#(definitely added in a little nod to one of the other sketches in the fic itself though so I'm not entirely playing favourites)

[ladylynse]

I was gifted with yet more beautiful fanart for my Huntsclan!Jake AU fic Unbound (FFN/AO3). This one represents scenes from earlier in the fic, but the parallels and the imagery that our fantastic anonymous artist captured has had me staring at this for entirely too long. Repeatedly. Please admire it with me.

(If the artist ever consents to be known, I will update this post with their information.)

More from this artist here and here

[boxofthings]

Finally finished a prompt and wrote some GhostRoach (kinda) matching gear fluff :) 

I might also go back and do some of the other ideas anon listed

This turned out much longer than expected lmao and isn't as well fleshed out and polished like my two other fics so if there are typos I'm sorry lol (also might be a lil ooc since this was just mindless brainrot writing)

Read on AO3

---

A haphazard smack against his helmet briefly knocks him out of his crouched stance. He grunts softly as he repositions himself near the bushes. Ghost isn't surprised that a task force member got bored and decided to bother him. He's even less surprised when he turns around and comes face to face with Roach, eyes crinkled in a relaxed grin.

"What," he says, unimpressed. They're supposed to be on recon duty, but it's lasted far longer than he thinks is needed, and with the information they've gathered being as dry as it was, Ghost had figured the squad would've started loosening up by now. 

He should've figured Roach would be the first one to get antsy.

"Wanted to check up on you," Roach signs. He lowers himself so that he's at Ghost's level and slings his firearm over his shoulder. "Also, I'm bored." 

Ghost rolls his eyes. "So I see you've made the smart decision and sought me out to help cure your boredom?" He makes a show of raising his brow even though it won't be seen through the mask.

Roach nods, completely unbothered by his lieutenant's snark.

"Of all people..." Ghost mumbles under his breath, but his limbs feel just a little less heavy than they were a minute ago.

He doesn't follow Roach's example and keeps his gun at the ready, barrel pointed straight in front of him. At the same time, the sergeant starts getting himself comfortable (or as comfortable as one can be in a humidly damp forest) with his journal already out and pencil in hand.

Ghost doesn't bother reprimanding him. It'd felt so long ago that he'd nitpick at every minuscule shortcoming displayed by his subordinates. It'd only feel strange if he went back to that now, especially with Roach, who had definitely played a role in the aversion of that overtly rigid demeanour. 

And besides, he knows Roach to be startlingly swift when facing a sudden oncoming threat, and with the added security of Ghost still on alert, their chances of ambush were low.

When had he gotten so soft? 

He turns to the sergeant–the culprit responsible for that development. A rush of fond exasperation churns in his gut, but he doesn't speak, only watches, as he often does with Roach.

He looks down at the open journal page, a current sketch of the foliage around them, some jotted-down thoughts and a drawing of Ghost from earlier in the day.

It doesn't bother him, but he's always surprised to see Roach's sketches of him, even if it'd been established long ago that Roach, much like the captain, tends to draw everyone.

It just means something else when it's Ghost.

Ghost clears his throat, suddenly abashed, "You and MacTavish should have drawing competitions. Bet he'd enjoy that."

The sergeant looks up, then glances down at his page again, pointedly looking at the sketch of the lieutenant.

"We already had one," he responds. "He won." Roach dramatically hangs his head and clutches his heart in a mocking "woe is me" display. Ghost feels the corners of his lips lift.

"Ah," he starts, leaning over to give a quick pat on the shoulder. "Sorry to hear that. S'pose the captain does have a couple of years on ya." 

Roach shrugs lightheartedly, "My creations could definitely use some work." He returns to his previous activity while Ghost turns his gaze back to their targeted area.

He's starting to feel antsy himself, and he's long recognized the source of that familiar precipice. "I like 'em, though," he says, much more hesitant and softer than his tone before, probably hoping the latter won't hear.

Roach's eyes shift upwards and he takes a moment to observe Ghost, crinkled eyes boring deep into his skin, and he feels his body flaring warmer.

He leans forward and gives a quick peck to Ghost's covered cheek, patting the area lightheartedly before returning to his previous ministrations, all too quickly for Ghost to properly process and appreciate what had just happened.

Ghost manages a choked "Mhm" before he's back to steadying his gun in his grasp, albeit a little shakier this time.

They don't say anything else after that–Ghost suddenly hyper-focused on the tree to the left of his barrel, and Roach very obviously content with their current established dynamic.

The silence is, as always, comfortable between them, and it passes for another half an hour before Royce comms in that his area is clear and that there's nothing else to look for.

Ghost stands up, gathering the gear he'd set on the ground, and moves over to offer Roach a hand to hoist him up.

The other closes his journal and brushes off his gear. When he looks up at Ghost, he grins.

"What?" Ghost asks, sensing an aura of inscrutability.

Roach continues to smile as he shakes his head, already turning to trek down the path they came from. Ghost wordlessly follows him.

--

Once they've all settled into their respective rides, Ghost radios in with Soap one last time to confirm extraction before he signals Royce to start driving.

He's just started to relax when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the side-view mirror. 

There's nothing out of the ordinary. Just his masked face as usual, but when he glances slightly upwards to where his helmet sits, that's where he spots it.

A sticker. It's a flower and a soft baby pink, and Ghost stares at it, slightly incredulous as if it appeared out of thin air.

Except–he has a hunch on where it came from, and the earlier smack to his helmet comes back to rattle his brain in a wave of exasperation.

And, of course, Roach chose to ride with Meat in the other car. He'll deal with it later.

--

Seven hours later and they're finally back on base. Ghost is about ready to pass out in his quarters, but as soon as he steps into the common room, Meat approaches him, no doubt to pester Ghost into joining his evening bender.

Ghost is about to wave him off when Meat pauses and squints at him. "The hell is that?"

For a moment, Ghost doesn't understand what Meat's referring to and, by default, is prepared to say it's his face, but the other's gaze is lifted just a tad higher than where Ghost's ears would be, and he realizes. 

"It's just a sticker," he grumbles. He'd almost forgotten about it, "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Meat only looks more confused. "Yeah, but-" his attention is ripped away by Roach, who makes his way over to the two. "Wow."

"What?" Roach asks.

The other makes a heatless scowl, "So you'll let Roachie here decorate your helmet but if we even suggest you add some personality and glamour to your gear, you just get all huffy?"

It's Ghost's turn to scowl. "I do not get huffy." And he immediately chides himself for sounding like a petulant child arguing with their sibling over who started what. Over a sticker.

"And the sergeant did it without my knowledge." He tries to add with more professionalism, but it doesn't help that Roach is standing next to him, grinning like an idiot.

The answer obviously doesn't satisfy Meat at all--only really exasperates him more. He shakes his head and gives a brief, knowing glance towards Roach, that Ghost heavily glares at, before he gives the lieutenant a light pat as he leaves. "Whatever. Looks cute, L.T."

Before he can respond, Roach is already pulling him away towards the direction of the mess hall.

Once they've sat down with a tray of food in front of them, Ghost takes the time to unbuckle his helmet, deliberately making eye contact with Roach.

"Well?" he says, side-eyeing his partner.

Roach glances down at the aforementioned sticker, then looks back up at Ghost and shrugs.

"Why not?" he signs. "You could add a little colour to your..." he gestures towards Ghost's person haphazardly.

Ghost sighs, placing down his helmet to the side and settling into his seat.

"You know you can take it off. It's all in good fun."

Ghost gives one last glance at the little sticker before digging into his food.

He'll keep it on for now, only because he'd rather focus his attention on his meal over something so ridiculous.

--

The next time they're off on a mission, it's rather quick. A cut-and-dry track and assimilate.

As Soap handles their acquired asset into the carrier, Ghost takes a quick moment to glance at the pop-up shops around them.

They've been deployed to a small village on the east coast of the U.S., where their target had hunkered up in. During their sweep of the area, he'd observed the various shop stands he'd passed by.

Now, as he studies the goods in front of him, his eye catches on a bright sheet in his peripheral. 

He buys it without a second thought. Keeping it tucked in his vest's breast pocket when he meets back up with the others.

--

It's a slow day. He's reading over mission debriefings in his shared office with the captain. 

He'd chosen to look over them during afternoon drills when he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

With everyone outside sweating their asses off, he'd be granted a couple hours of free time.

He's fifteen minutes into his file readings when Roach walks straight through the door, shoulders slumped from fatigue and half his gear still strapped to his body.

Ghost immediately sits straighter, forgoing his attention on the papers strewn across his desk and taking in Roach's presence. He's back a day early from his latest deployment. One Ghost, unfortunately, wasn't assigned to join.

"Injuries?"

Roach huffs lightheartedly and shakes his head. "Just a few bruised ribs. All good."

He sits down beside Ghost with a heavy sigh and glances over his papers. "How have you been?"

Ghost relaxes as soon as the other situates the other chair, and his hand involuntarily creeps closer to Roach across the table.

Roach zeroes in on it and grasps it without question. 

Ghost swallows. "I've been fine. Slow day. How was the mission?"

The sergeant shrugs. "Nothing special, just a week of mostly sitting around."

Ghost nods, gripping Roach's hand just a little tighter.

Roach removes his helmet and places it on Ghost's desk, leaning closer towards him so their shoulders are touching.

"Mission debriefings?"

"Mm. Just going over a few before I give 'em to MacTavish."

Roach nods, leaning his head against Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost snorts, already knowing where this will go. "If you're tired, you should've headed to the barracks."

Roach makes no show of moving, only whispering a soft "Wanted to see you" that makes Ghost's chest feel funny.

Ghost decides to return to his papers, one hand still intertwined with his partner's, but refusing to let go.

Roach has already begun dozing off when Ghost brings the nearest paper closer to him.

Ghost only manages to get twenty minutes of productive reading in when his mind becomes preoccupied. He's read the same paragraph five times before he throws the paper down and rubs his eyes.

The warm weight on his side hasn't moved an inch, and Ghost feels a faint smile graze his lips when he glances down at Roach, dead to the world, on Ghost's shoulder.

When he turns back to his desk, something catches his eye from his peripheral. It's the small sheet of stickers he'd bought on that mission weeks ago, haphazardly sticking out from between two folders.

He'd forgotten about it, was already apprehensive about using them as soon as he'd arrived back with them in his pocket.

But when he turns to his left, Roach's helmet sits innocently within his reach, and his eyes dart between that and the stickers on his right.

He sighs, feeling a little like a small child scheming to steal an extra snack or two from the pantry.

He reaches forward, mindful of not jostling Roach too much, as he grabs the plastic sheet and slides it out of its clear sleeve.

Ghost gingerly peels a little blue flower off the sheet and delicately places it on the same area where Roach placed his on Ghost's helmet.

After smoothing it out for a few seconds, he debates placing another. Just because. But as he reaches over to grab at the sheet again, he freezes.

The soft breathing from his left had quieted substantially, and he slowly looks down to his shoulder to make eye contact with Roach's amused gaze.

"How long were you awake," he grumbles.

Roach lifts himself, extricating his hand from Ghost's and stretching. "Long enough to watch you lovingly decorate my helmet."

"I wasn't-It was just one."

He doesn't respond, only reaches out to grab his helmet and turns back to Ghost, expression almost triumphant.

Ghost can only look down at Roach's mouth and subconsciously leans closer.

It is then that the captain walks right through the door, papers in hand, approaching his own desk when he catches Ghost and Roach in the act.

The smile that breaks across Mactavish's face is almost comical. Ghost immediately wishes he'd just done this in his own quarters.

"That's real precious, lads," he snorts.

Ghost grimaces, prepared for the onslaught of teasing from his commanding officer.

Soap notices his discomfort and quickly reassures him. "Ah, don't be embarrassed, mate. Roach here used to decorate my helmet when he first joined the squad."

For a moment, Ghost feels an ugly bout of jealousy spark through his gut, which is ridiculous because they're just stickers.

Roach quickly pats Ghost's hand and waves off the captain.

"It was my first mission with him alone, and we got so bored we just did anything to pass the time." As if he sensed Ghost's envy.

"Yeah yeah," MacTavish responds. "No need to feel jealous, Ghost. You're still the special one."

Roach sits back down, turning his body to Ghost while intently making eye contact with Soap. "He also lost the helmet that very same mission."

Soap sneers with zero heat as he walks toward the exit. "Think of it as an unpredicted blessing. Now you can focus all that attention onto Ghost.

The door closes, and Ghost wordlessly turns to Roach.

The other's grin hasn't diminished a bit, and Ghost feels warm under all his layers.

Roach leans forward and encloses Ghost's face between his hands, calloused but gentle, and brings his lips to Ghost's in a tender kiss.

His mask is still on, but Ghost reciprocates regardless and cherishes the moment all the same. He closes his eyes and leans fully into Roach's body heat as the other moves one hand to the back of Ghost's neck to lock them in place.

When they separate, Roach takes a moment to caress Ghost's face before pulling back and standing up.

Ghost already misses the contact.

Roach is about to walk out of the office before he turns back, glancing at the helmet in his hands and giving Ghost one last survey.

"It does look cute, L.T."

Ghost only huffs.

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[duvetsandpillows]

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit. 

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?” 

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up. 

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

[quiet-onset]

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact. 

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant. 

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside. 

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume. 

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up. 

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew. 

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

— 

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.” 

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.” 

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay. 

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go. 

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you. 

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment. 

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America. 

And Captain America he was. 

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed. 

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you. 

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Took you long enough.”

[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask

At long last, It is finished! Happy Halloween! 

Below the line is a lighthearted fic taking place in the “Coffee Shop” AU (( @doodledrawsthings​ ))with Magic! Family fun! Low stakes! And a gratuitous cameo by my OC because of course Nell is here 

Seriously though this fic is about as lighthearted as it gets. At the end of the fic are a few sketches I drew but didn’t end up coloring. 

((There’s going to be an alternate ending posted separately at a later date, but its not relevant to the fic)) 

Enjoy! 

--

Fall in Subcon Forest came in gently as always, and by the time Halloween rolled around, everyone was firmly in their sweaters and beanies and thick leggings and hiking boots that were only occasionally used for hiking. The leaves of the trees and the shining sun framed the town in such lovely muted colors that it looked like a picture right out of a magazine.

Not that anyone in the Horizon was looking out the window to see it - the curtains were closed in an attempt to not blind the employees and clientele.

It was that time between the end of school but before trick or treating, which meant that all of the teachers and parents were coming into the Horizon with their kids to get the new specialty drinks - well decorated and tasty, and more importantly, not hilariously overpriced. The kids in particular seemed to love the “Ghoulishly White Hot Chocolate”, and the teens flocked to the “Jack-O-Spices Frozen Pumpkin Latte”

Luka was almost certain that the pumpkin spice smell would burn itself so deep into his nose he’d never be able to un-smell it. A small price to pay for the rise in business, he supposed.

“Luka, Two Snatcher-ccinos!” Clover called from the cash register.

“I still hate that!” He responded with a light tone

“Too bad, make ‘em!” She teased back with a light laugh.

“Don’t get all testy, you two! We’re only open for another hour!” MJ called, grinning before turning back to the coffee machine, where they were effortlessly making yet another latte.

“Too long!” Clover argued, grabbing a muffin for a customer from the bakery display

“You’re telling me, and I still have to take Bow and Hattie trick or treating” Luka huffed, finishing up one of the “Snatcher-ccinos” and moving onto the next one.

“WE are!” MJ corrected. Luka just playfully rolled his eyes.

The conversation ended up dying rather quickly as the business went through its last rush, and, at long last, 4 o’clock came, and the store shut down. The three employees did a rather quickly clean up this night around - they were all eager to be anywhere but work that spooky night.

Once in the back of the store, Luka seemed to almost melt in relief, leaning further and further into the wall.

“Ugh, my limbs feel like Jelly” he commented as his voice gained its echo

“For all we know, they are,” Clover teased. “We’re meeting at MJs in an hour, right?” She stretched.

“Yeah.” Luka nodded “Have they already run off?”

“Yup. They’re excited” She chuckled “You gonna get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you later”

“Later!”

0o0o0o0o0

That stupid, cursed thing of a mask had not moved in weeks since he’d found it, and its stupid grin had started haunting the corner of his vision when ever he was in his studio.

It seems like it's decided that sitting on the desk in his art studio was its happy place. At least it was out of the way, and in a place he didn’t frequent often.

Though its eyes definitely still moved, which gave MJ hives like you would not believe. Why he kept it in his studio he wasn’t sure.

Tim had told him that the thing was mostly harmless, that it just seemed a bit… off, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Timmy even said that he got “good vibes” off of it, which was a strange phrase to use on something that felt at the very least mildly cursed.

