbury has always wanted something he could never have: a world outside of family rules, a universe that did not want him controlled, and now, worst of all, a love that should have stayed platonic. It is the cut that aches the most.

The moment is good, though. Y/N has always had this most peculiar skill when it comes to paper crafts, and Tewkesbury regards her now through lowered eyes. Her hands flit around the cut shapes, slicing off delicate corners and creasing folds until a simple note becomes a prancing pony, a soaring bird about to take flight around the room.

Tewkesbury shakes his head after she produces yet another paper marvel. “I don’t know how you do it,” he protests, “Show me, can’t you? Let’s make a flower or something.”

“Flowers have always been your favorite, haven’t they?” Y/N comments. She does as requested, although what are lovely narcissi and tulips in her hands turn into sadly wilted clumps of paper in his.

Tewkesbury just can’t figure out how she does it. Even after that particular day ends, he finds himself sitting in his room surrounded by heaps of useless folds, trying and failing to emulate her easy way with the paper crafts. One would think that Tewkesbury, with his lifetime of knowledge about every facet of flora there is to know, would be able to reproduce his beloved plants in paper form, but here you would be surprised.

Tewkesbury labors for hours, days even, but his progress is slow and totally frustrating. Y/N catches him at it a few times and laughs at him. The sound, so sharp it stings, carves a smile on Tewkesbury’s face even when he’s almost been driven to the point of madness by the infuriatingly unrealistic paper flowers.

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1,215 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

Hi! I loved your dating Isaac Lahey headcanons. I actually laughed with the "One of the boys on the lacrosse team starts winking at you during a game? You’d best believe the guy is on the ground, writing in pain within a half second." I was wondering if you could maybe expand on this one? Thanks <3

masterlist

Isaac Lahey is not jealous. Absolutely not. There is no reason why he would possibly be walking the halls of Beacon Hills High School with his hands clenched into fists, hoping against hope that he can keep his claws away long enough to avoid slicing into his palms. It’s not like he would even see the blood, anyway, his vision seems to be a field of red.

That is, of course, if he were jealous, and he’s not. Isaac is perfectly fine, and he is not glaring at a boy down the hall from him. This guy is talking to Y/N L/N, someone who just happens to be Isaac’s girlfriend, and he’s even leaning with one arm against her locker like he’s some kind of teen movie lead. Isaac hates him instantly. Maybe he is jealous after all.

But he can handle it. Isaac has survived hunter shootouts, werewolf pack fights, and dozens of conflicts that usually end in him whipping out his claws and fangs to put an end to things. Needless to say, getting jealous about some boy making eyes at his girlfriend shouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened.

Isaac takes slow breaths in and out. He’s handling this. He’s going to keep walking, and he is not going to charge over there and rip the guy’s head off, although that certainly sounds good to him right now. It would certainly shut him up.

Before he can make any mistakes, a voice comes from Isaac’s left, distracting him from his rather bloodthirsty vision.

“You alright, Isaac? You seem a little tense.”

Isaac glances over and sees Scott McCall pausing next to him, one hand casually tugging on the straps of his backpack. Isaac swallows harshly, trying to pull himself together.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Great. How are you?”

Scott raises an eyebrow. “Perfectly fine, or at least compared to you. Seriously, I think every werewolf within a mile radius can smell your anger.”

Isaac does his best to pretend he’s surprised. “Really? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe I’m just, uh, stressed about an upcoming math quiz.”

Scott widens his eyes in mock confusion. “Is that true? You’re not just, say, upset that Clark Ellis is over there talking to Y/N and trying his hardest to flirt with her?”

Isaac’s mood sours in an instant. “Well, I’m trying not to be upset, but seeing as you brought it up-”

The True Alpha just laughs. “Get used to it, buddy. Y/N’s going to have a lot of people flirting with her, we’re at a high school. It only feels worse because of the whole werewolf thing. Trust me, when I first started dating Allison I felt like I was going to fly off the handle every time someone so much as approached her. One time, Jackson tried talking to her and I made Derek go push him into a wall of lockers.”

Isaac feels intrigued. “I didn’t know making Derek push people into lockers was an option. I think I need to look into that.”

Scott has the audacity to roll his eyes. Clearly, he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation, which is that Clark Ellis just told a probably awful joke and made Y/N laugh, and even though Isaac knows he doesn’t have a monopoly on making his girlfriend laugh, that is so wrong that-

“Isaac. Dude. Get it together. Your world isn’t going to shut down because some boy from first period talks to Y/N.”

Isaac frowns. “Are we sure about that?”

Scott chuckles. “Very. Now come on, if you’re going to stew about this the whole time I’m going to get sick of it. If you want to do something about it, go talk to her, but for the love of God, if I see any glowing eyes or claws I’m going to drag your werewolf ass right back out of there.”

Isaac grins, although he’s not entirely sure that it’s meant to be a pleasant expression. “Oh, don’t worry. No blood will be seen.”

He starts moving before Scott can tell him what a bad idea that is, walking down the hall towards Y/N. Isaac does his best to school his countenance into a neutral expression, but he’s fairly sure that he failed at that goal, because the second Clark Ellis gets a good look at him, Isaac swears he can see every drop of blood flee the guy’s face. Isaac smirks as the guy trips over himself to say goodbye to Y/N, quickly turning and almost dashing off down the hall. Sometimes, he likes being intimidating.

Y/N looks confused, glancing after Clark, but the second she turns around and sees Isaac she laughs. “You know, I was wondering why he seemed so scared, but I think I get it now. What are you up to?”

Isaac grins. “I’m not being jealous.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow, almost incredulous. “Definitely not.”

Isaac takes one last look at the fleeing Clark, then allows himself to relax again. “Absolutely not. Besides, I wasn’t even going to do anything. We can go back and tell Scott that I was fine. Didn’t even get involved.”

Y/N chuckles. “So Clark taking off as fast as he could wasn’t because of you?”

Isaac shrugs. “If he thought that he was doing something wrong, that was his call. I was just, uh, looking at him.”