Finishing with the caplet for his costume, gently clasping it, he looked in the mirror and gave himself a smile.

It was obscure, sure, but he’d put a lot of work into it! The legend of the “Lonely Man” was well known in these parts, maybe someone would get it. Someone had to.

Whether or not anyone got it, he was still happy with the tattered thing. That faux old age took forever to get right.

As he straightened out his clothes, his eyes caught the mask once more.

His hand picked it up off his desk, and his thumb rubbed on the odd surface. He couldn’t really tell what it was made of, but it was… oddly smooth, he thought. His brow furrowed as he looked at its eyes, a single pupil in its left eye, and a cascade of diamonds in the other. It was certainly an interesting and eye-catching design. He also liked the blue and reds, and that weirdly off-putting grin.

Such an odd thing.

He held it up with one hand over his face - not putting it on, but getting a look in the mirror at how it would look with the outfit.

He found it utterly bizarre that he could see clearly through the eyes despite what seemed like thick paint over it.

The mask itself wasn’t actually that scary when taken all at once. Oddly enough, it seemed to match with his outfit - at least, color wise. It didn’t even seem evil or anything. It seemed… kind.

That was an odd word to use. MJ tended to flip flop on how he feels about the damned thing

Before he could think any more about it, his doorbell rang, and the mask was left on his desk, forgotten the moment company arrived.

“Who is it?” He asked as he approached the door

“The Dread Pirate Roberts!” A little voice announced as the oak opened up.

To his absolute delight, Harriet was dressed indeed the Dread Pirate Roberts, missing nothing but the mask (The town doesn’t allow masks on minors, for some reason. A weird little policy). Next to her stood an excited Bow, grinning from ear to ear. He knew exactly who she was, but still asked-

“And who are you?”

“My name is Inigo Montoya” She said with all the faux-seriousness she could muster, holding up a foam sword “You killed my father, prepare to die!”

“Oh, goodness, the finest swordsperson in the world and The Dread Pirate Roberts have come to my home, I don’t stand a chance!” He moved out of his way as the kids ran into the apartment, and their father walked up behind him.

When his eyes went to Luka, he let out a snort. The man was dressed in a slightly silly looking prince outfit dyed almost completely purple, and his form was mostly purple as well - an energy-saving tactic if ever there was one.

“And you are?”

“He’s the ghost of prince Humperdink” Bow grinned. “This was the best costume we could find for it”

“I honestly think he shoulda died at the end of the movie so I'm cool with it.” Harriet commented as MJ moved to the side and let the group in “Is Clover here yet?”

“Not yet, I’m sure she’ll be here any minute and we can get right along with trick or treating!” MJ announced

“Yay!” the girls responded in unison, taking their place on MJs couch and turning on his old television for a brief moment of entertainment

Mj looked at Luka and grinned “Well, you’re lookin’ spooky, Luka”

“You kind of do too… what do you look like?”

MJ snorted “I’m the ‘Lonely Man of Subcon forest’. Heard of it?”

“Nope, don’t think I’ve been here long enough” Luka shrugged “Does look nice though. Very zombie-ish.”

The two chatted for a bit before there was another ring barely 10 minutes later.

“That must be Clo” MJ pushed himself off of the wall. “Can you get that? I want to grab my wallet so we can get the kids some ice cream before they go running around”

Luka nodded, giving him a grateful smile before turning to the door to greet the final member of the trio

MJ popped back into his studio, grabbing his wallet… and looking again at the mask.

He pocketed his wallet, and picked the mask up again. His thumbs rubbing against the strange texture of the mask’s sides.

He couldn’t help but admit that he was tempted.  Maybe, he could just see what it’d look like, just for a moment. Who knows? Maybe this has all been anxiety for nothing and the mask is just… weird.

He looked back into the mirror, and placed the mask on his face.

There was a moment where he stared amusedly at his reflection - it added a certain air to his outfit. Maybe wearing it out wouldn't be so b-

And then his body seized

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He trembled and a pain started from his head and traveled down his spine. It was like the worst shiver from the cold he’d ever experienced. Like ice was pressed directly against his skin. It dispersed like a fog, freezing freezing, and, suddenly-

It stopped.

Panting heavily, MJ pulled themselves back up to a standing position - when had they bent over like that? - and lifted their head, making eye contact with themselves in the mirror.

“GAH?!”

They were - blue! And - and the mask was very much not a mask!!!

When they blinked, it blinked. When they moved, it moved. When they grimaced, the mouth moved along to create the expression. their eyes scanned over the crescent shape, past their neck and then landed on their-

“H-hands!” They stared - they were missing a finger and - had claws?? They clenched their fists in disbelief, eyes catching on a glinting just under their sleeve.

.. Where had the chains come from?

“MJ? MJ are you okay?”

Clover

“D-don’t come in, its fine!!” They panicked, “I’m uh, just, finishing up and stuff with my costume!”

“It looked finished to me” Luka commented “Did something rip?”

“Y-yes?? yes! Something totally ripped“

“They’re lying!” Hattie pointed out

“Sounds like their lying voice” Bow added.

Curse these adorable, smart little girls!

“I-I’m fine!” They yelled out “Totally fine, just fine”

“... MJ I’m opening the door, be decent”

“No, Clover, I - “

But the door opened anyway

And Clover - dressed up as “Generic princess” - looked in, and … stared.

“.... MJ?”

“.... H-hi, Clover.”

“Clover, what are-” Luka cut himself off “Uh….”

“It’s me! Its MJ, I uh - “ They tried to come up with a succinct explanation for the situation, despite not having any real idea.

“The mask” Luka quickly concluded, recognizing the face after MJs unfortunately previous run-ins.

“I … yes” MJ’s shoulders slumped a bit.

“Hey, at least you still have feet” Luka commented, causing MJ to look down and see that he did in fact still have his shoes on. Thank heaven for small mercies.

“What happened, what is it?!” Harriet pushed her way through, her eyes wide as saucers once they landed on the recently transformed adult “... Whoa”

“I … I put on the mask. I was curious and - and it..” They looked back down at the pale, blue hands, nervously moving the fingers and claws. “I felt like I was freezing, my whole body and then…” They trailed off.

“Whoa..” Harriet approached him slowly “It's like, Majora’s Mask!”

Lukas put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from jumping - now really was not the time “... I suppose that's one way to describe it.” He gave a deliberate, thoughtful face towards his transformed friend.

Bow was very firmly behind the adults, staring rather intently and slightly bewildered. Sure, she had been getting used to Mr. Princeton as a parent but.. This was somehow very different.

“... We need to talk to Tim.” Clover concluded

“Tim’s out of town” Luka reminded the group with a grimace “He and Timmy had some kind of meeting thing with other magical people. We don’t…” Luka huffed, his hair fluffing up a bit “We don’t know anyone else whose adept at magic like they are”

Harriet furrowed her brow a bit, looking at the discomfort that MJ was experiencing, rubbing their hands together. Could they be stuck like that? She wanted to think that maybe this really was like the Zelda game, but who could tell? It's not like they knew anyone….

“Yes we do!” She snapped her fingers“I kinda hate that Mu was right, but there is a witch in town!”

“What?” Lukas’ brow furrowed “Who?”

0o0o0o0o0

Getting to the edge of town was… novel, to put it simply. The group was rather lucky that Luka was used to doing this sort of thing. And he was about 4 times larger than the group, so that helped in flying them around.

With the sun kissing the earth, red rays crawling into the darker sky, they didn’t have too much time, but followed Harriet and Bow as they got past the town center, and led them down to-

“Wait, why are we at Nell’s place?” Clover stared ahead at the Mint-green home, succulents hanging from pots and a radio sitting on the edge of the porch.

“Because Nurse Nell is a witch!” Harriet announced walking up the two steps of the porch.

“What- Harriet!” Luka startled.

“Its true!” Bow defended as Hattie knocked on the door.

“Kids, we’ve known Nell for a long time, she’s not-”

“She is!” Hattie argued “We saw it!”

“She made us promise to keep it a secret!” Bow added.

Said nurse opened the door as MJ tried to speak up

“I wasn’t expecting trick-or treaters,” She greeted before looking out the door, “But I do-” She paused as her eyes landed on the strange group at her front porch.

There was a rather awkward, extended silence as her eyes scanned MJ through her thick lenses with a gaze that conveyed a strange kind of surprise.

“.... Inside, now” She pulled the door open further, leaving no room for argument.

The adults shared a glance, but did as she said, entering her small living room. She greeted them with a nod as they entered, and shut the door behind them, motioning for MJ to approach her.

She didn’t say a word as they did so, and very slowly lifted her hands to their face, holding it steady as she scrutinized. “What happened? Less than 3 sentences” She half asked/half demanded. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was serious.

“Uh, I put on a cursed mask and it uh… did this” They tried to sum up.

“Where did you get the mask?”

“I found it in the forest. I thought it was abandoned from the spirit festival”

“And why did you pick up an abandoned mask in the forest?”

They awkwardly didn’t respond. She sighed

“I get it, hun” She responded, resigned. “Stay still”

“I am”

“Stiller”

Clover and Luka watched her with some skepticism, seeing the woman take a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her hands suddenly glowed dimly, tapping at the side of MJs head.

“Hah! See! Told you!” Hattie pointed, jumping slightly

“Shhhhhhhh!” Bow shook her “She’s doin’ magic stuff!”

“Hm…” She masterfully ignored the yelling children “Well, good news is that the magic isn’t very strong, Just… aggressive.” Nell announced. “And it's not malevolent” She let go of their face.

“... I… How can you tell?” MJ asked, their own hand tapping their blue cheek.

“.. Let's say it's a feeling” She summed up. “You can sit down. I need to grab something from my library”

And she left the room

“.... I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nell that serious” Clover spoke out “Also the uh, glowing hands? Didn’t know she could do that”

“How did you not know she had magic?” Luka asked with a rather incredulous tone

“It never came up!” Clover retorted

“How did it never come up?”

“Its cool!” Harriet jumped into the conversation

“It think its cool too” Bow agreed “I always wondered how my paper cuts at school always healed so fast…”

MJ had sat themselves down, hand staying on their head, feeling the strange curve of their forehead with a certain fascination. Nell’s words - said with so much affirmation- did make them feel better about the situation.

The nurse returned, her expression still relatively serious, but calmer as she carried an old, thick book with a rather overly ornate cover in a faded blue.

“You’re lucky I collect these old things” She commented for a moment, sitting down next to MJ. She flipped through the pages, finding a two-page spread with a plain mask listed on it, and text printed so small that MJ just could not read it. “Here we are.”

Harriet climbed up next to her “What's it say? That’s a lot of words!”

Nell chuckled a bit at her eagerness “It is, but... “ she hand rested on the book for a moment, and then she lifted it, and the text glowed, lifting and circling around her hand like a ring.

“Whoa…. It's like the unknown from the Pokémon movie!” Bow jumped, causing Nell to laugh more.

“A little, I suppose” Nell responded, and she looked over at the other two adults, mostly at Clover, whose bewildered stare caused her to laugh again “You okay there?”

“... How did I not know this about you?”

“Never came up, dear. Don’t think too hard about it. You too, “Snatcher”” The woman gave a smirk. Luka cleared his throat. “Now…”

A simple flick of her hand, and the letters were floating around MJ’s head, and some of them glowed just a little bit brighter “Hm….. Alrightie, that's a good sign” She snapped, and the letters, very suddenly disappeared as if popping a bubble. “Well, Give until dawn, and then you should be able to take off the mask. If you can’t, come to me. I don’t work tomorrow”

“Oh… Well, that uh, wasn’t so bad. I’ll be okay?”

“Of course” Nell nodded, shutting the book “I’d’ve called the Kagai’s the moment I let go of your face if I thought otherwise”

“The who?” Hat questioned.

“Another time, Hattie, another time” Nell placated. “Now….” she exhaled, putting the book on her coffee table and clasping her hands together “I just realized I haven’t even said hello to any of you”

Something about that sentence finally broke the tension, getting a laugh out of Clover and Luka, and a snicker out of MJ.

The next ten minutes consisted of Nell reassuring the group that MJ would be fine, and reiterating that they needed to come to her if the mask did not come off by sunrise.

“There’s a lot of magic in this that I can sense. So uh, just be careful.” She warned. “I don’t know a lot about that, so you’ll have to ask Tim”

MJ nodded “Uh, thank you, Nell”

She gave them a kind smile “Don’t mention it. Next time you need me though, have Clover send me a message or just call me, alright?” She looked passed them to Harriet, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“Got it” The transformed barista nodded.

“Oh and, don’t be too worried about people seeing you. Just say it's a costume” She recommended as they walked out with their family waiting just beyond the porch. “Happy Halloween!” She called before abruptly shutting the door

“So……” Bow started

“Can we go trick or treating now??” Hattie finished.

Luka looked up to MJ, who seemed much calmer than before, despite continuing to lift their hand to their weirdly shaped head.

“.. Yeah, yeah i think we can” they gave Luka a grin “And thanks for getting us the help, Hattie” MJ reached down and picked her up “Who knew the Dread Pirate Roberts could be such a help!”

The girl giggled before being put back down “Then let’s go!!”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

MJ was initially a bit tittered when they entered the town, but the moment anyone noticed them, the compliments rolled in.

“Wow! You look like a spooky zombie!”

“What game is that cosplay from?”

“How did you get the prosthetic to look like that, damn!”

“Wow, that is a really cool idea for the Lonely Man!”

MJ was beaming at the semi-undeserved praised as they took the kids from neighborhood to neighborhood, filling their pillow cases close to brimming with so much candy that Luka kept making a face and seemed to be mentally preparing to hide all of it, whispering to Clover and MJ about taking some of the candy so that it wasn’t all in his apartment.

“Seriously, all that candy?? They’re going to get cavities and I cannot pay for dental work like that.” The father aggressed. MJ just laughed a bit, looking ahead at the two girls who were trying to run ahead to the next house.

And then Bow’s foot caught a crack.

“Ah, Bow!” MJ startled, hand reaching out - but there was no way they’d reach her before she fell-

And then, she just stopped falling, stuck in midair as if floating.. But she wasn’t.

Upon closer examination, she was held up by a variety of red strings, connected to MJ’s clawed fingers

“... Uh”

“Whoaaaa” Hattie gaped “Magic! Cool!”

Bow pulled himself up to a standing position, and MJ put their hand down, the strings disappeared

“.. Thanks” Bow cleared her throat “That was really cool”

“It kind of was... “ They commented, looking down at their hands “I’m gonna be having a heck of a long talk with Tim when he gets back from wherever he is”

“Yeah, definitely” Luka nodded in agreement.

Lucky for the group the rest of the night went without incident, with MJ joining Luka at home and the two of them staying up until the sun started showing through the windows.

“Ready?” Luka asked him, the being no longer human shaped, as he’d finally reached his limit

“Yeah.. I think so” MJ took in a breath “She said it can just… come off like how I put it on…”

“Alright….” Luka’s voice trailed off as MJ reached their hands up to their face, thumbs by their cheeks, but then - wait! The edge, the mask! They felt it.

Barely bothering to breath, they mentally counted… 1… 2… 3!

they pulled it off and gasped as that icy feeling went through them even faster than last time, trembling and nearly falling over as Luka kept them up with their tail.

“Hey, hey! You okay MJ?”

MJ looked up, nodding “Yeah, uh, how do I..?”

“You’re back to a nerd, if that's what you’re asking” Luka lightly teased

Their hands went back up to their face, and gasped when they felt their regular skin, and their glasses (Where had they gone? Didn’t matter)

“Oh, thank god” The tired barista flopped onto their partner, “That was exhausting. Thank goodness the Horizon is closed today…”

“Hah, ready to sleep?”

“Oh, definitely” MJ commented, looking down at the mask still in their hand, its smile seeming not nearly as spooky than before.. “Hm..”

“What?”

“.. Why’d it choose me, I wonder” They muttered, sitting up and placing the mask by the window sill “But… we’ll see about finding out more, hm?”

“.. Yeah, we will” Luka confirmed.

MJ gave him a smile, hugging his partner with a slight nuzzle “Come on, we need to sleep. Hattie and Bow-”

“Oh, don’t remind me. We’re in for a hell of an afternoon” Luka groaned, but he was still smiling.

Saying that things were “back to normal” was never correct with this group, but things were still pretty okay. Maybe better, even.

Moonie figured they’d just have to wait and see.

--

BONUS:: 

Costumes! I wasn’t able to finish these in time, but I hope they suffice! 