Y/N shakes her head slowly, trying to hide a grin. “Sounds about right.” Y/N closes her locker, and the two of you start walking back down the hallway. Isaac makes sure that one of his hands wraps around hers, just to prove a point to anyone watching. He doesn’t take kindly to people trying to flirt with his girl.

As it turns out, Isaac’s got a pretty good way to get out the rest of his irritation. In a few nights, he’s got a lacrosse game, which means that the practices for the last few days and tonight have been nothing short of brutal. Coach wants them ready, and Isaac learned from his first day on the team that Coach Finstock does whatever he wants, which usually means a lot of running. Were he not a werewolf, Isaac would be in misery, but now, he just uses it as an excuse to get his heart pounding.

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1,344 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

hey, do you write for Four? (Divergent) you could do where they both have a secret relationship but something happens that makes Four extremely jealous in the middle of a fight that f!reader is having, and maybe he says "you can stop touching my girl now" or something so...

english is not my first language, sorry :(

no worries, this was a fun request to write!

masterlist

There are a great many mysteries in the Dauntless complex. For a faction that prides itself on bravery, courage, not hiding behind doors when you can fight in broad daylight, there are far more secrets than the faction leaders care to let on. Whispers surround everyone, everything, and they’ll never go away.

You can guess what people are hiding here, behind black-suited lies and defenses as sharp as knives, but you’ll never know for certain. For one thing, no one in this entire faction has managed to piece together the fact that you and Four are dating, despite the fact that this relationship has been going on for months.

It started off as a secret, and you haven’t been able to drag it out into the light ever since. When you and Four met, he was two years out of his own initiation, just starting to get a grasp for how to be a training leader for the new crop of Dauntless. You had just dashed your blood into the vessel for the bravest faction, had just thrown yourself off of the roofline to land in Dauntless once and for all.

You should have known then that Four was too great a secret for you to keep. He had looked at you like you were something worth keeping around, and you liked how it felt a little too much. When the two of you started seeking each other out, either for silent glances in training or longer conversations after hours, there was no way it would have gone anywhere else.

Soon enough, Four was calling your name like a blessing, some guarantee of safety in the midst of all this mayhem. You knew you loved him when you won your fights and saw him watching you approvingly, when you could go through your fear landscape fastest because the one thing that scared you most was thinking that what you had with Four wasn’t real, and you already had to face that every day.

You graduated top of your initiation class soon enough, with both a new title and a hand holding yours. Four confessed how he felt two nights before initiation ended, praying that somewhere in all this darkness you’d be able to be his light. He didn’t like being so alone, he said. You made him think that there was a world outside of hurt and challenge.

The only problem was how it all looked. You couldn’t be happier with Four, and you know he feels the same way, but the facts of the matter line up differently to everyone else. If the other Dauntless knew that you and Four were seeing each other, they’d start asking questions about just when all this started, if it had any impact on your rankings. Corruption festers deep in Dauntless, but people still like to pretend otherwise. They’d jump on this in a second if it meant switching the blame away from themselves.

So, you keep it a secret. You’re allowed to be Four’s friend, of course, and train with him like the rest, but the moment your gaze lingers on him with the sort of softness that doesn’t belong in Dauntless’ cold atmosphere, people start wondering. You’re certain that a few people suspect, but most of them just joke about it. Wouldn’t that be something, the boy with hardly any fears and the girl who could make you think that she had none at all? If only they knew that their rumors were actually true.

The only problem with keeping this secret is that it isn’t quite enough. Part of loving someone is belonging to them, being able to seek their shelter in the midst of any storm. You can talk to Four, sure, and treasure his kisses when no one else is looking, but you still want something more.

You can’t help but envy the other Dauntless couples you see around the faction, the ones that get to walk with their arms slung low over the hips of their partners. These lucky ones pull their significant others close without a second thought, paying no attention to how it all looks. Or maybe they care too much, and every gesture is strictly orchestrated to give off the illusion that they’ve got it all. At any rate, you’d love to have that choice, to have or to hold. Anything more than the nothingness that threatens to swallow you whole.

You’ve brought this up with Four a couple of times now, but he knows just as well as you do that there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re only a few months out of initiation, working in your first choice of a job and still benefiting from your high rankings. People would suspect foul play if they knew you were dating, so it stays a secret. It has to stay a secret, as neither of you want the sudden attention that only comes with sordid rumors.

Yet, in the cold stillness of his room after hours, you can’t deny that it doesn’t feel like enough. You joined Dauntless because you were sick of being in the shadows. You wanted to make a name for yourself, be the kind of person that had people in awe of your slightest movements. You certainly didn’t sign up for this faction to skulk about in the darkness, exchanging clandestine kisses as if your love was something that wasn’t good enough to be seen.

As time goes on, it only gets worse. This should be perfectly fine- you have the boy you love, you have your faction, you have your job, yet it all feels like a slim shadow of what you should be experiencing. To live is not to hide, nor to lie, but to take risks on everything. That’s what the Dauntless believe, at any rate, that no risk is worth taking if you won’t devote yourself to it utterly, and as a Dauntless, you believe it too. Not going in blind to the dangers feels like a betrayal.

Still, there’s nothing you can do. Four tries his hardest to keep you happy, though. Today, for instance, he’s called you in to help with initiation, something about how he’d love to have an extra fighter on hand to deal with the useless masses. Some of these trainees scarcely know their proper forms, yet they’re still mouthy enough that you’d think they’ve been fighting all their lives. He wants you there to help keep the order.

You’re not about to pass up the chance to see your boyfriend outside of your apartment, so you take up his offer with a smile. Besides, Four becomes a different sort of person when he has to be intimidating. His back straightens, his eyes grow cold. In all honesty, it’s pretty hot, and you like seeing it. We all have our quirks.

Four strides briskly into the training room, you at his side. The initiates look surprised to see you, likely because they’ve grown used to having only Four and Eric watch them train. Their surprise is good; changes in routines will show who’s really good and who’s just coasting along with the norms.

Four reaches the front of the room, addressing the young Dauntless in a brisk tone you remember from your own training.

“Alright, initiates. Today, as you may have noticed, we will be joined by a special guest. This is Y/N, who’s going to be helping with combat training. She finished first out of her initiation last year, so if I were you, I’d pay attention. Might help some of you from ending up on the bottom of the rankings.”

You nod at Four. “First thing we’ve got planned today are some rounds of fights. Find a partner and get to the rings. If you want to get better, you need to put in the practice.”

You hear some muted grumbling from the back of the room and raise an eyebrow at Four. Sure, it’s early in the morning, but initiation has always been about hard work, no matter the time.

“I’m sorry, did I stutter? Get to work, or we’re going to stay here through the lunch break.”

Four chuckles to himself as the initiates quickly scatter to the nearest fighting rings. “I think this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. I haven’t seen these guys move so fast in weeks.”

You smirk. “Maybe you’re not being intimidating.”

Four arches a brow. “Is that so? I seem to remember from your training that you found me plenty intimidating.”

You just grin. “That’s different. I liked the intimidating part of you.”

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1,464 notes - Posted February 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #love that all of my top tags are marvel related #good to know that's my target fandom #not writing

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Just Two Sad Roommates

Corpse Husband x Reader(Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: The power of medieval tavern music gets put to the test when Corpse’s roommate is having a rough day. SPOILER ALERT: it’s more powerful than anyone could assume.

Requested by Anon. You know who you are 😊😋 Wish I could tag you, I loved this idea so much and had such a fun time writing it. Hope you enjoy it just as much 🥰

The last twenty four hours haven’t been so great.

Last night I had a huge fight with my boyfriend over his flirty messages with several girls. It was not just witty banter, it was way more and way more hurtful to me. He obviously denied it and defended himself, at least in the beginning of the argument. Then he took on the accusatory stance, pointing fingers at me for living with another guy. That had me absolutely fuming. Not only was his statement fabricated and literally made up on the spot, but he also used some seriously horrible insults for him. I was having non of it. Corpse is a really great roommate, sweet guy and overall amazing person. I haven’t once argued with him since we’ve started living together. We’re actually quite good friends. So hearing my asshole boyfriend call him all those names was more than enough to chase him out of the apartment. Thankfully, Corpse wasn’t home to hear all that. He rarely leaves the apartment but by some miracle this was the time he was absent.

Then this morning my mom called me to have a chat. It started off decently enough but it only remained that way for so long. It didn’t take her long to start criticizing each and every element of my existence. From my job, my boyfriend, my living arrangement, the career I’ve decided to pursue, the fact I moved to a different state, my paycheck that’s lower than her friend’s daughter’s...…..You get the point.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating what the two years I’ve been in a relationship with Marcus mean to me. I guess it is just like a phone call from my mother - starts off nice but slowly deteriorates. All things follow this pattern in my life, apparently. And just like the phone calls, I’ve considered ending things between me and him many times but never actually decided on it. Until now. The last part of this decision is executing it, which doesn’t look very promising. My thumbs are frozen, hovering over the keyboard.

I take a second to take a look at my life from a third person point of view, like an out of body experience. I am wrapped in a blanket, huddled on the couch like a burrito with a face. A really sad burrito with a face. I have a job where I work as much as three highly ranked workers and get paid a little over a secretary’s paycheck. I’m in a constant state of exhaustion and disinterest. I often forget I’m human and just assume I can live like a cactus - no food, no water. I have a boyfriend that’s cheating on me and most likely has been for quite some time now. And we’ve been dating for two fucking years. Man, that must be the longest cheat streak in history. Who knows with how many girls as well. And I still have trouble deciding weather to break up with him or not. Actually no, scratch that, I have already decided, but it feel so unnatural and so out of character that my body refuses to complete the task of delivering the final blow to the structure of this relationship which was already weak to begin with.

And it only got weaker when I started catching feelings for another guy. I know, I know, I’m a bad person for that, but I was never planning to act on those feelings. They have always just...lingered, loomed over me. They got stronger and stronger every time Marcus and I would fight, as though they were laughing at my mock of a relationship.

Speaking of laughter, I hear my roommate laughing in his recording room. I gave him the spare room for his recording equipment for a cheap add to his rent fee and it’s probably the second best decision I’ve ever made - first being picking him to be my roommate. He was among the first to reply to my online add and appeared the least sketchy over the phone. More hypnotizing if I’m honest. He could’ve told me he was a hitman and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, handing the keys to his room and the apartment without a second thought. All he had to do was keep talking. Again, SUE ME.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic!“ I drop my phone when all the strings inside me snap, releasing the sobs and tears I’ve been holding back for so long.

I bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head in between them, desperately trying to shield myself from the plane crash that is my life at the moment. Crying makes me feel even sadder and more miserable but I have nothing left to do to get all the crap that’s piled up inside me out.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep, the tears have dried and the sobs have died somewhere in my chest, when I hear what sounds like music straight from Robin Hood’s time.

Holy shit, I’ve lost it

I lift my head from in-between my knees, looking around the living room for the source of the jolly, lighthearted tune which despite all the heaviness of my self-loathing makes me feel like the main character in an medieval adventure. Wait...Holy crap, it’s that medieval adventure, Robin Hood-ass music I hear from Corpse’s room!

I whip around to face the entrance from to the hallway where I see an arm sticking out, holding a phone which is where the music is coming from.

“Corpse?“ I call out to him in a questioning manner, shifting to a sitting position with my blanket kicked off of me and bunched up next to me.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry or sad...or both. Didn’t want to get attacked upon entering the room.“ I see the right side of his face peek out as well.

I break out into laughter, covering my mouth with one hand, “You’re such a dork.”

He takes this as a sign to come in, pausing the music as he does so. “What’s wrong?”

My laugh stops but a smile remains on my face as I look at him. He just has that effect on me. “A lot. What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, plopping down on the couch, “The usual, streaming Among Us. You should play with me and my friends some time.”