[alreadyblondenow]

I’ll never leave again

Yuta x reader // SMUT, ANGST, fluff? Summary: A Japanese transferee added color to your already colorful and perfect life and you both find true love as you help him with his battle against drugs.   Word Count: 7k Warnings: MAJOR DRUG USES, wearing, explicit mature themes, mentions of alcohol, blood, hospital, rehab, unprotected sex, mentions of other idols Note: IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE WHEN IT COMES TO DRUGS, PLEASE CLICK AWAY. THANK YOU. this fic is 100% came from my imagination, unlike my other works that are inspired from true events and personal experiences, this fic is 100% made up. 

Spaced out and really not in the mood to socialise, you were busy thinking how you’re going to break things off with your boyfriend Jaehyun. The perfect captain of the cheerleading squad and the handsome captain of the basketball team, together and being high school sweethearts is kind of getting old to you. And by getting old you mean you don’t love Jaehyun anymore. Not that he cheated on you or he treated you badly, no Jaehyun’s a great guy. It’s just that maybe he is not what your heart wants anymore.

It’s hard to explain something you cant even understand. You can’t actually pin point when did you start forcing yourself to see Jaehyun and why is this happening. “I can’t just stage a cheating scenario, that’s not me. I think Jaehyun deserves the truth” thats your response when Yeeun suggests to stage a cheating act where Jaehyun will see some random dude in your bed. “He will not buy it. Because he knew I can’t cheat” you added making Yeeun more frustrated.

To finish all your problems regarding breaking up with Jaehyun, you decided to just tell him the truth. He believed everything you said. “I felt it. Your kisses became different” Jaehyun said after you explained your part, you were glad that the breakup was mutual.

Now that you’re on your senior year, you wanted to focus on studying and trying new things. You gave up cheerleading and entrusting the squad to Yeeun. Giving up cheerleading was not a problem even though literally all of your friends are part of the squad, but they understand you. You’re just following your heart. Cheerleading is soon replaced by art, your second passion next to dancing and you couldn’t be more happier.

Everything was going smooth, having good grades, self love, and more art. Although, people in school still see you as this popular cheerleader who used to be with the school star player, you’re having a hard time making new friends. Until you met Nakamoto Yuta. A Japanese transferee who’s always quiet, private and scary because he had a lot of piercings. Not to you of course, you never see him that way. You met at the football field while you were having a quick sketch of the sunset with all your coloring materials just after a long day at school. “You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend” he said peaking from the back bleacher, you turned around to check who it is.

“I’m Yuta by the way, we have the same art class” he’s a little shy and awkward, but nice enough to introduce himself first. You knew you go to the same art class, actually he is quite an artist. He can be top of the class if only he submits his works.

“Hi, I’m y/n” you smiled at him offering a hand shake but you realised your hand is dirty because of the oil pastel. “We can fist bump instead” you suggest and he let out a small laugh. He looks beautiful under the perfect orange light from the sunset, his skin is unbelievably white and flawless, he looks unreal and you can’t stop staring.

“So...” he snapped out of you, “it’s nice to me you y/n. I hope you take my advice” you nod and waved goodbye as he leaves you alone with your drawing session. Your heart is beating so fast and you don’t know why but one things for sure, you find Yuta attractive. Really attractive.

The next day, you made sure to buy soft pastels and it did made your life easier. You wanted to thanked him but he didn’t come to school for two days. It really is useful to you, it made you work faster and easier, you couldn’t stop drawing and filling your sketchbook with colors.

After three days, he made his appearance again in school and he looked like shit. Maybe he got sick? That’s why he haven’t been showing up. Whatever the reason is, it made you shy to talk to him and tell him all about the things you already create with colors that he recommended. But destiny was being a little too friendly, he caught you again sketching your heart out at the bleachers.

“You work fast” he came out of nowhere again.

“Yes! Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you seem not well I couldn’t bother you” he smiled at you like there’s nothing wrong, “If you want, I could show you some of mine, a- at home if you want” you noticed he’s being friendly and who are you to refuse.

Yuta brought you to his house, just five streets from your home. Turns out Yuta is rich... and alone, he lives with his Japanese butler, Ruka. “My family is in Japan if you’re wondering” he tells more information about him while you two walk upstairs to his room. The house is simple but it was too spacious, it feels lonely and cold but you kept that thought to yourself. Good thing Yuta’s room is full of colors, different kind of masterpiece are put up on his wall, lots and lots of drawing and coloring materials neatly stacked on his working table, and a beautiful view of the town from his window.

“Uhm, if you need something from my stuff I’ll gladly give it to you” still amazed by what you’re seeing right now, all you want to do is look at all of his works. “Wow - that’s uhm, too much but I’m happy you can introduce me to a lot of art materials” you can’t hide your excitement, everything in his desks looks new to your eyes and you can’t help but ask questions about different materials. ‘What’s this for?’ ‘How do you use this?’

Not to mention you’ve been praising his works for almost half an hour already. He’s happy that you find him as a great artist and that you’re willing to be friends with him, seeing you in his room gives him hope. Ruka knocked at Yuta’s door and invited you to have dinner with them, you didn’t notice it’s already dark and you definitely need to go home already. But you didn’t want to leave Yuta yet, “Sure. I’d love to”

Even the smell of their freshly cooked dinner is new to you, since their both Japanese they only eat Japanese food everyday. “I hope you like Japanese food, I asked him to order takeout but Ruka insists. Told me you should try his cooking” he whispers beside you while Ruka is busy preparing the table. “It’s fine, I don’t get to eat Japanese food always so I don’t mind” you smiled to Yuta, taking away his worries.

The food was delicious, and the dinner table was full of laughter and stories from Ruka. They were both exchanging stories, telling you too much information you don’t need to know, but they tell you anyway. You found out that Yuta plays soccer and he’s a really good player, he’s an impulsive buyer when it comes to his art materials and your favorite information for the night, Yuta has seventeen piercings. The three of you laughed and laughed the whole dinner time while enjoying the delicious Udon and a lot of deep fried seafood.

Later that night Yuta walked you home and endlessly thanked you for spending time with him. “Everything that happened today is so random, but I could get used to this” you said, secretly hoping you could spend some more time with him. “This is my house. I would normally invite you to come in, but its pretty late - which reminds me” your voice and your hands were shaking, pretty sure you’re blushing too. “We have this thing every Friday. Me and my family- uhh, just meet me here at 7?” How brave of you to ask.

If Yuta could only shout and scream from happiness he would, instead he just gave you a nod and a sweet smile before he waved goodbye to you. “See you tomorrow” he shouts before you get inside.

There’s no way of hiding it, you have a crush on Yuta. And you cant ruin this wonderful friendship by being obvious, you told yourself. The next day you made an effort to look cute, “so much for not being obvious” you talk to yourself through the mirror. As you get on with your day, you can’t stop thinking how Yuta is a complete charmer and a really nice guy. Gentleman enough to walk you home in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly before he leaves.

Yuta on the other hand, has been asking about you to his friends. It’s either they tell him that you’re smart, pretty and popular or they tell him that you are the former captain of the squad. No one told him the things that he single handedly found out about you. In Yuta’s eyes you’re this simple girl that has her life all planned out already. He understood the whole popularity thing because whats not to love about you?

Hiding his excitement, he was pretty early but you told him it’s perfectly fine. Your family adored Yuta, they were all talking nonstop the whole night asking questions about Japan. Which made you worry actually, what if Yuta was hurting and he misses his family or miss Japan in general. Yuta seemed to enjoy everyone’s company, at least that’s what you think and you could only hope that he’s not faking it.

“Sorry, this is the least I can do. The dinner last night was so great, I wanted to invite you over” you brought him to your room so you could have some privacy. Which is not normal. The last guy you brought to your room was Jaehyun, and that happened two years ago.

He was busy looking around your room with an amused smile, looking at the pictures taken from crazy parties, cheerleading competitions, and basically every important event of your life. Yuta let out a small laugh when he saw your cheerleading uniform framed and hanged on your wall.

“What’s so funny about it?” you giggle while you both look at the framed uniform.

“I’ve never seen something like this before, I guess I’m amazed” to be honest he really is amazed that your uniform became something like a trophy that you display around your room. “I bet you look good wearing it” he was smiling while looking at you when he said that. Suddenly the room became hot.  

“You should smile more often, your smile is nice” to divert the attention, of course you praised him again.

“If you think my smile is beautiful, you should’ve seen yours” there’s no getting away with that so you just accepted it.

On the following days, you’ve been spending more time with Yuta talking, drawing and getting to know each other more. And the more you spend time with him, your feelings grow and grow. In a matter of weeks, you’re sure you’ve completely fallen in love with him.

He became your friend, in fact your only friend since you left cheerleading. Every friend of yours is either a cheerleader or jock, given that they’re all athletes, they don’t have time for you anymore. That’s why you think Yuta is a life saver.

Not long ago, you discovered about Yuta’s drug addiction. Weed, Meth, Heroin, all kinds. Maybe that’s why sometimes he’s so spaced out and he miss school a lot. “Yuta’s parents sent him here because of his drug addiction, only he can help himself” Ruka explained to you over coffee while Yuta is out doing whatever he’s doing. Even though he has problems, you still stick with him. He’s still a nice guy who loves his art, the same nice guy your family adored. With or without drugs.

One night, you were playing Jenga with him on his bedroom floor with a few bottle of beers and snacks on the side. “I’m going to win, I’m good at this” he totally loves teasing you whenever you two get competitive with each other. “You wish. Okay my turn” you said after drinking your beer in one down, but the Jenga tower fell off and Yuta laughed so hard he has tears on his eyes. He saw your face completely pissed off as you open another beer and building the tower again for another game.

“Who’s Jaehyun?” you were surprised at his question, something a student from your school wouldn’t dare ask because the whole school knows him.

“Oh right, you’re a transferee” he sat up and sat closer to you, legs crossed and both arms are supporting him on the floor “Uhm. He’s my ex. We’ve been together for two years? I think. And then I broke with him, over the summer because I don’t love him anymore - the breakup was mutual, if you’re wondering” He nods, and ready to ask you another question.

“Do you like someone now?” he reached for your hand which made you stop building the tower and intertwined it with his. You wonder why he’s suddenly so bold and confident. You nod, completely speechless.

“Is it me?” Yuta bravely asks, and you nod without hesitation.

He reached for your lips and kissed you gently, cupping your face as his thumb swipes on your cheeks admiring your beauty. Time stopped the moment you touch lips and you feel the happiness in your stomach balls up, ready to explode.

“This is probably wrong”

And suddenly that happiness you felt was replaced by confusion. He pull away from your touch leaving you so confused and still in shock. “What’s so wrong about this?” you asked him while getting him to look you in the eyes, tugging his arm so he wont’s get too far.

“I’m a drug addict y/n. You can’t be with someone like me. Cliché as it sounds but, I’m scared to ruin your life. You’re this perfect person who I happen to meet at football field and you’re just nice enough to welcome me in your life”

He looks frustrated and confused as you are but you knew damn well that meeting him is something you don’t regret. “You don’t get to push me away just because you decided to be honest with your feelings and somehow decided to be a coward afterwards” it wasn’t easy to stay calm but you tried so hard, your grip on his hand was becoming tighter and he noticed it. “I like you! And you make me happy. You’re the one who put color in my life, well literally and figuratively. But my point is, don’t throw us away” you decided to be brave and kissed him again. This time, hungrier and full of need. You sat on his lap and pushed him down slowly all the way to the floor. Hands all over each other, switching positions and rolling on the floor without stopping the kiss.

It was not a surprise for everyone when you went public, they already foresee what’s going on between you two. Your family still adored Yuta just like how they adored him from the first time they met him. The whole popularity problem in school completely changed in a good way because of Yuta. More people from school are talking to you now, they’re not scared or shy to be friends with you anymore because Yuta somehow changed everyone’s perspective. With Yuta you’re this normal person who’s happy to be with his boyfriend.

Happy days are nothing but pure laughter and great memories with Yuta. Movie night with Yuta and Ruka with a bunch of Japanese treats on the side is your new Friday night schedule. And inviting Yuta and Ruka for family dinner during special occasions has been a thing that made Yuta happy. He told you he’s a sucker for spending time with family but his family is in Japan and he can’t go home until he’s clean. That was the night you decided that you will never leave Yuta’s side.  

Yuta is this bright color that made your life even more colorful. He is this man, full of surprises and definitely no dull moment. You learned how to take care of him in your own ways without making him feel sorry for himself. Vulnerable, important and ordinary, that’s what he made you feel. And by ordinary, you mean no social pressure from the people around you. Just two normal people who fell in love in a normal way. Sometimes, situations can be a handful but it was never a problem for the both of you. Yes he has drug issues but for you, Yuta deserves to be loved. And no one can stop you from loving him.

Your love for each other grew and grew until you reach being intimate with each other.

It was raining hard and the wind was strong, you decided to stay over at Yuta’s house. Already washed up and fresh, you wait for your boyfriend in his bed as he turned off the lights in his room and replaced it with scented candles.

“You look comfortable there” he giggle as he crawls in bed and sat beside you leaning on his headboard. It’s chilly and cold in Yuta’s room, you cant help but be closer to him. Closer as possible.

“You like that?” You hum and nod with eyes closed to answer him. Surprisingly, he kissed you and your eyes opened only to see Yuta’s handsome face close to yours. The kiss was slow and you were both taking time savouring this quiet memory. It went on like that for some time, until the kiss became wet and needy. He hungrily kissed you bitting and licking your lips. Hands creeping just under your shirt, all the way to your clothed boobs and skilfully unclasps your bra. Gently kneading your right boob and doing a circular motion on your nipple.  

“We’ve never gone this far” you said as you catch your breath, and went back to kissing him a little bit slowly this time.

“Do you think its time?” He managed to ask you in between those soft kisses, giving you sweet pecks. You nod excitedly. “Sit between my legs” you followed what he told you, completely clueless on what he’s going to do next.

“Spread your legs wide” it suddenly became hotter as you spread your legs nervously. Your head is resting on his shoulder, back against his chest, heart beating so fast as you wait for his next move. “Yuta, can you kiss me?” your voice cracked but he just smiled, and shook his head. “Not until you remove your shorts and panties” and so you did. Hurriedly removing your thin shorts and laced panties, throwing them on the floor.

The moment his finger had contact with your wet slit you gasp and grabbed his shoulder gripping it tightly as you moan. You feel like this is new to you but it isn’t, of course you’re not a virgin anymore and Jaehyun did a fair share on that. “Yuta- Ah! Baby I’m almost there” with heavy breaths and sharp gasps, you warn him and at the same time stopping yourself from cumming too early.

“Wider” he said so calmly, you followed spreading your legs wider. Fingers drilling a little harder than before and you finally let go. Shivering and catching your breath, eyelids already heavy. He licks your parted mouth as you enjoy your high, filthy but fucking hot. His breath smells like mint.

“You seem so calm the whole time you were finger fucking me” with all the energy left in your body, you went back to laying on his side.

“Yeah well my cock isn’t” he kissed you on the forehead and tells you, “i love you, you sound beautiful the whole time. I was busy listening to you”

You have something on your mind right now that you’re somehow scared to ask because he might refuse, “I have a question” you sat up and sat on his lap. Your legs and pussy are still exposed, and you’re making Yuta’s cock even more hard. “Why did you not ever asked me to have sex with you?”

“Well will you have sex with me baby?” Just like that, straightforward and calm like the Yuta you know. You were both giggling like little kids for some time while waiting for your answer. It’s not that you don’t want to but you were just shy to say your answer out loud.

“You’re shy, aren’t you?” of course he knew you’re being shy. He’s your boyfriend who happens to know everything about you. “Well, I’m horny” he sat up to reach your lips, kissing you gently but enough to prove that he is horny. Slowly his kisses went to your neck, making you moan softly. But you pull away not telling him anything. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking right. Please don’t be mad-“

To his surprise, you removed your shirt and your unclasped bra. Now you’re fully naked on top of your boyfriend, “It’s not fair that I’m the only ones naked here, baby” you grab the end of his shirt and helped him to removed it. “You scared me” he managed to tell you in between hungry kisses, “you’re so in trouble” he added and pushed you on the mattress.

Laughing like a little girl, while Yuta is busy kissing your naked body beneath him. Your head is dangling on the edge of the bed seeing his room upside down. His cock is poking your thigh the moment he’s on top of you naked, and you’re positive that it made you nervous. “Baby, I think your cock wont fit me” your boyfriend was amused by what you just said, “It will” is the only response he said before licking your nipples and sucking them gently. He grabbed your right leg putting it on his shoulder and kneeled in between your legs, lining his cock in your entrance.