I scoff, “I can pull of a lie no problem. Maybe I really should.” I don’t actually consider it, it’s just funny to think about.

I have never watched any of Corpse’s content. Not his scary story videos, not his streams, not his animated compilations. Just his songs. And let me tell you...they are hella good. One song and I was hooked.

“Hey, I have a question.“ I tilt my head to look at him, “What’s with you and your love for medieval adventure music?“

“Medieval tavern music, and it’s not really love.“ He shakes his head with this dopey grin that is just. so. adorable. “More like a coping mechanism. Tell me, did you feel less sad I played it for you?“

I stop and think for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Point made.“ He declares, leaving me to nod in amusement. “Now, tell me what that ‘a lot’ is.“

So, I do. I tell him everything, from how my boyfriend is cheating on me to how my mother thinks I’m a complete failure. He listens carefully, paying close attention to everything I’m saying. I catch myself laughing a few times while I retell the recent upsetting events.

Must be that music.

“So, you broke up?“ He asks once I end my monologue with a sigh

I shake my head disappointedly, “Not yet. I still haven’t pulled the plug. I don’t know what to say.”

He holds out his hand to me, “May I be of assistance?”

I look at his hand then at him and contemplate for only a second before deciding ‘what the hell’ and handing over my phone after unlocking it. The screen displays my boyfriend’s chat so Corpse just types away what he has in mind. Before pressing ‘send’, he hands the phone back to me. “Proofread it.”

‘Dear Marcus, this is one of your girlfriends speaking. Yes, one of them. You think I’m not onto what you’re doing, you little shit? Well, to your dismay, I am. And so, I discontinue this relation between us. That word might have been too long for your IQ so let me rephrase: We are over. Finished. Hope your other girlfriends wake up too, unless they are already in the know, of course. Love, but really hate, Y/N‘

I was never aware this level of sass even existed.

I add a smiling emoji and send the message, sighing in relief. “I can check that off my to-do list now.”

We both lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A moment of comfortable silence takes over, leaving us both wandering in our own heads.

“Hey, um, I wanted to do this when I first moved in, but then I met your boyfriend and I took the hint. Now that you’re single, would you want to...“ he sounds a bit uncertain but continues regardless, “It’s ridiculous cause I don’t really like the idea of going out, but maybe we could order take-out...“

“Are you circling around asking me on an at-home date?“ I am surprised by how unbothered I manage to sound while I’m squealing on the inside. It’s fascinating how quickly a person can flip someone’s day around. Turns out it wasn’t the music at all. It was him that had the positive effect on mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch his face turn red and have to contain my laughter. The grin can’t be tamed though, especially not when he says, “Yes.”

Internally squealing, I launch myself from the couch, standing up straight in front of him. “Thai. My usual order is on the sticky note on the fridge. But first,” I offer him my hand, “I need to find out if a person can even dance to that ridiculous music.” At his amusement, my grin widens, “May I have this dance?”

He laughs that adorable laugh of his I’ve only heard through the layer of a wooden door. It’s even cuter when there’s nothing between me and its source. The source is cute too, not gonna lie.

With a shake of his head which is most likely disbelief, he takes the hand I’ve offered him, saying: “And you call me a dork.”

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze

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elriell · 4 years ago

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A little compilation of the amazing parallels, between former books and ACOSF, these are just a handful of the amazing throwback mentions Sarah gave us of Elriel.

A massive reason why I think Elain and Azriel will be telling their story next is that SJM is bringing back a lot of their important moments, to remind you of how far they have come and how much further they will go!

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he'd slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” “No,” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips.

He offered her a smile back. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present." [...] The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. "It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box.

A low snarl slipped out of him— “Relax,” Rhys said. “Azriel isn’t the ravishing type.” Lucien cut him a glare.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.

“I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

“What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.

“Azriel won. His one-hundred-ninety-ninth victory, apparently.”

Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger. He offered her a grim smile. "I lost the snowball fight today."

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea, but I sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before Rhys and I slipped upstairs.”

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs. [...]

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

“Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

Lucien, as Beron's son, has the right to demand it of you.""I'll defeat him with little effort." Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true. "I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court, but also with the Sprint Court and Jurian and Vassa."

Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.”

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea.

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you . . .”

The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin. Mor gave no indication that she noticed and curved her fingers toward me.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around.

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.” I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

[...] Azriel scowled. “I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway.”

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks.

She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

There are so many more feel free to add them! ♡

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acosf #acosf spoilers #acotar #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acomaf #acowar #myelriel #myacotar #anti elucien #tobesafe

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wonjaekook · 4 years ago

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Residual Starshine

Pairing: Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos @insomni-writing @neowritingsnet

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds. All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

#yuta smut #yuta fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #neowritingsnet #nct angst #yuta angst #nct one shot #yuta one shot #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #yuta imagine #nct imagine #yuta fanfiction #yuta fanfic #sports collab #i hope everyone enjoys this :)#apologies for lateness #wonjaekook

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xjoonchildx · 3 years ago

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Ana, darling, where in the world is your favorite BTS hands compilation? If Taehyung isn't #1... We might have words. 💜💜💜 Just A Spark

oof spark. you know i share in your appreciation for bangtan hands. and those driving gloves jimin and tae wore for that recent performance? please, my mind was in overdrive.

there are quite a few of you (yes i'm looking at you @yoongihandfetish and @lyanaalvarado) who always come with the best hand pictures for me. y'all are some real ones 😭

lesssss get it.

jeon jungkook

you know i had to include the tats, right? jungkook's hands - much like the rest of his body -- are just manly. the shape of them is nice to look at. the flex of the tendons and the pretty knuckles. not to mention he wears his devotion for ARMY and the members right on his hand. perfection.

kim taehyung

the longest fingers i have seen on any human, ever. and get your mind out of the gutter, dammit -- this is an objective observation. tae's hands are huge overall (yeah, yeah i know) and they fit his long and lean body line pretty perfectly.

park jimin

okay this is cute shit, right? baby mochi and his baby hands. jimin's made a few comments insinuating that he's a bit self-conscious about his petite paws, but honestly i think they're totally endearing. he's perfect just as he is.

jung hoseok

oh, i love this man's hands. breaking news, right? hoseok has the most delicate looking hands (and wrists) that i've ever seen. it makes sense when you look at his body overall -- he's very slim and his hands suit him quite well. someday we'll talk about my very specific watch kink with this man.

min yoongi

spark, i know you love tae's hands but man, if i had to pick my favorite of the bunch, it's got to be yoongi's. they have a lot of character, the veins and the knuckles and the blunt fingertips that are so unique to him. plus i kind of love that he's a nailbiter. and yes, i know it's unsanitary. i don't even care, y'all.

kim seokjin

seokjin has big hands. i'll repeat that the man who was once photographed with a box of extra large condoms behind him has very large hands. his hand also look soft all the time? wouldn't i love to know for myself. sigh.

kim namjoon

joon has amazing hands and i love the way he uses his rings to accent his fingers. i know there's always a lot of chatter on the dashes and timelines about which rings he's wearing and on which fingers, but i don't pay that any mind. i'm too busy admiring the view.

#best bangtan hands

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lovelybarnes · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 6,178 times in 2022

347 posts created (6%)

5,831 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shurisneakers

@aquariusbarnes

@sunflowergirl522

@lovelybarnes

@jaaneymann

I tagged 1,801 of my posts in 2022

#comment reblog - 544 posts

#icymi - 231 posts

#angie gets asks - 185 posts

#read when sad - 144 posts

#timezone reblog - 91 posts

#tagged - 61 posts

#friends <3 - 46 posts

#angies fic recs - 45 posts

#bucky barnes - 38 posts

#bucky barnes x reader - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#need to finish part 2 of 1 thing then finish this fic i really like then come up with original ideas because hnggg how did i come up with th

My Top Posts in 2022:

thrist traps and the trapped- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, peter parker, sam wilson, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, tony stark warnings: bucky thinks you’re hot bc you are, tiktok edits, bucky finding tiktok edits, embarrassment, i don’t know how i feel about this about: request! the avengers being introduced by Peter to thirst trap edits of themselves a/n: so i changed it up a little bit because i don’t usually do text/messaging fics, at least until i get a specific request for it and find an app that does that, so i just mentioned the groupchat and i hope that’s alright!! i also hate this title i will change it when i think of literally anything else

“she was into me,” sam insists, lifting his coffee cup as a way to make his proclamation more dramatic, “did no one see the wink?”

“there was something in her eye,” bucky replies dryly. steve shakes his head with a sigh.

they can hear music in the living room of the compound as they walk in, bucky automatically exhaling when he spots peter on the couch. sam shakes his head, sipping from his cup.

they walk behind the couch, peter seemingly not noticing them, entranced by the video he’s watching on his phone. out of the corner of his eyes, bucky catches a glimpse of what he’s watching. sam and steve notice when the screen begins to flash.

“what the—” bucky starts, his hands coming up to cover his eyes as he backs away from the couch, an arm stretching in front of him as a way to distance himself from peter. “i’m not going to ask, parker. just advising to not watch that,” he motions awkwardly, “here.”

“what?” peter cries, fumbling with his phone when he realizes the spy was behind him. he curses his spidey senses for being so useless in a time where he’ll probably need them more than as a precaution to stop a stabbing. “no! no—i’m—oh my god…”

“look, kid,” steve begins awkwardly, swallowing hard as he blinks distantly, “i know you’re—going through some, ahem, changes—”

“stop it please,” peter begs, “may has already told me this multiple times.”

“then why the fuck are you watching porn in the living room?” sam exclaims, “is multiple times not enough?”

“i’m not watching—” peter clears his throat, settling into the couch nervously, “i’m not watching porn,” he says, quieter now. he moves to grab his phone and the group of men back away.

“i do not need you to show me,” sam closes his eyes.

“i’m not watching—i’m watching an edit! of—of spiderman,” peter admits sheepishly.

“what the hell is an edit? another word for porn?” bucky retorts.

“you’re watching an edit of yourself?” sam asks, ignoring the confused glances the two super soldiers share behind him.

“i think it’s important to show thanks to my fans,” peter mumbles.

“what’s an edit?” steve wonders.

“it’s a—a compilation of footage that people put together and add music and lights and just video crap to make it flashy,” sam responds, squinting at peter, “lemme see.”

“no!” peter sputtered.

“fine. i’ll just tell y/n you watch videos of your ass on the couch when no one is home,” sam threatens, peter’s face flooding in red when he hears your name. he hates how obvious he is when he has a crush.

“you can’t tell her,” he warns, before bedrudgingly handing his phone to sam.

the phone is opened to an edit highlighting many of peter’s outings as spiderman, and it’s pretty much what sam expected, but bucky and steve are in awe of the transitions.

“there are some of you guys, too,” peter mutters through a heavy blush.

“really?” steve inquires, “show me.” bucky nods along.

when you arrive back at the compound, the entirety of the rest of the avengers are in the family area on their phones, different music bites clashing with each other and whoops and whistles going around. nat is smirking and tony is nodding approvingly, shoving his phone into steve’s face and forcing him to watch whatever is on his screen.

“what happened here?” you implore to the closest person to you, which happens to be sam, who is cocking his head at the video playing on his phone.

“peter told them about edits,” he answers nonchalantly, looking back up at you, “how come you never told me how good i look in that red shirt?”

“what?”