Slowly he pushed his cock inside you making you bite your hand and close your eyes to stop yourself from moaning too loud. “See? it fits” Yuta is doing the opposite, he’s groaning with every thrust he give you letting out sounds you didn’t know he can make. Whimpering like a little boy beside your neck, you can hear him clearly. As his pace goes faster you were losing your mind at how good he fucks you for the first time.

“Don’t fucking stop” with heavy breath and gasp, you reached for his neck and encircled your arms around him. Legs spreading wider for him, moans becoming a little bit louder. The bed is shaking you’re sure Ruka can hear you both.

“Y/n, if you don’t stop moaning like that- I swear” his thrust became quicker and sharper leaving you speechless. Your pussy clenched the whole time trying to fight the sensation and trying so hard not to be on edge yet. But it’s a battle you can’t win, Yuta is so good at making you let go. You didn’t say that you were cumming but he can tell because your legs were already shaking and you were grabbing everything you can on bed and gripping it a little too hard. He pulls out and pumped his cock in front of you making his cum land perfectly on your boobs. Just the sight of his cum on your beautiful body, makes him hard again.

You grabbed him with both hands through the neck, and pull him on your chest kissing him a little too harsh. Filthy as it looks but you don’t care. You spread your legs again and put a hand in between the two of you and grabbed his hard cock. Pushing it inside you again, he let you do what you want. In a matter of seconds, he’s inside you again.

“I was disappointed, you didn’t cum inside me” you pout and he thrust again without a single word making your head roll back again, smiling like a fool because you got want you want. Yuta fucked you again, but this time rougher and he get to cum inside you.  

“Sorry if I didn’t cum inside you earlier” he kissed your forehead while you calm down from your orgasm. You still can’t talk and you’re still catching your breath, all you can do is smile as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.

And that was the start of having sex with Yuta with every chance you get. Making out in your room that leads to sex before doing homework. Watching the sunset through his window still naked and all over each other. Sex was different with Yuta, it was damn wild and filthy but full of love. Something you never felt before.

Whenever you’re busy working on something in the art room and Yuta needed to fetch you there, you make out with him for some time because he missed you already. Even though anyone can just enter and catch you two, he never cared.

If you’re not allowed to go out on a Friday night, he will sneak up to your room through your open window while you were sleeping and kiss you quietly until you wake up. You love having quiet sex with Yuta in your room because its funny how you two try to stop moaning too loud. On top of that, he needed to stop himself from fucking you too hard and remind him to go slow from time to time.  

Your fear of giving him a blowjob because you’re not that confident with it completely changed when one day you were just so hungry for his cock and you went down on your knees and gave him a blowjob for the first time. That’s during lunch and you brought him to the locker room where you and Jaehyun used to make out before practice. To your surprise Yuta came three times in your mouth, for some reason he loved it. From there on he always ask you for a blowjob and you always gladly give him what he wants.

If there are days with him that are nothing but pure happiness, of course there are days that are almost impossible to bare. All you can do is be strong and keep your patience long, remind yourself that you love Yuta no matter what happens. You really don’t know where it all started, or what triggered him to go back on drugs but you noticed he’s been busy and he’s not telling you the whole truth whenever you ask him ‘what’s up?’

After spending six beautiful months together, suddenly Yuta is gone again for days. He’s been missing a lot again and that can only mean he’s out somewhere taking drugs or he’s taking drugs and he’s in trouble. When you came to his house, Ruka was stopping you from entering the house but you insist.

“What is it Ruka?” you know he’s hiding something from you and Yuta is inside. So you shout from the outside, forcing Yuta to come out. He did. Limping and face all beat up. You’re not mad or disappointed, you were simply worried about him. “He got home this morning, and he’s still high from drugs. I don’t think this is a great time y/n.”

You look at each other’s eyes from a far, both hurt but yours is not physical. Broken heart, that’s what pains you. It’s hard to step away from his house, looking in his eyes full of hurt. Deep down you know he wanted to hug your kiss but he can’t because he can’t fucking move and he’s too humiliated.

What you saw today was too much and you needed a breather. It’s good that its Friday, you can be with your friends and somehow divert your mind. “People can get beaten up with a lot of reasons specially when drugs is involved” Johnny says while drinking his beer and playing beer pong with the others. “Don’t think about it too much, he’s going to be okay” Yeeun shouts from another side of the table. All of your friends were supportive with the relationship you have with Yuta even though they know about his drug problems. You spent days being with your friends while Yuta is recovering and there’s not a day where you don’t check up on him.

A week passed already and theres still no sign of Yuta. You can’t just show up in front of his house again, you didn’t want to disturb his recovery. Besides, school works are pilling up you need to focus studying and finishing some of the requirements. Your mind is buried into Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and you didn’t notice you passed out. When you woke up, you found Yuta beside you all snuggled up and waiting for you to open your eyes.

“Am I dreaming?” you closed your eyes and opened them again, no you’re not dreaming. He smile a little, you figure he’s still in pain. “Are you alright now? How did you get in?” you sat up to check his face and his arm. “I’m alright, I just needed to see you. I can’t take it anymore. I missed you so much” he reached for your hands and kissed your knuckles. He pats the mattress telling you to come lay with him in bed, and you did. Fingers intertwined and bodies close to each other, just how you like it.

“Why do you stay with me? You’re this perfect girl that fell in love with an addict”

For some reason you were scared of how he asked you that question. It almost felt like he’s going to leave you. There was a minute of complete silence before you answer him, “Because thats what you do if u love someone. You don’t give up on them. And just so you know I love you, and Im in love with you”

He chuckled but still careful not to overdo it because of the bruises in his face, “I know. I know that all too well” he placed his hand just above your jaw, and left a kiss on your forehead. “I’m trying to be better for you so I wont have to leave you eventually and go to fucking rehab. I can do this right?” hearing Yuta say that made you realise you were wrong about him wanting to leave you. He doesn’t want to leave, he wanted to be better for you. You kissed him on the lips pouring everything from the past couple of weeks in it. The kiss was wet but it wasn’t because of spit, but because of tears.  

After what happened, he tried being clean but he just ends up taking drugs over and over again. There was a time that you caught him taking cocaine in his bathroom and he shut the door with a loud slam and told you to go home. Seeing him do things like that pains you to the core. He never wanted to hurt you like this, he never pushed you away because deep down he wanted to be better and if that happens he wants you to be on his side.

A week before prom, Yuta made sure he’s clean and he promised you he will never ruin prom night for you. As a way of celebrating for being fourteen days clean and spending time with each other, you had sex after a wonderful night spent with Yuta.

“Fuck I missed being inside you” he whispers behind your ear while his fucking you with a steady pace. As always, the way he fucks you can make you lose your mind and smile like a fool while moaning and gasping at the same time. You closed your eyes as you let go of the feeling and cum for the first time tonight, the moment you open your eyes you see Yuta’s eyes closed completely blown by the frenzy on being on edge. And bleeding.

His nose is bleeding uncontrollably.

“Baby- you need to stop” opening his eyes to ask if he hurt you, he saw the blood on your boobs, completely panicking. “Did I do this to you baby- where does it hurt?” you were crying already, not talking to him as you quickly wore your clothes and screamed for help, calling Ruka as loud as you can.

Yuta was completely clueless but his head was spinning and he feels so weak suddenly. “Baby! Don’t close your eyes, you can die-  please stay with me” you were practically slapping his face to keep him awake as you help him wear his pants.

Everything happened so fast the moment you see his nose bleeding nonstop. You and Ruka rushed him to the hospital as quickly as you can. You were alone at the waiting lounge as Ruka takes care of everything Yuta needs to stay in the hospital.

All of your friends weren’t picking up because maybe they’re sleeping and tired from practice. But one person picked up and made his way to the hospital and brought you some clothes as soon as he can.

“I’m sorry Jaehyun, I didn’t know anyone else to call. I cant just simply call my family” Jaehyun was holding you close and comforting you as you cry for a whole hour. After changing to clean clothes, Ruka called you in to talk to Yuta. While Jaehyun is hesitating to come with you,  “Jae, come on its okay. He’ll be happy to see you”  

You were happy to see Yuta completely awake and smiling once you opened the door and entered the room with Jaehyun. You sat beside Yuta and kissed him on the forehead, “the sex was so good, you made me bleed” he joked around making all three of you laugh and you tear up again. “What’s happening to you?” you weren’t sure you wanted to know but you do know it’s nothing good.

“I’m fine baby, no need to worry” of course he will not tell you what’s going on because he didn’t want to make you worry. “Thank you Jaehyun. For being with her” Jaehyun nods at him and pats Yuta’s arm.

Suddenly your excitement for prom is replaced with worries for Yuta’s health. He needs to stay in the hospital for a week, and that covers prom. “We’re still on for prom right?” you were laying with him on the hospital bed as he shower you with kisses. If there’s anything he hates more than anything, that is making you disappointed. “Of course” you kissed him back, making him blush. “Can’t wait to see you crowed, Prom Queen” even though that’s not important to you anymore, you just nod and rolled your eyes on him.

He did got out from the hospital a day before prom, leaving him with only a day to rest. Ruka got him a nice tux that fits him really well, and you on the other hand tried to forget things that happened last week that completely ruined your prom excitement.

After working so hard on your hair and makeup, you finished getting ready just in time for your friends to pick you up. But Yuta is not yet here, when he’s supposed to be here already an hour before your friends arrived. “I think you guys should go, I’ll wait for him a little longer. I’ll see you there, okay?” you wave goodbye to your friends as you wait for Yuta on your porch.

You called Ruka to ask about Yuta, hoping maybe he just got problems with his tux. “Hey, Ruka uhm, is Yuta still there?” his answer broke your heart. The excitement was replaced with worries again, you called Yuta’s phone a hundred times but he never picks up.

A car parked in front of your house, hoping it’s Yuta. But it’s not, it’s Jaehyun. He drove to your house because he was worried, “What’s happening?” he worriedly asked. You were still trying to call Yuta’s phone, still no answer.

“Come one y/n, I’ll take you to prom” Jaehyun offered, but as much as you wanted to accept his offer Yuta’s excitement from the other day, flashed in your mind and you know you can’t go.

“I can’t Jae, thank you and I know you mean nothing but kindness. I’ll wait for Yuta here, he will get hurt if I go without him” Jaehyun didn’t really want to leave you but you made your choice.

The moment Jaehyun left, your tears finally fall. You were crying when your mom gave you a blanket and invited you to go wait for him inside. “I’m fine, thanks for the blanket” you were so hurt to even move. And you’re not hurt because he ditched you to prom, you’re hurt because you can’t reach him and you’re worried for him. A lot of things may have happened to him and that’s what worries you.

A week later, Ruka met you after school and told you that Yuta is finishing high school through home study under your school’s supervision. “He’s still part of the school, I’ll convince him to attend graduation. But,” something bad is about to happen, you thought.  “he wanted me tell you that, he’s breaking up with you” and that’s it. You burst into tears after hearing the bad news. It was so hard to breath, hearing those words from Ruka and not directly from Yuta. But you trust Yuta’s decision and maybe it’s for the best. With a heavy heart, you hugged Ruka goodbye and left without another word.

You tried putting up a big smile during graduation and hugging everyone you knew all throughout high school, except for one important person. A week after graduation, you left for college. Still with a heavy heart but you wanted to move on and have a fresh start.  

Ten years later

It’s impossible to forget your first love specially if that someone made an impact to your life. You’re sitting on the very spot where you met Yuta remembering how you were charmed by his smile. Mouthing the exact same words he told you before introducing himself first, ‘You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend’ smiling after you realised you’re completely a fool for still dwelling from the past.

You shrug it of and decided to go back to your high school reunion, maybe people are already looking for you. You stood up from the bleacher, “hi” and you almost fell from where you were standing and the person in front of you is to blame.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry” you told the man that it’s okay and you should get going, not even bothering to look who he might be. It’s weird that the man isn’t letting go of your hand, “Excuse me. I need my hand-“ your heart beats fast like the moment you first saw him. Nothings changed that’s for sure, except his hair color.

“Yuta” your eyes were full of tears but you were smiling the whole time. He pulled you in for a tight hug, holding you close like how he used to. It feels like a dream, you thought. A dream that you never want to end. Catching up with lost time, you spend the night with him forgetting about the high school reunion and watching over the same blue sky you used to look at years and years ago from his room.

He’s now an owner of a popular art gallery in Japan, which you happened to know about. “No way! You own that place, I went there just last year for work” he nods, and told you he knew. And he can’t believe you’re standing inside his art gallery. “I got scared. That’s why I didn’t talked to you” then you remember, on that day you were supposed to meet the owner of the gallery, “That’s why we talked to your secretary instead of the owner… which is you” he was nodding the whole time like a fool. It’s fun laughing the whole night not minding the time, he’s the same man you fell in love with.

“We missed prom because I was busy getting high” he suddenly blurted out when the both of you was silent.

“I went to your house I saw you waiting for me outside, crying because I ditched you” he’s wrong, you were crying that time because you were worried sick. But you saved your explanation for later, for now you just wanted him to explain his part.

“And I know I’m ten years late but, you look beautiful in that red lipstick. And oh! That dress on you, Mmm! I was admiring you from a far, and you were perfect” there he is again, making you laugh “and me I was high that time and I couldn’t ruin your night even more. I cant ruin your life even more” he reached for your hand and kissed it like he used to.

“That was my breaking point. After I finished the home study program, I begged my mom to put me in rehab, I want to be better for you. As always y/n. But as I got better I figured maybe you forgot about me already so I focused on getting better for myself. Went to college, had a job and now this. All better. Never want to go back” he left you speechless again, but he deserves to know the truth.

“Im sorry Yuta, I didn’t know. But for the record I was crying because I just wanted to see you that time. It doesn’t matter if you were high as a kite. I couldn’t care less about prom. I was waiting for you until the sun goes up and you never showed up. I was blaming myself maybe, I didn’t loved you enough thats why you left”

“No no, don’t say that. You were more than enough” tears never stopped falling from your eyes and Yuta hated seeing you cry. So he kissed you on the lips for the first time again for so many years. You rest your forehead on his, taking time to process everything that’s happening right now. Completely aware of what’s running in your mind right now he suggests to take things slow before coming back to each other’s lives again.

“Take all the time you need. I’m sorry. I swear I’ll never leave again”

................................................. Masterlist

Thank you for reading if you get up to this point hihi. Million thanks to every reader like you. 

I had a hard time finishing this fic because the word count is originally, 9k+ and I’m not sure if my readers are up for that long fic... because I usually post fics that are 6k max long. But I guess it is what it is. 

Hope someone enjoyed this fic huhu 

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom.  :P

AO3

FFN

.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them.  With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes.  His expression was strangely flat and blank.  He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her.  He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice.  “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

.

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him.  It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered.  The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.  

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again.  He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own.  At all. Ever.  

But that shouldn’t be an issue.  Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah.  There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.  

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan.  The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.  

Midoriya.  

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things.  It would fit right in.  

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.  

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity.  Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam.  Or break a bone.  Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk.  Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way.  Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.  

.

Izuku bounced in place, excited.  He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission.  It was like a dream come true!  Literally!  He dreamed about this!  Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh!  Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it!  It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.  

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.  

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him.  Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward?  But it had been a while since the sports festival.  They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.  

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though.  Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups.  Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention.  “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him.  It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise.  “Um,” he said.  “Okay?”  He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.  

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number.  “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.  

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay.  Harsh. But fair.  

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.  

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait.  Aizawa knew about that?  Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though?  At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right.  Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.  

“Yes,” said Aizawa.  

“Er, are you sure?  I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little.  Was that what they were calling it now?  Rude.  

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.  

Which.  Okay.  True.  But also, rude.  

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card.  The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them.  On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa.  Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.  

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them.  Which was typical, really.  It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before.  Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.  

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting.  He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools.  At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.  

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato!  The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here!  There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.  

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary.  Izuku was almost jealous.  He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.  

Actually…  All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks.  How interesting!  Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips.  He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.  

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.  

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course.  He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating.  It was better to play it safe.  His quirk was already weird enough as it was.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out.  Most of that day was a blur.  

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.  

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.  

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki.  He was relieved.  Todoroki looked relieved, too.  That made sense.  With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.  

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right?  Or did Endeavor not let him?  Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but…  Izuku had doubts.  He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.  

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.  

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.  

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous.  I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically.  “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised.  “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka.  “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku.  “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.”  Like Iida.  What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.  

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.  

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning.  He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay.  So.  “Am I- Am I the only one that asked?  L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…”  He shrugged, helplessly.  

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed.  He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him.  He did not need people looking into his life.  Into his past.  Into his quirk.  

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those.  Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.  

He would just have to do his best to help them.  