See the full post

1,053 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

annoying neighbors and fake boyfriends- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, oc x reader warnings: nosy neighbors, mutual pining, fake dating about: request "You stayed over at my place one night but my nosy, annoying neighbour saw you leave. They always get on my case about being single so I told them that we’re dating to show them” a/n: you have no idea how much fun it was to write this. if you want a part two… i wil one hundred thousand percent give it to you. now. a confession, i wrote this and finished it like two days after you requested but got caught up with a bunch of requests and didn’t get the chance to edit. i hope you enjoy!!

the keys in your grasp jingle and clink against each other when you move to quickly lock your door, even through your attempts to keep the noise down. you cringe when the bronze key, settled between two others on both sides, clangs loudly against the metal of your doorknob. quickly wrapping your fingers around all of the keys while your other hand is pressed against the wood of your door, you hold your breath and shut your eyes as if it mutes the noise.

when you hear nothing, you sigh softly, letting the shoulders you hadn’t even realized had tensed drop down, clicking your lock closed. you move to pick up your bag, sure you’re safe when the door across from you suddenly opens, light spilling out along with the woman living in the apartment, nestled in a deep purple robe that she tugs against her form, hair parted as if she was in the middle of doing it.

“y/n!” she exclaims, eyebrows raising in surprise as she crosses her arms over each other, “where are you sneaking off to so early in the morning?”

you give her a tight smile, grip tightening around the straps of your bag. “i-”

miss sellack gasps before you can continue, a dramatic hand coming up to her lips, “have you finally gotten a boyfriend? i told gertie upstairs you could do it. she’s always saying how lonely you are and i can’t say i disagree, but i knew you could do it. no matter what anyone says.”

you force a dry laugh from your throat, nodding stiffly at her words, clearly dipped in condescension from the little smirk playing on her lips and the other quips she’d thrown at you when she saw you around the building. annoying little sad smiles when she’d spy you alone—which was most, if not all of the time—while she was always with her partner. sad pats on the shoulder and patronizing whispers of “it’ll be okay” or “there’s someone out there for you, too.” basically a pathetically thinly-veiled “you’re alone and will probably die alone, and i will never stop reminding you of it.”

“not exactly,” you tell her, “but thanks, i guess.”

she pauses and pouts for you, solemnly shaking her head, “you’ll find him,” she says, "someday."

you hum tensely, “right. have a nice day.”

“i don’t know why you don’t just ignore her or move out. you know you have a room here at the compound, and stark is all too happy to get you a better apartment in a better neighborhood with nicer neighbors,” natasha replies in response to the recount of your morning, stirring her tea with a short green stick.

“she makes good cookies!” you defend, your words the complete truth; sellack made amazing cookies, and you’d take her deprecating actions for the large can of the cookies she gave you every few months—however, it didn’t mean you had to like it. “and bad neighbors are everywhere,” you point out. “besides, i like not depending on tony that much. i feel like he’d kick me out or something if i made him mad enough, it’s just like i’d have to pay a debt if i lived on him. it makes me feel a little more… normal, too.”

“like you’re not an ex-assassin newly reformed avenger?” natasha asks.

“like i’m not an ex-assassin newly reformed avenger,” you confirm. “just someone with no special skills and an annoying neighbor that won’t shut up about the fact that i’m single and pointing it out a little bit snobbier each time.”

"the epitome of normal if i've ever heard it," natasha grins.

you laugh. "exactly."

"besides," natasha starts, "you know she's wrong. if you were to, you already know that the minute you start to look, there'll be a line forming out your door. all the recruits are already head over heels for you, never mind barnes."

blushing, you shake your head, “you’re not still with that, are you?”

“i only speak the truth,” your friend shrugs, taking a sip of her drink. her eyes trace over your face before looking at something over your shoulder. “speak of the devil,” she smiles.

two hands, one warm and one cold but both soft, fall on each of your shoulders, fingertips beginning to gently dig into your skin in a sort of pre-massage. you can’t hold back the smile that graces your lips, tilting your chin up to meet bucky’s eyes over you, “hello.”

“hey,” he grins, “‘wanted to remind you that movie night is at yours tonight.”

you raise a brow, “is it now?”

bucky nods, “we are tired of tony being so loud, we can’t hear the movie, and steve’s already hosted, meaning we’ll be heading to your lovely neighborhood and trying to squeeze into your living room.”

you laugh, “alright. but one of you will have to watch the television from the bed in my room because you guys take up much more space than my apartment was made for.”

“‘s alright, i guess some of us will just have to squeeze in there,” bucky winks, making you chuckle.

“just try to not leave at three this time, my neighbor insisted i was in some sort of cult last time.”

“promise, doll,” bucky swears, “i will not leave your apartment at three in the morning.”

See the full post

1,078 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

blush- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers warnings: flustered!bucky like stupidly so about: request! Bucky was never a ‘ladies man’ in the 40’s (him and Steve made a pack to talk the other up no matter what to other guys) so when Y/n makes a move on him he gets all flustered and doesn’t know what to do… a/n: [shortie but a goodie i hope] i had to find out cucumbers are fruit for this fic and i am not okay with this information.

the effect you have on bucky drives him nearly as insane as you do, with your flirty smiles and winks he’s only half sure are meant for him. his crush on you is embarrassingly obvious—at least he thinks so, but he can’t control the blush that colors his skin whenever you blow a kiss at him after you catch him looking at you, or he turns to meet the eyes already on him.

steve stifles laughter each time bucky is left with only a wobbly little smile and longing eyes when you walk past and brush past his arm, your fingers lingering around his bicep for a few seconds too long for it to be friendly as you apologize.

bucky grumbles about how his friend isn’t—or at least wasn’t—much better than he is, but however true it may be, it falls flat when he nearly trips over his own feet when you wave at him while you run past him with an excited “hi bucky!”

you’re even gracious enough to pretend not to see when he clumsily waves back and almost crashes against a tree, although sam certainly isn’t, only somewhat quieting down when you smack at his arm.

he’s never been good at this, and he wasn’t expecting something like that to change, but he’d always trusted that he could at least be decent when it mattered.

like now. when you’re alone in the kitchen and bucky wants to ask you to go with him to the gala steve was forcing him to go to. he’d been forgoing it only because each time he saw you, there were other avengers in the room, most of which he would definitely mind seeing him getting rejected.

but then your eyes meet his and your face breaks out into the smiles that make him go a little dumb, and he realized he can’t be decent at this even when it matters.

“hey, bucky,” you greet happily, grabbing the plate of chopped fruit you’d cut for yourself and walking toward him. “d’you want some cucumber?” you offer, lifting the container.

bucky nods thoughtlessly, taking some of the cucumber and eating it. “that’s really good,” he praises, words muffled. “best cucumber i’ve ever had.”

you laugh, only urging bucky to eat more and bring that sound back. “thanks. i’m glad you like it.”

“uh huh,” he mumbles, shoving more cucumber between his lips.

“what’s that?” steve asks when he enters the kitchen, and even though bucky knows otherwise, it makes him feel better to blame it all on steve, his own silent thoughts lying when he briefly lies to himself in believing that steve interrupted just when he was going to ask you to be his date.

“chopped cucumber with lime and salt,” you reply. “want some? bucky liked it.”

steve furrows his brows, “bucky hates cucumbers. always has.” he shoots the man a look.

surprised, you turn to bucky, retracting the plate. “you do? you don’t have to eat any if you don’t want to, buck. seriously.”

“no,” bucky argues petulantly, reaching for more fruit, “i love cucumber.” he nods seriously, gesturing to steve and waving him off. “old.”

“thanks,” steve retorts, rolling his eyes and walking out as bucky continues to force more cucumber into his mouth.

you eye him suspiciously before simply nodding and taking some for yourself. “so what’re you doing in three days?”

“hmm?” bucky questions through a mouth full of the fruit he hates. “uh, the gala i think,” he replies when he forces it down, holding back a wince but still reaching for more.

you nod. “do you have a date yet?”

bucky freezes, nearly choking when a prospect of your words drifts through his mind. he shakes it away stubbornly, refusing to get his hopes up for something that was probably not going to happen. “no,” he answers finally.

you nod, dropping your eyes and biting your lip before inhaling shortly—gaining confidence—and giving him a small smile. “would you want to go with me?” you propose. “as a date?”

bucky actually chokes then, making a strange noise and then hitting a fist against his chest. your eyebrows furrow immediately and you put your plate down, getting closer to him. “oh my god, are you okay?”

bucky forces a nod and an awkward thumbs up.

“you’re choking!” you gasp, going to slap his back. he finally swallows it down and thanks you coarsely.

before you can take it back, bucky coughs out an enthusiastic yes, nodding madly.

“are you sure?” you question cautiously, “i almost killed you just now and i’m not that great of a dancer.”

bucky chuckles hoarsely, flushing at the way your fingers are still dancing along his back in soothing motions. “that’s okay. and it was my fault. i should learn how to…” he pauses, struggling to pinpoint exactly what went wrong. ”swallow correctly.”

See the full post

1,487 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

baby- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: it’s really all fluff, just intense mutual pining and flirting

about: request! Bucky and reader have tension with their crush on each other but are too stubborn to make a move. One day reader calls him by his Initials (B.B) in conversation but Bucky mishears it as “baby” and had to do a double take ?

you don’t seem to realize the blue eyes on you as you strap knives to your thighs, checking your weapons before you move to hide them along your body. cerulean irises follow your every movement, dragging on the shape of your thighs as you snap a gun into place on your hip. sam can notice you’ve caught him by the way you seem to take longer to adjust the holster along your thigh, running your fingers along your suit-covered skin longer than he’s ever seen you take.

bucky seems entranced, eyeing your hands as they move with sharp blades as you observe them in the light, a gentle index trailing over the sharp side, your lip quirking when you’re satisfied. he follows your hand as it goes to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then as it loads a gun.

sam thinks how great you are with weapons is hot, too, but he doesn’t spend the entire quinjet ride staring at you.

he elbows bucky, raising an eyebrow at him when he finally tears his attention off of you—a few seconds late, might sam add. “you’re staring,” sam lets him know.

bucky shrugs, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s mine, too. ‘don’t catch me starin’ at her, do you?”

bucky turns back to you, “not since last time.”

sensing sam on the verge of responding like a smart ass, bucky stands, stepping over to you, swiping one of your favorite knives from the table next to you. your eyes only flicker up to him to make sure it is him before you look back down at the gun you’re cleaning, a smile making its way to your face.

“why don’t you do this before missions? like a responsible adult?” bucky asks, beginning to twirl the knife in his hands, you can’t help how your eyes catch on the movements of his fingers, breath catching for a moment before you force yourself to pay attention to what you’re doing.

“like you?” you ask, shaking your head when he shrugs.

“hardly’d call you a ‘responsible adult,’” you grin, remembering a few weeks prior, when bucky had set out all of the things he was planning on using today to clean since he “hadn’t in a while.” you can also recall him sticking his metal fingers in the toaster and nearly electrocuting himself, having to make his way to shuri shortly after.

bucky grunts, stopping his playing with your knife, “now why wound me like that, doll?”

you laugh, putting the gun you were cleaning and reaching for your dagger, grabbing the blade half and poking bucky in the chest with the handle, “i can’t wound you any worse than you can wound yourself, mister i-get-myself-stabbed-every-three-days.”

“worth it to see you play nurse. you get cute all worried.” your face heats, shaking your head.

“yeah? maybe i should get stabbed then, see how cute you are.”

“no, no, no, no getting stabbed. i’ll spend every second right next to you if i hav’ta to make sure.”

“good,” you nod, “i’m planning on doing that anyways seeing your history.”

“and i’m irresistible and you’re unable to say away,” bucky adds with a wink.

“that, too.”

natasha raises a groomed eyebrow at the sight of you and bucky behind the island in the kitchen, cocking her head as she observes you offer a spoon of nutella to the super soldier. from her place on the couch, she purses her lips when you dip your finger in the chocolate, about to lick it off yourself when bucky suddenly does it for you. you laugh, lightly pushing him away and teasingly reprimanding him with the spoon in your hand. bucky shrugs, his eyes dragging over the way you take the spoon for yourself, continuing to do what you were.

shaking her head, natasha turns back, deciding she has to do something about you two if the both of you continue like this as you have for the past few months. as sweet as it was to see the two people who most deserved love get it, it was getting painful to watch you be so into each other without doing anything about it because you “weren’t sure if he feels the same way.” she’d rolled her eyes at you then, and she would now.