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms.  A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor.  Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls.  Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket.  What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes.  “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today.  You can call me Ito-san.  This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind.  All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group.  The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass.  However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito.  “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment.  Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.”  Ito paused.  “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand.  “Who’s going first?” she asked.  

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone.  The man did a double take, then paled, slightly.  He glanced at Izuku.  “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku.  “This is- This is my number?  It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito.  Then his phone rang.  “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone.  “It looks like I’m in the wrong group.  You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!”  Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.  

Izuku swallowed.  Something was going on behind the scenes.  This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it?  Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher…  And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei.  He’d almost been killed by the noumu.  

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door.  “Hello,” he said.  “I am Suzuki Takami.  I am your instructor.  Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito.  “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable.  Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku.  “But, I, um, I opted out?  I filled in the paperwork and everything.  I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork.  He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.  

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa.  “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out.  Maybe you were misinformed.  Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head.  “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.  

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine.  I can go with you, so you won’t be alone.  No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license.  He’d have to go through recertification entirely.  When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you?  I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.  

Izuku’s mind was racing.  He couldn’t lose his license.  He couldn’t lose his ability to help people.  He—What would All Might think?  He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um.  It’s fine!  I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?”  He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands.  “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes.  Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag.  He put the bag down on one of the futons.  “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive.  We’re really sorry,” said Saito.  

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa.  He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless.  “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei!  Plus ultra, right?”  He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that.  He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern.  He swallowed.  Don’t think about it.  

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something.  Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed.  Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.  

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.  

“Alright!” said Saito.  “Here we go!”

.

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed.  She paused for a moment in the back hallway.  She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.  

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes.  Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was.  The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.  

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.  

Oh, well.  Except for Midoriya, they were all clean.  If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.  

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled.  Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper.  It shouldn’t be bleeding.  That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself.  This shouldn’t be happening.  It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.  

.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight.  She was still worried about Deku.  He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe.  She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe?  Darker?  Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise.  Or was it sunset?  Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.  

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach.  He crouched, looking at the sand.  “It’s really…”  he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”  

“Hm,” said Aizawa.  “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.  

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki.  “If I can have your attention, please.  I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

[tngrace]

Can I request "tattoo(s)"? 💜

2 requests for the same prompt so I'm posting them as 1 & making it part of my SRK❤ series. Hope you both enjoy @sneetchestoo @buckieys

GTHB Masterlist; Read on A03

Picture of Carlos’s tat in the story because I’m terrible at trying to describe it. Found it on pinterest. And @justkillingtimewhileiwait & @moviegeek03 agreed with me it would be perfect for Carlos. As always thanks Brit for all your help plotting my fics and keeping me so excited to be writing ❤

Sofia had just celebrated her first birthday, and it was a double celebration for the Strand-Reyes household as her adoption was officially finalized. Even though they'd had her since she was two weeks old, it took a little bit for the paperwork to work through the courts. But they'd just found out on Friday that everything was signed and official. Sofia didn't totally understand the double celebration, but her dads and all their family and friends did.

Owen and Carlos's mom were currently cleaning up their kitchen while TK and Carlos said goodbye to everyone. Sofia had crashed from her sugar high and was currently sleeping on TK's shoulder. Once everyone was gone, Carlos tried to stop their parents from cleaning, but they wouldn't hear of it. "Ok, ok," he chuckles. "I'm gonna go help Ty get the princess down, then we'll be back," he tells them heading upstairs.

When Carlos gets upstairs, TK is standing in Sofia's door just watching her sleep in her crib. Carlos wraps his arms around TK and lays his head on TK's shoulder. "Mmmm she's gonna love having a bigger room in the new house," TK whispers. "We can move her up to a big girl bed too," Carlos agrees.

TK smiles at his husband. "She'll love that. No more trying to flip herself out." They both chuckle as she rolls the other way and pops her thumb in her mouth. "We've got to break that habit too," TK groans making Carlos chuckle.

"She'll outgrow it. Come on we need to get our parents out so we can discuss our other plans," Carlos grins making TK smirk.

"Mmmm Officer, I do like how you think." TK leans up giving Carlos a quick kiss before they turn on the night light by the door and leave it cracked. They head back downstairs to chat with their parents for a minute before seeing them out. Carlos takes in all the new toys scattered around their living room and shakes his head. "I swear they spoil her so much."

TK laughs as he's already settling in on the couch with his phone and a grin. "And who was it that insisted the playhouse wasn't enough and had to get a swing set too?" He teases Carlos getting an eye roll and exasperated huff. "Exactly," TK laughs as he crawls into Carlos's lap so they can share the screen.

Sofia was going with Carlos's mom and oldest sister tomorrow for a shopping trip for new shoes and probably clothes while her dads went to their tattoo appointment. They're last joint appointment had been when they gotten each other's initial tattooed on their ring fingers right after their wedding. Neither wanted to lose his ring or have something happen to it while on shift, but they also wanted it known they were happily taken. It had been TK's idea and Carlos loved it.

Now they were getting something to symbolize the growth of their family, their little girl. It felt so good to officially call her theirs. “I’m thinking this,” TK says showing him the screen. Displayed was a gorgeous rose bloomed out; “Think her name scrolled across it. Maybe on my chest?” TK asks as Carlos just stares. 

“Think it would looking fucking gorgeous,” he finally gets out imagining it on his husband’s chest. 

TK gives him a big smile and a kiss to the cheek. “What are you thinking about getting?” he asks Carlos passing him the phone to search. TK watches him searching and can’t help but grin knowing Carlos is going to go with something sappy. “Stop,” Carlos blushes as TK’s grin at Carlos’s searches. 

“It’s adorable how sappy you are,” TK grins nipping at Carlos’s chin. “Oh! That,” TK says pointing at the screen. 

“Yea?” Carlos had been looking at it, but he knew TK would probably tease him about it even though Carlos really loved it. It was incredibly sweet, but also tough he thought, and he knew it would look really good. 

“It’s definitely you,” TK grins. “Could get it here,” he says tracing his fingers over Carlos’s inside bicep making Carlos shiver. “Think we can get her to make a fist before we leave so we can get a picture?” Carlos asks TK as he screenshots his selection like TK had done.

“Oh, yea,” TK grins. Carlos chuckles knowing TK could probably get Sofia to do anything he wanted. She was totally enamored with “dada” right now even though “papa” was not far behind. Now that their decisions have been made, they check on their sleeping angel one more time before they go to bed themselves. 

They’re able to get several hours of sleep before Carlos hears a thump and a whine. “Dios,” he groans seeing it’s barely six am. TK whines and tries to burrow further into the bed making Carlos chuckle. “I got her. Even though she’s just like you,” he grunts as he gets up. TK doesn’t even grumble already back asleep as Carlos goes across the hall to find their one year old sitting in the floor with tears. 

“Oh Sofia,” Carlos says shaking his head as he scoops her up. There’s no injuries because they’ve put extra padding on top of the carpet after the first instances of Sofia flipping herself out of her crib and scaring them to death. 

“Papa,” she whines as she buries her face in his neck sniffling. 

“I know. But if you would wait for Papa or Dada to come get you, it wouldn’t hurt as bad,” he reminds her even though he knows it won’t do any good. Once her mind is set to getting up in the mornings, there is no stopping her. She is like TK in the fact she finds trouble, but she takes after Carlos in being a morning person. 

“Dada,” she says as they go back to Carlos and TK’s bedroom. 

“Dada’s still sleeping. Papa is gonna get dressed and then we’ll go start breakfast before Abuela and Tia get here,” he tells her quietly laying on the bed for some sleepy dada cuddles while Carlos gets dressed. She knows TK is not a morning person, but she loves cuddling up against him while he sleeps. 

Carlos snaps a quick picture of them unable to stop himself at the cuteness his husband and little girl give off. Once he’s dressed he scoops Sofia up and carries her downstairs. He gets her set up in her high chair with milk and Mickey on the TV while he cooks. TK stumbles down once he smells the coffee, and Sofia giggles at him. “Morning princess,” TK says dropping a kiss on her head before giving Carlos a good morning kiss. 

They share breakfast, Sofia wearing more than she eats because she’s finally reached an independent streak and insists on doing it herself. TK gets her to make a fist against his and Carlos’s and TK snaps a quick picture. Once they are done, TK takes her to get cleaned up and dressed while Carlos cleans the kitchen. It’s not long before his mom and sister are knocking on their door. He lets them in as TK brings Sofia back downstairs dressed and with her favorite backpack. “Be good baby girl,” Carlos tells her with a hug before she’s flying into her Tia’s arms. 

Once they’re out the door, TK and Carlos share a more heated good morning kiss, along with a very heated and very steam shower. Carlos loves watching new ink go on his boy, and just the thought of it, makes him horny enough for a steamy shower before they go. Once they finally stumble out of the shower, they both dress and head out to the tattoo parlor. 

TK goes first and gets the stunning rose on his right side above his pec close to his shoulder. The red of the rose is gorgeous against his skin, and Sofia’s name is eloquently scrolled across it. It was truly gorgeous. Carlos goes next and they show the artist the sketch from the phone along with the picture TK had snapped that morning. He does up his own sketch from their picture and it is truly gorgeous. 

They outline the tat on his bicep, and TK can’t help the soft look he gives Carlos. He definitely is starting to get Carlos’s appeal at watching him get a tattoo. It is going to be perfect and can always be added to in the future.  

Carlos loves it, so much. They get wrapped up and head back home. Sofia is waiting on them, and they both tell her she has to be careful with them. She nods and her eyes go wide as they show her the new art. She doesn’t totally understand it or the meanings behind them yet, but she loves the colors and lines. They know when she’s older she truly understand the meaning and how much her dads love her. Because they love her more than they ever dreamed possible, and these new tattoos are proof of that. 

[defenderrosetyler]

Always With You

Banner done by me; Pics are not mine

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Beta and some content added by @flamencodiva​

THIS FIC IS ANGSTY! There are death mentions, as well as well as alcohol intake. If you don’t like this or it triggers you, please turn away now! There are also spoilers for the 15x20 SPN Series Finale. Now, here are your tissues. Away we go!

It was just supposed to be a simple hunt. A simple hunt to kill some vampires. Y/N had been off doing her own hunts for a while after she’d gotten a call from the Winchester brothers that, after what had seemed like a long time coming, Chuck was defeated.  With the defeat of the vengeful god, it made Jack the new God and allowed him to restore the world from the devastation that he had caused with the removal of the whole universe, besides Y/N, Sam, and Dean. Then there had been the beautiful golden retriever Miracle as Dean had so named him. 

Y/N had met the Winchester Brothers during a routine werewolf hunt. It was just her luck that they were on the same case. A werewolf had been terrorizing a small town and killing innocent people, brushing it off as a bear attack. With the werewolf case solved, as it usually did, with all three of their brains working together to help save people and hunt things, the family business for Sam and Dean Winchester, and now for Y/N too. After working with the brothers and feeling a sense of family, she never wanted to hunt alone ever again.

This victory they celebrated after dealing with the vengeful god was finally over. All three of them had met back at the bunker and opened up a beer, and Dean smiled as he looked over at his younger brother and Y/N. 

“To all those we lost and saved,” Dean says, holding out his beer to Sam. Sam let out a chuckle, clinking his beer glass with his brothers, and allowed Y/N to clink hers as well. 

Like the brothers, Y/N had lost other people when she first started her hunting career. She had someone like Bobby for her, one who helped her with the lore she’d been unfamiliar with and ways to defeat them. She was still a novice hunter until she met Sam and Dean approximately 6 months ago, she found herself drawn towards Dean, but she didn’t tell him how she felt. Not right away anyway. Maybe this was her chance to tell Dean how she felt? No, she was still too much of a coward. 

Sam left the war room after their celebratory toast. Y/N and Dean both knew he had to work on contacting Eileen Lehey. Eileen and Sam always had a soft spot for one another, and the pair realized they were meant for each other. 

Dean cleared his throat as he looked over at Y/N, sipping whiskey from the glass he held in his hand. “What will you do now?”

Y/N sighed as she set down her glass, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I may head back home.” She says. 

Dean’s body slumped down a little at the thought of her leaving. She’d been gone when Billie had been in the bunker. When Cas had vanished, and she didn’t even know he was gone. Castiel had saved and healed Y/N on more than one occasion. This was more than Dean would have liked, but he knew it was bound to happen in their line of work. 

“I haven’t seen Castiel around, have you?” She added, finishing her bottle of orange hard soda.

Dean frowned and sighed, clearing his throat. He had to tell her, didn’t he? As he opened his mouth to speak, Y/N’s laughter rang out when Miracle had entered the War Room and jumped into her lap. Dean wasn’t about to ruin her happiness now. This is all he wanted for her. True he didn’t have his chance at an ‘Apple Pie’ life as he called it with someone special like Sam had with Eileen, but this was definitely something he wanted for Y/N. A chance to get out. 

Several weeks passed in the bunker, and a routine kicked in. All three of them would work on handling Miracle. They took turns feeding him, walking him, those types of tasks. Y/N found herself most afternoons curled up on one of the plush chairs in the Men of Letters library, catching up on some reading. Not knowing much of the Men of Letters, but she knew this was a hunters haven and something that was part of Sam and Dean’s history? She wanted to know more. 

This was one thing Dean loved about Y/N. Her intuitive nature and the way she wanted to fill her brain with as much knowledge as possible. It seemed to make her like Sam, a bookworm, but he didn’t mind. Dean found that attractive about her. 

As Sam came in from his run early one afternoon, he was looking at his laptop, brows furrowed as he read a news story he found.

“Sam? What is it?” Y/N asks as looking over at him as she walks in carrying a plate of Chinese. 

The aroma filled the room of mushroom and chicken with zucchini. It was a healthier choice than the other dishes that were available, which Dean teased her about on occasion. Y/N was a health nut like Sam. She’d been more focused on her physical appearance, but that was beside the point. 

“Well, I think I just found a case,” he said.  

Sam appeared to be in a state of shock at the randomness of the case after the amount of time between the defeat of Chuck and now. 

All three of them gathered into the impala, heading over to a small town that was holding a pie festival. Y/N shook her head as she saw the face of the elder Winchester light up. “Dean, are you sure about this?” Sam asks, giving his brother a skeptical look, raising his eyebrow as Dean nods. Clearly, you can’t keep the elder Winchester away from him and his obsession with pie.

A few minutes later, all three companions sat together on a bench. Y/N, as much as she wanted some pie, knew she could share with Dean, who had returned with an entire box full. It was like he’d grabbed every single slice that was offered. Sam had his own slice on a plate, but let out a deep, resented sigh. 

“Oh god, don’t give that sigh.” Y/N says giving Sam an objectifying look. This made Sam glance over at her, feeling confused. Apparently Dean heard it too. 

“That….That’s sad Sam sigh.” Dean tries to explain further, causing Sam to shake his head. Clearly it was a face of denial. 

“I’m not sad, okay? Just got a lot on my mind ya know?” He says. Sam knew what had happened to Castiel but wasn’t sure if Dean had told Y/N. This wasn’t Sam’s responsibility to tell her what happened that night in the bunker with Billie. Dean glanced over at his brother, and instantly knew what was on his mind. 

Both brothers seemed distracted and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. To lighten up the mood, she grabbed a small plate of pies with a whipped cream topping and moved to shove their faces into the dessert. A light giggle left her lips as she watched the shocked expressions of Sam and Dean as they attempted to comprehend what just happened. 

“Did she just..?” Sam says, a look of shock and awe etched on his face. Dean used his finger to clean the whipped topping off his nose. 

“Okay, I feel better now,” she giggled. They all needed a good laugh, given the mood they all seemed in since discovering the case. 

While the trio researched the case, a family was turning in for the night after the events of the festival, and the day overall. Mother kissed her children goodnight, as did the father. As the kids were headed upstairs to finish their evening routine, the father stopped at the doorway, seeing a shadow in the window, Followed by a knock at their front door. When he opened the door, he had a confused look on his face as there was no one there.

“Lyle?” The woman asks her husband, a worried expression on her face. 

“It's probably nothing,” Lyle shrugged, “just some kids….” His words are cut off as a machete sliced through his spine, cutting him in half. Lyle’s wife shrieked. Seeing this, the boys ran upstairs quickly to hide from the invader. Their mother isn’t far behind them. However, she was soon backed into a corner, unable to run or hide. Her children watched as their mother collapsed to the floor, dead. The echo of a boy shrieking filled the night. 

The following morning, Sam and Dean approached the house surrounded by yellow police tape and introduced themselves to the officer as Y/N examined the property. 

“Hold up, Feds, look into murder cases now?” The officer asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam and Dean, who’d introduced themselves as Kripkie, Singer, and Y/N as Agent Lemming.