“bucky!” you laugh, natasha not even bothering to turn around. you blink up at bucky, accusing eyes settling on the playful glint in the sea blue of his irises. he smiles in the way that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, lets you take a peek into the teasing personality he’d gotten stripped away from him all those unfair years ago.

“oops, doll. accident,” bucky shrugs, raising a hand up to your chin again, a tender thumb reaching to swipe the chocolate he’d rubbed on you off of your nose. his palm is warm against your skin, leaving a trail of gentle heat that rushes into your cheeks.

“yeah, sure.” you scoff out, blinking away the daze you had been caught in, his lips frozen in your mind. gently shaking your head, you go back to what you were doing, “about as much of an accident as this will be.”

“what wi—”

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1,672 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

hopeless- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, tony stark. oc warnings: kidnap, torture, reader is threatened, rejection, ANGST about: request! “where bucky nd reader have a big argument nd then she storms out in the middle of the night leading to her being kidnapped. Then the whole time she thinks bucky isn't coming for her due to the fight” a/n: phew this took a hot minute. my longest fic. do not like the ending, but i hope you enjoy!!

bucky’s smile is wide as he observes you flit about your room, a silly twinkle in his eyes while they observe your exaggerated thinking gesture, obviously dramatic in your search for his next book to read. he leans against your wall, amused by your pulled features as they contemplate two different books: one red and well-loved and one blue and weathered.

“hmm, do you want something sad and romantic that has lines that make me doubt that i’ll ever find love,” you begin, raising the blue book higher. “or something classic and sweet and scary?” you continue, shaking the red one.

“how could you doubt you’ll find love?” bucky wonders aloud then, and you turn to your bookshelf again just to get away from the intensity of his gaze.

you shrug, unsure of how to respond, busying yourself with putting one of the books away.

“it’s you,” bucky continues, stressing the pronoun as if its implication is obvious. “you’ll get the best love. the pure and mushy type.”

the lazy shapes your fingers are rubbing into the spine of your book slow as you soak in the implications that bucky’s words carry with them. when you force yourself to meet his eyes, you’re unsurprised to find them on you already, but it’s startling to meet their depth, the way they were willing you to turn around without your knowledge. you begin to walk toward him, feigning your purpose as handing him the blue book.

“yeah?” you find yourself replying as you step forward slowly, searching for something deeper in bucky’s face as it breaks out in a smile.

“yeah,” bucky agrees with dead-set certainty. “the universe would be insane for giving you anything less.”

you smother the bashful smile that fights to make only its whisper appear on your face, holding back the urge to look at the ground in overwhelming emotions due to the entirety of the situation—the implications that you’d thought ridiculous of you to even consider seeming more concrete with the honesty of the words that bucky promises to you, making his eyes gleam just a little bit brighter with an unbridled determination that you’d never seen before.

“anything less than what?” you ask, testing the waters simply for reassurance that might push you over an edge you aren’t sure you want to cross.

“anything less than what you deserve,” bucky clarifies. “the sweet, sappy love with the notes and pictures and gifts and safety and never letting you forget how loved you are. the basics.”

you cock your head at him, trying not to drown in the wishes you had listed long ago that tumble from bucky’s mouth.

“oh,” you whisper, eyes flickering to the polaroids you have around your room, adorned with small, smudged words written messily in pen by bucky when he’d given them to you. there are post-its scrawled with his handwriting taped to your walls and hidden in a box underneath your bed. you can’t help but see the parallels between his explanation of the love you “deserve” and the love he constantly rains over you.

the attraction you’d begun to harbor for him yearns more at the possibility of it being returned—because here he is, laying it out for you with his reflection displayed on the plans.

“the universe would be insane to not give you that,” bucky goes on, the absolute resolve that you can make out in his words staggering. “anyone overall would be insane not to love you.”

there’s a twinkle in his eye that you’d grown used to, yet you observe when you look up at him again, what you were trying to do forgotten as you search his features. he doesn’t seem to acknowledge how deeply you scrutinize the softened lines of his face, the gentle lift of his lip as he looks at you.

you swallow, beginning to step toward him. “really?”

“yeah,” bucky replies like it’s obvious, nearly nonchalant but it fails with how deep his intent runs.

you realize the space that separated you wasn’t all that large when you find yourself closer to him than you thought before, and your breath stalls, completely caught up in the moment. bucky doesn’t seem too different, dilated pupils unmoving from your face, tugging you closer without a single touch.

“oh,” you breathe out, goosebumps rising on your skin when bucky puffs out a gentle laugh, his hand reaching to set on your jaw.

“what?” he asks curiously, his thumb pressing soft shapes into your cheek.

it’s like honey, his touch, the severity of his stare clicking something inside of you that you’d been so afraid to open.

suddenly, you’re certain. because surely nobody can look at you the way bucky is looking at you—touch you with the care he treats you with, tell you all the things he whispers in your ear without reflecting the feelings you have for him.

“i love you,” you blurt, tangled in a breath with the relief of the admission finally meeting your tongue, watching as something passes through his face—surprise, at first, and then there’s a brief indication of relief, just a flash, gone quickly enough to let you believe it was simply a figment of your imagination. his fingers stop moving on your face, and suddenly his features harden, pulling his touch away entirely.

there are alarm bells ringing in your brain, because this is not going the way you’d convinced yourself it would. he was supposed to smile and kiss you clumsily, mumbling out that he loved you too and you would say obviously and he would laugh.

not removing himself from your reach, staring holes into your head, red bubbles of frustration darkening his eyes.

“what the fuck?” he snaps. and the words are so sudden and sharp that they nearly make you flinch, spine straightening with a velocity that jumbles your words with the speed at which they try to tumble from your lips. he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“you what?” he demands, his tone foreign to your ears coming from the same lips that have never once let words edged with a raised tone slip past. bucky doesn’t speak to you like that. bucky doesn’t harden and bucky never raises his voice. not at you, never at you.

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1,832 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

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