Dean nodded, “Couldn’t help overhearing on the wire that one of the victims had its blood drained, right?”

The officer sighed and nodded, “Oh yeah, blood gone, puncture marks, it was really disgusting, and I’ve seen my fair share of murder cases.”

“The Mom?” Sam asks.

“Her body’s upstairs, but her tongue was cut off.”

“The kids were taken too,” Y/N says. “Were there any witnesses who can pin a description on who may have taken the kids?”

A female officer approached with a sketch pad and showed the trio the composite of the kidnapper/murderer. The photo shows a man with a skeleton mask. The officer excused herself, as did the Sergeant, leaving the trio nodding, thanking them for their time. 

The trio loaded themselves into the impala; Sam appeared to be racking his brain for something that connected the clues. “I know that face. I just can’t put my finger on it,” Sam sighed, irritated. Dean pulled the Impala under a tree off the main road. He knew what his younger brother was trying to remember. 

Y/N had the patriarch, John Winchester's journal, in her hands and froze when she saw the sketch inside the journal's contents. Dean blinked as if remembering the case.

“The kidnappings of ‘77!” They both said together

“According to the journal, he didn’t find much. But this is a common denominator between the two cases now,” Y/N says looking between them. “The blood was drained, tongues removed….I think we’re dealing with mimes.”

“Mimes or vampires,” Sam says.

“Vamp-mimes,” Dean says, attempting to merge the names together, earning a skeptical look from Y/N. “Son of a bitch.” 

“So, what do we do?” Y/N asks. 

“If these cases are a copycat of Dad’s old case, we need to head over to Canton,” Sam says. “We need to look for families that live outside city limits, around the age of 5-10 years old.

“Okay, so we need to look over the population of Canton and see who fits the bill,” Y/N says as they all climbed into the Impala, setting themself to get to work.  

They had followed the vampires over to an abandoned barn, Sam declining Deans wanting to use a throwing star, he gave it a huge resounding no, but Y/N managed to sneak it into her arsenal before they walked in. Inside it was dark and dreary. Being confronted by a vampire they met several years ago was a surprise for them, but the ambush, was a whole different surprise.

Y/N issued the two young boys back to the safety of the impala as the fighting began inside. Dean and Sam used their machete’s to chop the heads off each skeleton masked vampire. Y/N was knocked down to the ground, Sam rushing to her aid as he chopped its head off. Meanwhile on the other side of the barn, Dean was pushed into a pole, unseen till he felt it, had a metal rebar. 

Seeing Dean struggling, Y/N rushed over to chop its head off and watched it fall to the ground.

“Okay, I think that’s all of them,” Y/N panted, “Sam, go check on the kids would you please?”

Sam nods and heads to check on the two younger boys they had managed to save. Y/N looked at Dean and wondered why he wasn’t moving. They’d won, they could go home, and celebrate over some leftover pie from the festival. 

“Dean?” She asks “Come on, Sam’s gonna need help with the kids.”

A sad smile appeared on Dean’s face, he was clearly struggling. “I don’t….I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” 

“What?” Y/N breathed confused but she already had an idea about what happened. 

“There's something in my...Something in my back. It feels like it's right through me.” Dean rasped. Y/N walked to stand in front of him now, reaching around to his back and more tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him. Shaking her head, fighting the tears. She wasn’t about to cry in front of Dean.

“We-We can call for Cas, Cas can heal you!” Y/N pleaded. Praying for Castiel, praying that her angelic friend would be able to appear in a ruffle of his feathers and save Dean like he always did. Heaven rules or not.

“Don’t move me, Y/N/N, this thing is actually holding me together right now,” Dean says trying to put on a smile for her. Y/N moved to leave him, intent on calling for Sam for help or at least gathering the first aid kit she’d ensured was in the Impala at all times, in instances where Castiel’s healing ability wasn’t at their disposal to use. “Just-just come back and stay with me please?”

Y/N wasn’t about to let Dean be alone. He’d been there for her so many times, now it was her turn. “Okay, okay.” She nodded trying to compose herself. “Sam’s off taking care of the boys right now, we’re all gonna go deliver them to their families. Deal?” She suggested

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head, “no Y/N/N. I’m not going to be leaving with you and Sam. I mean, this is how I always told Sam that this is how I was going to go out. On a hunt, doing what we do, saving people and hunting things.” 

“Dean, for the love of God stop it!” She snapped, the tears now fully falling down her cheeks. “I’m going to get you out of here alive if it's the last thing I do!!”

“It's been a hell of a ride Y/N/N.” As hurt and as injured as he was, he gave her a stern look. “No deals, you and Sam are not bringing me back. We all know how deals turned out for us. Just, let me talk for a minute okay?” He asks. Causing Y/N to nod only and bite back her tears. “Remember, remember the day we met at the pool house? You were at the bar and uh…”

“You and Sam were playing pool,” Y/N chimed in to help him. 

Dean nodded. “You had busted my ass at pool, only because I let you, then you proved me wrong on the hunt that we’d done, saved my ass for the first time.” Dean chuckled sadly before coughing. 

“I don’t want you to go…..” Y/N sobbed, looking at him. “I can’t do this without you.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N/N,” Dean says, “Besides, I’m never gonna leave you,” he whispered moving his hand to her heart, Y/N placing her hand over his. Gripping it tight as she possibly can without hurting him.  “Can you do me a favor?” Dean adds. 

“Anything,” she says instantly 

“Tell me it's okay to let go?” Dean asks. This makes Y/N finally let the waterfall of her tears fall down, resting her head against his. Chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Where was Castiel? Why wasn’t he or Jack here yet? This was the one thing she refused to do. 

“Y/N/N, please?” Dean was practically begging on his final breaths. Y/N gathered her composure and nodded. A sniffle filled the air as Y/C/E met his emerald green ones. 

All Y/N can do is sob. “I’ll let Sam know you said goodbye.”

A single tear fell down Dean’s cheek. “I’ll always love you Y/N/N, I always have. Just been too afraid to say it.” Dean says struggling, on his last breaths. 

Y/N sighed and moved her hand to place it over Dean’s heart. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, soft at first before dean deepened it. His tongue clashing with hers as they shared their first and last kiss., Pulling away, Y/N bit her lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. Her heart shattered into a million pieces as she placed his hand over her heart. “I love you too,” she whispered, “It's okay Dean,” she paused to find her voice, “You can go,” she whispered. 

Dean took his last breath, his hand slowly dropping from Y/N’s chest where he had it over her heart.  Y/N kept her hand on his heart till it wasn’t beating anymore. She let out a scream of rage, sobbing at the loss of the one man she loved. Collapsing onto the floor, all hope abandoning her.. 

Upon entering heaven, Cas and Dean were reunited. As much as it pained Y/N and Sam to do it, surrounded by family and friends they’d known throughout the years as hunters, they gave Dean a hunter's funeral. Y/N watched the flames, holding back the need to jump on the pyre with him and meet him in Jack’s new heaven she is sure he’d have built. In order to numb the pain, after the funeral, one night as Sam slept, Y/N slipped out, heading off to find another hunt. 

Hunting seemed to help her not think Dean was gone, but then came the nights where she heard his voice in her head. Telling her to stop, slow down, and take a rest. One evening, after she’d been up for almost three days straight, Y/N decided to give in to her exhaustion and take a soothing bath. 

While in the tub, Y/N had opted to numb more of the pain she felt, by drinking Dean’s favorite whisky.  God she missed him, missed the way he flirted, missed how they would sing at the top of their lungs to annoy Sam. She just wanted him back.  As she continued to drink, the exhaustion mixed with the effects of the alcohol started to sink in. Her mind began to drift off, eyes fighting to stay open until they closed, her body sunk into the tub, head submerged, until she was engulfed by the water. 

The next morning, Sam went to check on her. He hadn’t heard from her in a few days and tracked her down to her motel room. At first, he thought maybe she was sleeping and tried calling her cell while banging on the door. That usually resulted in Sam meeting the end of the barrel of her gun. But after a few minutes, his heart began to pound with worry. Kicking the door down, he called out her name frantically, until he reached the bathroom. His heart stopped, torn at the scene before him. He let out a cry, both angry and sad at his fallen friend. Angry because she had left him alone, she was all he had left, and sad because he knew he didn’t do enough to help. 

With a heavy heart called 911, and a second hunter's funeral was planned. 

Y/N opened her eyes and looked around herself. The sky shone brightly, her skin feeling it’s warmth. She wasn’t sure where she was, but she could feel a familiar presence behind her. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around to see a familiar place she called home. 

Harvelle's 

The sign welcomed her and as she walked closer to it, she felt her heart warm to see the familiar mentor who had helped her long before she met Sam and Dean. 

“You’re an Idjit for doing all those hunts back to back you know,” her mentor huffed, putting the beer bottle to his lips and taking a drink. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, “but at least I saved people doing it, Bobby.” 

Bobby let out a huff, smiling gently at her, “He’s in there if you’re wondering.” 

Y/N nodded, making her way towards the door. Her hands shook as she placed her palm on the wood, and pushed it open. 

The bar was filled with laughter and music. As she looked around she saw familiar faces, faces of the people she had loved and lost along the way. They were drinking and dancing, music filling the air around them. As she continued farther in, the voices seemed to fade away as the man she was looking for stood at the bar, elbows leaning on the top as he offered her a cocky smile.  

“I’ve been waiting for you sweetheart,” he says with a chuckle. “Now, about that kiss.”

Tags: 

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[frozenartscapes]

Pumpkins - A World Without Gods Fic

Byleth heaved the large, orange vegetable up onto the kitchen table with a grunt, the weight of the object causing the whole piece of furniture and the cutlery on it to shake.

Edelgard did the same, though her pumpkin wasn’t quite as big so it didn’t land with the same intensity.

“Alright,” Byleth said as she playfully dusted her hands, “Let’s get started, then.”

“So remind me again why we’re making...what was it again?” Edelgard asked.

“Jack-o-lanterns,” Byleth told her, “It’s another Halloween tradition.”

“I figured as much. I was mostly just wondering why carving up perfectly good pumpkins to turn them into decorations rather than food seems to be so popular,” Edelgard said.

Byleth merely chuckled. “Don’t worry, El. These pumpkins aren’t that great for food. They’ve been growing them this way for decades specifically for making Jack-o-lanterns. That’s also why we got a couple of those small ones, which are good for eating.”

“I...see,” Edelgard replied, glancing at the two pie pumpkins sitting on the counter.

“So... Do you know what you’re going to do to yours?” Byleth asked, pulling out a couple of markers and offering one to El.

“I think so... I did a little research beforehand when you told me you wanted to do this, although I know right now that many of the designs I saw were far too complicated for me to execute,” Edelgard said, taking the marker and beginning to sketch out a simple face.

“Yeah, some people are crazy good at this. Although most of the time they’re professional sculptors.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m maybe average at this? The building does a contest but I’ve never won in the years I’ve lived here. I mostly just like the tradition.”

“I’m hoping this will turn out all right. It’s not the same as cooking, but I also can’t say I’ve ever been...careful when it comes to blades.”

Byleth laughed. “I’ve seen you use a dagger just fine, and you were pretty good with a sword,” she offered, “But yeah... Your style definitely was more about doing damage rather than precision.”

“I never really had the patience,” Edelgard admitted with a sigh.

They finished their designs and now it was time for the “fun” part, as Byleth called it. “Ok, so you want to take the knife and cut a circle around the stem. Make sure you cut at a bit of an angle so that the piece you cut doesn’t just fall through,” she explained, demonstrating on her pumpkin.

Edelgard nodded and followed along. Once the hole was made, she glanced into the pumpkin with a grimace. She had never...dealt with a pumpkin before. She knew of them. She had eaten food made with them. She knew of the general concept of their most popular uses, including these jack-o-lanterns. For some reason, though, she never really thought about what might be in a pumpkin until it was staring her in the face.

Byleth simply shoved her hand in without question, removing it with a handful of seeds and pumpkin guts and dumping the goo in a bowl with a wet splat. Edelgard gulped, then carefully stuck a hand into her pumpkin. Her finger brushed against something cold and stringy, and with a small squeal, she yanked her hand back out.

“Why is it warm?” she demanded when she heard Byleth chuckle.

“We were keeping them inside, El,” Byleth reminded her, “Trust me: it’s better than if they were cold.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Edelgard commented, attempting to clear her pumpkin out again. This time she got her hand in far enough to grab a clump of goop, but the squishiness of it made her retreat with a gag.

“Here,” Byleth said, offering a large spoon, “You can scrape the sides and bottom with this, then just turn the pumpkin over the bowl. It’s less messy that way.”

Edelgard let out a deep breath, accepting the spoon with a grateful smile. “You’ve clearly done this a lot,” she stated as she got to work, finding the spoon method much better.

“It’s funny. I used to get together with Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn and do this sort of thing a lifetime or two ago. It’s interesting to see how the holiday has changed over the decades,” Byleth said, “Pumpkin carving thankfully has stayed more or less the same. While costumes and candy and decorations and parties have all changed, good old pumpkins have been a nice constant.” For added emphasis, she patted the pumpkin lovingly before reaching in to clear out some more seeds.

A nervous smile made its way across Edelgard’s face. “Ah... And how did...they...find the holiday?” she asked, trepidation growing at the reminder of her former enemies.

“Flayn has always been intrigued by it, so of course it’s Seteth’s worst nightmare,” Byleth replied casually, “Rhea’s kind of indifferent on it. But she really doesn’t like carving pumpkins.”

“Really?” Edelgard asked with an eyebrow raised.

“She doesn’t like the guts,” Byleth said.

“I can’t fathom why,” Edelgard returned dryly, turning her pumpkin over the bowl and shaking out a clump of seeds and goo.

“It’s just seeds and mushy squash,” Byleth teased upon seeing El’s face, “Goddess knows you’ve dealt with much worse.”

“It’s the texture,” Edelgard insisted, “I don’t like how it’s slimy, warm, and sticky all at once. And don’t remind me about worse things because then I’ll start to picture them.”

Byleth laughed again, dumping out the last of her pumpkin guts. “Sorry. I should’ve known better,” she said sheepishly, “How’s it going? You get it mostly cleared out yet?”

Edelgard did a final scrap of the sides of the pumpkin. “About as clean as it ever will be,” she replied, “So now we can start carving?”

“Yep.” Byleth reached for a knife as Edelgard did the same. “Just work slow, and be careful not to cut yourself. Blood might be spooky but parents tend to be more approving of fake blood this time of year.”

Edelgard chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, my Teacher.”

Byleth smiled at the nickname. They were well passed their time spent as student and teacher, but Edelgard kept insisting that Byleth had never truly stopped teaching her new things, now more than ever. So the name stuck.

She realized she had been watching Edelgard carving for perhaps a little too long. She couldn’t help it, though. For as silly and casual as this activity was, Edelgard was approaching it with the same intensity and focus as she did whenever she was learning a new fighting stance or battle strategy.

Byleth blinked a few times before snapping out of it. As much as she would have liked to keep admiring Edelgard, she had her own pumpkin to carve.

“How are you making out?” Byleth asked after a few minutes, finishing up the last few details of her carving in the process.

“Almost... Done!” Edelgard proclaimed, leaning back to take in her creation. The pride in her expression fell away, however, as she studied her work. “Hmm... I feel like it’s missing something...”

“Hang on,” Byleth said, getting up to retrieve a couple of candles from the counter. She set one in each pumpkin, flicked off the lights, and with a snap of her fingers, both jack-o-lanterns lit up in all their spooky glory.

Byleth’s had a large, fang-filled mouth stretching from one side of the pumpkin’s face to the other, and two pointed eyes that seemed to narrow menacingly. Edelgard’s had the classic triangular nose and eyes, but a toothy mouth that was frowning rather than smiling.

“He doesn’t look very happy,” Byleth commented lightly.

“I thought the frown would make it less friendly,” Edelgard mused, “But now I’m not... Oh! I know!”

She quickly left the kitchen, only to return moments later with the plastic bloodied axe Byleth had hung up over the fireplace. After making another quick cut in her pumpkin, Edelgard then stuck the fake weapon inside, giving it the appearance of having just been attacked by an axe murderer.

Byleth couldn’t contain her laughter. “Oh Sothis, I love it, El!” she said.

“See, now he has a reason to be unhappy,” Edelgard replied with a small chuckle of her own, “And you did say fake blood was ok.”

“I did say that,” Byleth conceded, “I can already think of multiple morbid little kids who are going to love this pumpkin.”

---

A few days after Halloween, Byleth returned home after work to an envelope that had been tucked under the door.

They had won the pumpkin carving contest.

[olliedollie1204]

everything fits (3/8)- the next day

Single father Patton is utterly devoted to his son Virgil. Recently divorced Logan is utterly devoted to his twin sons Remus and Roman. The pieces come together.

Pairings: Romantic Logicality

Word Count: 4,522

Previous Chapters: 1 2 

woohoo chapter 3! and the last of my ‘mostly pre-written, just needs some final touches’ chapters for this fic lol. this chapter also has the first taglist for this series! if you want to be added to/remove from the taglist, lmk!

(Read it on AO3!)

“And then, Rem, you’ll never believe it— he waved at Logan!” Patton exclaimed, leaning against the counter he was only halfway finished with wiping down.

If anybody else had been his manager, Patton imagined that he would’ve gotten written up for how little work he had done today.

Lucky for him, as the sole founder and proprietor of the Sandman Cafe, Remy Dormer didn’t give a fuck if his best friend since childhood took a break from peddling overpriced coffee to brag about his son.

“No shit?” Remy asked, his eyebrows raised so high they disappeared behind his carefully styled bangs. “Didn’t know Lil’ Hart had it in him.”

Patton grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “I mean it, I’d be late to work every single day if it meant I got to see him smile like that.”

“How late were you?”

Patton pursed his lips. “About an hour,” he admitted. “My supervisor wasn’t too happy, but we were short staffed, so she didn’t write me up or anything.”

Remy sighed. “I can’t wait until you get out of that shithole.”

“It’s really not so bad,” Patton defended, although he didn’t really know why he was bothering. “I mean, I pick up some boxes, I put ‘em in a truck. Rinse and repeat!”

Remy still looked unhappy. “At least when you bartend, you get tips. All you get there is back pain and calluses.” As he spoke, he suddenly jumped up from the stool he was perched on, pushing it over to Patton. “Sit down, Pops.”

Patton snorted. “You’re six months older than me,” he protested, but he did take advantage of getting off his feet for a bit.

“Besides, I like doing hands-on work like that,” Patton continued, speaking in truth. “It makes me feel good about myself. Like I’m doing everything I can to provide for my family.”

Remy snorted. “You sound like such a dad.”

“Well, I am one, aren’t I?” Patton replied. Remy raised his hands in defeat.

“No complaints from me. Virgil’s the best kid I know.”

“And how many kids do you know, exactly?”

Remy waved his hand dismissively. “Unimportant. Point is, you bust your ass for your kid, and I love that about you.”

Patton couldn’t help the ‘aw’ that escaped from his lips. “I love you too, Rem!”

Remy smirked back. “Course ya do, babes,” he replied as he moved to count the money in the register. “I’m a delight.”

Patton laughed, settling back comfortably, letting the familiar banter between the old friends fall away into a companionable silence. 

“It really was a wonderful morning,” he murmured.

“And it’s all thanks to that tall, dark stranger, huh?” Remy teased.

Patton was grateful that Remy’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see the shit-eating grin his friend was definitely giving him right now. “Remy—” 

“I mean, Patty, be real: he was cute, right?”

“Remy!” Patton laughed, feeling himself getting flustered. “It— he— it wasn’t—”

Remy threw his head back in laughter, shoulders shaking.

“Calm down, Papa Bear, don’t have a heart attack.”

Patton didn’t answer, just crossed his arms and tried to not embarrass himself further.

“Besides, if he made Virgil smile, I don’t give a shit what he looked like. He’s a hero in my book,” Remy continued with a tone of finality.

Patton shook his head in wonder, thinking back to the little wave Logan gave him right before Virgil ushered them both out of the office. “I swear, I’ve never seen Virgil so happy to talk to a stranger before.”

He paused.

“Not that I encourage my child to talk to strangers!” he stated a little louder, eyes darting around to reassure any eavesdroppers that there was no need to call Child Protective Services.

“Honey, we’re so dead right now, I’m about to call a mortician to see what’s up,” Remy said flippantly, gesturing to the empty tables and chairs in front of him. “Say whatever the hell you want.”

He wasn’t wrong: at the moment there were only a handful of regulars scattered throughout the trendy cafe, but Patton knew enough about working service industry jobs to know not to be naive. The rhythm of customers ebbed and flowed, and at any moment there could be a rush of business that would keep Patton and Remy busy for hours.

Patton leaned backwards slightly to check on his son. Virgil was sitting in the back room with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his head, his sketch pads and crayons scattered on the table before him. Patton watched as he stuck his tongue out, carefully tracing seemingly random shapes onto the paper with a blue crayon before switching to fill them in with a purple one.

Satisfied, Patton turned back to the conversation.

“And you know, when we finally did make it to his class, he wasn’t even worried about being late anymore,” Patton continued. “I mean, he still didn’t say anything to the other kids, just went straight over to Kai, but he was still smiling by the time I had finished explaining everything to Dr. Picani, so…” 

Patton didn’t miss the way Remy paused in counting the money in the register for just a moment, before returning to the task with a forced air.

“Oh, how is the Doc doing?” he asked casually, not making eye contact with his best friend.

“Pretty good, I think,” Patton replied. “We did talk about his recent trip to Hawaii, I think he said it was his honeymoon—”

Patton jumped as Remy dropped the handful of quarters he had been rolling.

“What?” he asked, looking at Patton with such a look of panic that he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Remy flushed. “Oh, you— you motherfucker—”

He continued to hurl baseless insults at Patton as the two squatted down to pick up the coins.

“Gotta say, Rem,” Patton teased, relishing in the blush that covered his typically unshakeable friend’s face, “You’ve seemed very invested in the goings on of Dr. Picani lately.”

He shifted backwards to sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor behind the counter, resting his hand on his chin and smirking.

“Is there anything you wanna share with the class?”

Remy scoffed, still picking up the coins one by one.

“I’m just… curious about the guy, okay?” he replied defensively. “I mean, Lord knows we never had a teacher who seemed to give a shit about his students, and this guy… does.”

He faltered for a moment, before blustering on, “Whatever. I don’t even know him. I don’t care what he does.”

Remy stood up, dusting off his pants as he continued sorting the money. Patton looked up at him with an expression of barely-contained amusement.

“... So have you picked out the outfit you’re gonna wear when we see him on Monday?” 

Remy scoffed again. “Of course, I’m not an animal.”

Patton heard the bell above the front door ring, and saw Remy’s eyes shift from the register to the door.

“Can you take this one?” he asked, looking down at Patton. “I gotta run to the back for some change.”

He turned and walked away before Patton could answer, leaving him to scramble above the counter just as the customer arrived.

“Welcome to the Sandman, what can I get for ya?” Patton asked chipperly, slipping into his customer service voice with a practiced ease as he slid on a pair of rubber gloves.

He looked up just in time to see the customer’s eyes widen in shock at his sudden appearance.

“Wow, how long have you been hiding back there?” he asked, eyeing Patton up and down.

Patton gave a polite laugh. “Just waiting for you to walk in!”

… Okay. That wasn’t great. Patton had meant ‘you’ in a general way, as in ‘a customer that Patton was getting paid to talk to’ kind of way, but from the way the man’s smile spread, Patton couldn’t help but feel there had been a teensy tiny misunderstanding.

“Well, I hope I’m worth the wait,” he replied smoothly. Patton gave him a tightlipped smile.

“What can I get you?”

Thank gosh, the man didn’t push it, ordering a large iced chai latte to go. Patton busied himself with making the drink, his hands shaking just a little bit. He forced them to stop, taking a deep breath before turning around with a smile plastered on his face.

“That’ll be five bucks even,” he stated, sliding the cup across the counter as the man opened his wallet.

He handed Patton a five, then made a show of placing another five in the tip jar.

“Tip, tip, hooray!” Patton cheered lightly. Remy told him that chant was the dorkiest thing he’d ever heard, and under no circumstances was Patton allowed to utter that phrase within the walls of his chic coffee shop. Patton generally ignored him on that one.

He looked away to place the money in the register, but when his gaze rose he saw the man still standing there, sipping the drink while making… slightly uncomfortable eye contact with Patton.

He paused. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man hummed. “A couple things,” he said, loudly swirling the ice in his drink. “Your name, maybe. And your phone number.”

It didn’t sound like a request. Patton felt himself grimace before he smoothed his expression into something more customer friendly.

“I’d prefer not to give out my personal information to a stranger,” he replied, willing his voice to come out clearly despite the tremble he felt in his throat.

The man shrugged. “If we get to know each other, we won’t be strangers.”

He leaned over the counter, dripping tea onto the surface that Patton had just wiped down.

“So what’s a pretty guy like you doing in a place like this?”

And that set off all sorts of alarm bells in Patton’s head. He couldn’t stop the way his face contorted at the man’s tone, his words, his body language, the way he called him ‘pretty’, like he was some kind of— 

Patton shut that thought down immediately.

“Working, actually,” he snapped instead, watching the man’s smile slide off of his face.

“And if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, voice raised a little bit in an attempt to get Remy’s attention, “I need you to get off the counter.”

The man sneered, opening his mouth again, and Patton tensed— 

“He’s right,” Remy announced, coming out of nowhere to lean over the counter and look the man dead in the face. “We sell drinks, not dates. Maybe go get a personality and you won’t have to drop a fiver just to get someone to talk to you.”

The man glowered back in a weak attempt at intimidation, but the glare Remy was leveling him with was not leaving any room for discussion. He scoffed, standing upright and shooting Patton a dirty look before walking away, slamming the door on his way out and causing every patron in the place to jump.

Remy swiped the dishrag from Patton’s apron pocket, wiping away the drips of tea like they personally offended him.

“Fuckin’... I hate assholes like that,” he muttered, not looking at Patton. Patton watched him clench and unclench his jaw for a moment.

“Rem,” Patton said softly, “I’m okay.” He placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, who leaned into the touch subconsciously.

“Daddy? Remy?”

The two turned to the small voice coming from the back room. Virgil’s head was just barely visible peeking out from behind the door frame, his hood pulled so far over his head he had to lean backwards to see the two men from underneath it.

Patton’s face broke into a genuine smile at the cute sight before he even realized it. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Um, um, I, um—” Virgil started, twisting his body a little as he stared nervously out into the cafe. He fell silent, gnawing on his lower lip, and looked at Patton with worried eyes.

“Go help your stormcloud, Daddy,” Remy said with his usual flippancy, reaching a hand to Patton’s on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. “I’ll man the counter.”

Patton squeezed his shoulder in return, and quickly moved to the back room. Upon confirming that Patton was coming to join him, Virgil took a few shuffling steps forward and held his arms out to be picked up.

“Upsy daisy!” Patton said as he reached his son, hoisting Virgil onto his hip as he took them both into the break room. He moved to put Virgil down on the small couch they kept in the back for emergency naps, but Virgil gripped Patton’s shirtsleeves tight and wordlessly shook his head.

“Oh, you want snuggles, kiddo?” Patton asked. Virgil hesitated for a few moments before nodding, burying his head into the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Alrighty then,” Patton said, gingerly sitting on the couch without disrupting his son’s position against his chest. One hand rubbed Virgil’s back slowly yet firmly, while the other pulled down Virgil’s hood to toy with his hair.

“Vibe check, kiddo?”

He felt Virgil breath deeply against his shoulder.

“I, um, I, um— he, he was mean,” Virgil said, his voice muffled through the fabric.

Patton froze, then deflated a little. “You saw me talking to that man, huh, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded. “He was not nice,” he emphasized. Patton smiled a little.

“I don’t know what kind of person he is, but you’re right. The way he was acting just now was not very nice.”

Patton figured the guy was just as much of a douche in the rest of his life as he was a few minutes ago, but it was important for Virgil to know the difference between ‘doing something bad’ and ‘being a bad person’.

“Well, don’t worry,” he continued, making his voice sound confident. “Remy told him to run away and never, ever come back.”

Virgil pulled back to look up at Patton. “Not even for a hundred years?”

Patton grinned. “Not even for a hundred, hundred years.”

Virgil gasped, eyes widening as he tried to picture a number that big.

“Not even, not even for a hundred, hundred, hundred years?” he asked, jaw dropped.

“Not even for a hundred, hundred, hundred, hundred—” Patton leaned his face closer to Virgil’s, pressing their foreheads together as he finished, “—hundred years!”

The two burst into giggles, Virgil wiggling at the feeling of Patton leaning his head on his. “Daddy!”

Patton laughed, pulling his head back and letting Virgil lean back against his chest.

“Two minutes or five?”

Virgil chewed on his lip as he thought. “Five, please, thank you.”

Patton nodded. “Five minute snuggles, it is.”

As he leaned back into the couch, Patton thought back to the rude customer.

He was attractive, Patton supposed, but his personality was an obvious deal breaker. And if Virgil could tell he was mean without even talking to him? Oh, there was no question in Patton’s mind that he did the right thing by turning him down.

Still, he sighed, curling his arms tighter around his son.

He wasn’t… opposed to the idea of dating. Despite the struggles of his day-to-day life, he was generally happy. He had so much to be happy about! Virgil, and Remy, and his jobs, and the fact that he had come so much farther than he’d ever thought he could. His life wasn’t perfect, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He just wished he had someone to share that life with. Romantically.

Over the sound of his troubled thoughts, he heard Virgil inhale deeply, shoving his head into his chest and rubbing his little cheek against the fabric of his shirt. Patton grinned, reaching up to brush some of Virgil’s hair back behind his ear.

“Love you, kiddo,” he murmured. Virgil made a muffled sound into his chest that Patton knew was his son returning the sentiment.

He sighed a little, rubbing Virgil’s back in soothing circles. Virgil was his number one, his little stormcloud. As long as he knew Virgil was happy, healthy, and safe, that’s all Patton needed to worry about. Save the dating for later. Hopefully.

~

“... And out of nowhere, he looked me right in the face and said, ‘Larry, I just can’t with you right now!’”

The jovial man could barely get the words out before breaking into loud laughter. “Logan, when I tell you I almost peed my pants—”

“I’ll have another talk with Remus about referring to his teachers by their last names only,” Logan stated, skimming the pamphlet they had gotten at the meeting.

“Only because I don’t want everyone to start doing it,” Larry replied with what seemed like genuine regret. “Don’t punish the kid for being a comedic genius.”

A banging at the door of the classroom made the two men jump.

“Sorry!” called Dot, entering with two bags of takeout in her arms. “The darn bags are slipping, so unless you guys want to eat your dinner off the floor—”

Larry was already rushing to help his wife. Emile followed her into the classroom, carrying a bottle of Coke and a pack of red solo cups.

“We’re borrowing these from the teacher’s lounge,” he chirped, placing them on the table where Dot and Larry deposited the food.

Larry raised an eyebrow. “Wow, a whole two liter? Emile, you criminal!”

Emile shrugged, smiling innocently as he poured each of them a cup. “What? I didn’t steal anything; they were in the teacher’s lounge, and we’re teachers, so technically—” 

“Technically, we’re trespassing,” Logan interjected as he began sorting through and passing out the food. “Even though Dot has the key to her classroom, the school itself is private property, and therefore should we be caught here after hours by law enforcement, there would most likely be legal repercussions—”

“Fuck cops!” Larry cut Logan off, raising his solo cup in the air with a defiant attitude.

“Fuck cops!” Dot and Emile echoed, the three of them tapping their cups of wine together before downing them like they were doing tequila shots at a college party.

Logan smiled. “I'm glad we're all teaching our children the important lessons.”

“Speaking of teaching children…” Emile said as the four began to dig into their food with gusto, “who’s ready for the meet and greet on Monday?”

His chipper tone of voice was met with three groans, causing his jaw to drop. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!”

“I just don’t get why they had to schedule the seminar and the meet and greet on the same darn week!” Dot replied. Larry nodded in agreement.

“And like, what do they even want us to say? It’s only been a couple weeks— I’ve barely gotten to know some of my students!”

“It’s merely the school encouraging us to form more personal connections with the students’ families, in order to ensure more funding from their respective donations,” Logan replied without thinking, much more focused on his burger than the conversation.

“No kidding,” Emile said, scowling at his burrito like it personally offended him. “I just wish we could really get to know our students, and their families, too.”

Visions of a man in a blue polo shirt flashed through Logan’s mind.

“Itinerary check for Monday,” he announced suddenly, flipping open his notebook and turning to the proper page despite his friends’ groans. “The doors to the auditorium open at five. At six, the principal gives the welcome speech and PTA information about the upcoming year, and given how they tend to ramble—”

“More like they just love the sound of their own voice,” Dot muttered.

“We should be ready to begin speed meetings by seven,” Logan finished. “Dot, you’ll have about eight minutes to talk to the guardians of each student. Larry, five, and Emile, unfortunately it looks like you’re down to three and a half minutes per student.”

He pulled out the spreadsheet he had made the night before, sliding it across the table with the math he’d done to get those calculations.

Larry snorted. “Wow, someone had a lot of free time on their hands.”

Logan felt his chest tighten just slightly, but he pushed past it to finish, “If this all goes according to plan, we should be packing up our tables by eight at the latest. Then Emile will be home in time to feed his cats, Dot and Larry will be home in time for The Bachelor, and—”

“And you’ll be home with plenty of time to spare before the good night call,” Emile finished. He smiled softly and reached over to pat Logan’s hand in appreciation. “I’ll help you pack your table when we inevitably aren’t out of there by eight.”

Logan bristled. “Well, that won’t be necessary, since we will be out of there by eight. My timeline clearly shows—”

“Has your timeline factored the amount of chatty PTA parents, shy or stubborn students, and overall incompetence of our administration?” Larry asked blithely, grinning when he made Dot snort behind her solo cup.

Logan’s mouth opened and shut for a moment before he looked back at his spreadsheet.

“It’s not my fault I prioritize punctuality,” he grumbled slightly. Emile laughed, reaching over again to jostle Logan’s arm, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling along.

Dot pulled the spreadsheet closer, peering at it over her glasses. “Wow, you really put a lot of thought into this, L. You think we can really get the whole gym set up in less than twenty minutes?

Logan shrugged. “We’re a highly competent bunch. Not to mention the PTA volunteers will be there to assist.”

“You know, it’s really nice to know there are people who would come in on their day off to put out hundreds of folding chairs before sitting through an hour long assembly,” Larry said. Dot nodded, chewing vigorously and pointing at Larry.

“And the decorations!” she added after swallowing. “I mean, gosh, the streamers, the banners, the snack table—”

At the mention of the snack table, Emile made an appreciative noise. “Oh my goodness, do you remember that babka someone brought in for the last assembly? With the cinnamon?”

Both Larry and Dot nodded enthusiastically. Logan didn’t remember it; he didn’t usually go for the complimentary food brought in by the parent volunteers. He shrugged, eyes back on his food as the others continued to talk.

“Gosh, that was good,” Emile continued. “I want that recipe so bad! Do we remember who brought it in?”

“Hm, not sure. Dee, wasn’t it a kid from your class? That’s why we got first dibs on it.”

“Oh, yeah… was it Virgil?”

Logan froze.

“Yes!” Emile said, snapping and nodding. “Yes, it was Virgil’s daddy— oh gosh, what’s his name…” 

“Patton?” The word slipped out before Logan had even fully processed what he was saying.

The other three looked at him.

“Yes, that’s it,” Dot replied in surprise. “Patton Hart. How did you know that?”

“We met yesterday morning,” Logan replied, eyes on his food again. “I gave him access to the building, and we had a conversation. He was exceedingly pleasant—” 

“Oh!” Emile cut off Logan with a gasp as he whirled on Dot. “Oh, Dot, I can’t believe I forgot— Virgil really came out of his shell yesterday!”

Dot perked up, sitting forward; Logan assumed she must have been Virgil’s teacher the year before. “Really?”

He nodded quickly. “Oh my God, Dot, you should’ve seen it. I mean, Virgil was glowing when he came in!” Emile waved his hands wildly, his excitement for his student shining out of him. “And you’ll never believe this— we were making things out of clay at art time, and when I asked if anyone wanted to talk about their work, he raised his hand!”

Dot gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Are you kidding me?” She turned to her husband, batting at his chest. “Larry!”

“Ow, ow, ow, I heard! I heard!” he responded, grabbing for his wife’s hands to stop her from attacking him out of joy.

Emile sat back in his chair. “And Patton, I guess they’d been running late that morning, but he told me Virgil had… gotten a compliment on his hoodie…”

His eyes widened slightly as he shifted to look at Logan; Dot and Larry followed his gaze.

“Wait,” Emile said, voice full of surprise but no less joy, “was that you?”

Logan felt a strange shyness; he shrugged, replying, “I told him I liked his hoodie, yes. I didn’t realize it would have such an impact.”

“How is that even possible?” Dot added. “I mean, he’s the sweetest little thing, but I don’t think he said five words the entire time he was in my class. All he wanted to do was sit at his table all day and draw," she finished, pointing her thumb over her shoulder to the wall of art from her current and past students.

He followed Dot’s gesture to one picture in particular: two stick figures, one short and one tall, holding hands. It was surprisingly well drawn for a kindergarten art project, and although the handwriting was not as clear, he could tell that the large block letters across the page read ‘I Love You Daddy— Love, Virgil'

"Aw," Logan said, feeling himself soften at the evident care Virgil had put into the card. However, another look at the wall the drawing was stuck on revealed a significant difference in Virgil’s card: where his was clearly for his father, every single other card on the wall specifically included the words ‘Happy Mothers’ Day’.

Dot seemed to follow his train of thought just as quickly as he had it, and when he turned to her with a questioning glance she gave him a somewhat sad smile. 

“Virgil’s mother is… no longer in the picture,” Dot finished slowly. “I don’t know all the details—” 

“That’s quite alright,” Logan interjected quickly. The memory of his brief interaction with the Harts was still fresh in his mind, and now he was faced with the prospect of seeing them, seeing Patton, again. The thought filled him with— something. Something good. So he would prefer to not learn the more private details of Patton’s life through second-hand sources.

… Well. There was… one specific detail Logan was, admittedly, curious to know.

“Is there another adult figure in Virgil’s life?” he asked casually. “Patton’s girlfriend, maybe, or— or boyfriend…”

A beat, and then the other three broke into laughter.

“No, boyfriend is definitely right,” Dot eventually answered, giving Logan a knowing smile.

Logan flushed. “Ah, yes. I had… suspected, as much.”

Emile giggled. “I forgot your gaydar is permanently broken, Logan.”

“I’ve only ever had one partner before!” Logan defended, his face growing hotter.

“Same with me and Dot, but our bifi works just fine,” Larry replied smugly. Dot held out her hand and the two high fived without looking at each other.

Logan sighed, collecting his trash from his food and pushing back his chair. “You’re all bullies.”

~

Taglist:

@patton-cake, @irritating-lady-knight, @i-cant-find-a-good-username

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 2

chapter 1!!  chapter 3!! you can also find this fic on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 7500 exactly. i am so lame.

Author’s note: hello!! when i was uploading ch 1 on here it never once crossed my mind that i should probably add ch 2 as well ... but oh well! it’s here now. hope u all like it. reblogs and likes and whatever else are very much appreciated. also i forgot to say last time- i paint a little but i am NOT a professional artist! i’m making all of this up as i go! if i’m wrong with something do NOT tell me. shh. but ok now enjoy!!

A blank canvas stands before you, as big as your torso and propped up on an easel. White, unmarked, clean- pristine and teeming with potential.

You hate it.

In your lap sits your sketchbook. Pages upon pages of rough, half-baked ideas, each more mediocre than the last. You thought that maybe you could churn something decent out if you came to your studio, soaked in enough of the atmosphere to coax out some sort of productivity.

Well, you were wrong. It’s the opposite- the empty canvas is slowing your thoughts down, muddling them together, disorienting you.

You stare at it for the better part of an hour, white searing into your vision, shoulders sagging with each passing minute.

There’s something there. You have something, a rough chunk of an idea in the back of your mind that could be great, but you can’t figure out what it is. And it’s not something you can just google- you can’t search up how to think a thought you haven’t had yet- so you sit on your own, unproductivity festering, oozing out like the orange from the skylights.

You’re not doing too well. The sun sets before it’s five, it’s Monday, you have a fifth adult class to teach, yesterday you only got to a third of your chores. It sucks- you should be better than this! Put-together, neat, confident, creative, actually able to do something.

You wallow freely, feeling no satisfaction when you reach forward and push the side of the canvas with one finger, tipping it off the easel and sending it clattering to the floor.

The warmth of the sun burns into your back. You don’t like wasting time like this, never have. Maybe you needed to, though, to help get you back on track.

You heave out a sigh and crack too many joints as you stand up, folding up your easel, picking up the dreaded canvas, shoving your sketchbook into your purse. The drawing pencils you set out on the table are neatly lined back up into their metal tin, the kneadable eraser kneaded for a few frustrating seconds before it’s put back as well.

You zip your coat all the way up to your chin. It’s still freezing outside, and the walk from your studio to the subway, from the subway to the other studio, is always a cold one.

***

At least you can move on from the watercolors.

Oil pastels! Still not a very desirable medium, but for today, you’ll take it. At least it’s saturated, at least you don’t have to worry about the whole thing coming apart with a spare drop of water. The way it stains your fingers and blends unpredictably is kind of charming, too.

You run through your demonstrations. You gesture to where the paper is located. You make a few suggestions for what people could draw: trees, landscapes, birds. Then you remember a box of handheld mirrors the studio owner keeps in one of the storage closets, and run over to get it.

“You can use them for self portraits,” you say, and then a particular man in the back scowls, and then you add that it’s optional.

But Steve takes two mirrors.

You don’t have time to analyze all of that. You walk around, offer a few words of advice. Shonna lays the preliminary sketch for a heron, and you’ve never seen grey and yellow look so nice together. Your favorite couple, Marcie and Ahmed, draw each other, but neither of them can draw. They laugh at themselves as they misshape each other’s noses, miscalculate the distance between each other’s eyes.

It’s cute. You stop at them and laugh a little, before continuing your round to the back of the room, to Steve and Bucky.

“Everything working out okay?” You say, while Steve frowns into a mirror.

“I feel kind of stuck-up doing this,” Steve says, and brings the mirror even closer to his face, right up to his eyes.

You laugh a little. “Don’t worry,” you say, and peer down at his sketch, which is already looking uncannily like him. “It looks just like you! You even got the nose right.”

Steve nods, still bothered by the apparent narcissism of this activity. He pulls a peach pastel from the set. “I guess,” he says, unconvinced, and streaks the pastel over the side of his drawn face, and you quietly marvel over how well he understands shadow. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard.

“What?”

Steve sets his mirror down.

Next to him, Bucky glowers at you, like he wasn’t smiling at your bad jokes in the cafe, like, two days ago. He’s so vehement- you’re starting to think that you dreamt up the entire encounter.

“You look kind of stressed,” Steve says, and then winces. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, and hesitate for a second, before thinking what the hell, and deciding to just let it out. “I am stressed. I’m so stressed- Steve, I’m, like, this close to losing it.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

He’s so sincere. Always so nice, and you don't even care that Bucky’s glare deepens when you pull out the seat and sit down in it, because you are dying to tell someone.

“I have this show in the summer,” you say, and clench your hands, because just the thought of the show makes you want to wring your own neck, “but I still have no idea what to do. I mean, I do, but it’s like, I have point A and point B, but I don’t have the line connecting it. Does that make sense?”

“What are the points?” Steve asks, and takes up the mirror again, to analyze the lower portion of his face.

“Okay,” you say, and lean back in your seat, and maybe it’s a little unprofessional, but you’re cool enough that it really isn’t, “Point A is that I want everything to be busy. Lots of patterns and fabric and plants. Like, I don’t want there to be any resting space for your eyes, because that’s boring. And point B is that I want to use people- and this is where the problem comes in, because I don’t know what people to use.”

You’re talking kind of fast, but Steve seems to still be understanding what you’re saying.  “Why not?”

“Because I want it to be personal. For my previous stuff, I would just post ads on Instagram whenever I needed models, and take pictures of random people and paint them. But I don’t want to do that again, but I don’t know what I want to do. I want people to look at the people and say ‘wow, that’s personal,’ but I don't want them to be able to tell how personal it is. Like, personal at an arm’s length.

Steve stares at you like you have definitely lost it.

You pointedly don’t look at Bucky.

Then he reconsiders, and gives you a supportive little smile, and you can feel your stomach sinking further and further down.

“I don’t fully understand that,” he says, and reaches not for the orange or red pastel, but the pale blue one. “But I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it some time.”

You watch him outline his chin, the left side of his nose, little strokes of his eyebrows. Blue and leaving little smears and flakes of color, and creating this swirling pattern with one of the streaks of peach, like ocean and sand upon each other, so pretty and bold.

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, and he grins into his mirror, still adding blue. It looks amazing. “Also, would you ever consider switching careers? The art world is missing out on you.”

He blushes.

“Use people you know.”

You and Steve turn fast to look at Bucky, still glaring. His red oil pastel, held tight in his gloved hand, looks ready to snap.

At least you’re sitting diagonally from him, instead of directly across. At least you don’t back down from looking him in the eye.

“For what?” you say, like you aren’t following, even though you are- you just have a feeling that he won’t tell you what he’s thinking unless you ask for it.

“For your painting thing,” he says. “Because it’s personal. To you.”

You stare at him like he’s crazy for a second or two, and he looks into his own mirror, set flat on the tabletop, without peering at his face. You glance over at his paper, at half a page full of perfectly identical red boxes, and realize that he’s drawing the ceiling panels.

Okay- lame.

But also, like, funny.

Then it starts to click.

“Wait,” you say, and you feel bashful, because he’s been listening to you this whole time, and in his silence he must have been thinking of you, and the thought of that is just too satisfying for you to let go of. He’s been thinking of you.

Or maybe he just wants you to leave.

“That works,” you say, and then you suddenly have the connecting line. “That works perfectly. It’s, like, not personal, but…”

“Familiar,” Bucky says, and you are half a red box away from leaning over the table and throwing yourself into his arms.

That’s exactly it.

“Thank you,” you say, and your brain is running a mile a minute, and he’s just staring at you. “Thank you so much. That’s exactly it, oh my god.”

You don’t even realize how far you’ve leaned over, hands balanced on the table, craning your head towards him. And you don’t even care- pieces are shifting and everything makes sense, and the weather outside isn’t cold, it’s beautiful! And this class is wonderful. Bucky himself is wonderful.

You float through the rest of the class. The clarity of your thoughts is jarring, the way you understand what you’re trying to do now. Flowers, fabric, and then you have an idea with a pair of earrings. You ache for a pen and sheet of paper to write it all down, but if you started doing it now, you don’t think you would be able to get up once the class ends.

Once, you smile at Bucky. He doesn’t return it- and you’re too in over your head to care.

***

He’s not genuinely interested.

This is a precaution. Bucky takes lots of precautions- he sleeps with weapons at his bedside, goes out with knives strapped to his body, always sweeps unfamiliar rooms before sitting, doesn’t tell anyone anything. This is just another thing thrown on top of his already exhausted routine, necessary to his safety and sanity and-

To his basic peace of mind.

He’s not a very good typer, so he asks JARVIS to look it all up instead, and transfer it to his overpriced, Stark-issued laptop.

There’s relief in that action itself- he tells JARVIS the wrong name twice, because that’s how personally disinterested he is. So disinterested that even something as simple as a name eludes him.

He doesn’t care.

The information gets transferred to his laptop. Bucky takes his time, carefully scanning the screen, preparing to tuck away anything concerning, for future reference.

There is a lot of information.

Articles- too many articles. Editorials, interviews, reviews. And pictures, and even videos, and he wonders if Steve ever brought this up to him, this level of renown that apparently you possess, and Bucky just wasn’t paying attention. But no, that couldn’t have been true- he’s been genetically enhanced to always be paying attention.

He’s a slow reader, and whenever the fonts are too small it gives him a headache, so rather than reading an article, he goes to the pictures tab.

Your art shows up first. He clicks on the picture to enlarge it, and it takes a long while for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing.

A woman dancing with a cow in the background, a woman with butterflies on her eyelashes. Two men wearing crowns of pearls, but when he zooms in closer, they’re birds. A figure in a dress, wearing sleeves that resemble fish, with a halo of koi fish circling her head. Everything has to do with animals, and there’s so much movement, and he doesn’t like art, but he does have to admit that it’s all so pretty.

And there’s lots of yellow.

And as he scrolls further down, there’s pictures of you. In some, you stand with people who look ridiculously pretentious, with weird hair and odd clothes and thick-framed glasses. Other artists, he guesses, who have to let everyone know that they’re artists before they even open their mouths.

Then there’s pictures of just yourself. You, unsmiling next to a half-finished canvas, in the middle of twirling a paintbrush between your fingers. You, unsmiling in a white-walled photography studio. You, smiling while wearing a ridiculous sequined dress, which confuses him until he reads the description, and learns that the dress itself is an art installation.

It makes his head hurt.

He looks some more, even though he’s not really learning anything. Or maybe he is learning, just nothing concerning like he was hoping for. Something that would justify this search in the first place, but all he’s found is that you have pretentious colleagues and wear ridiculous dresses and deserve Steve’s admiration the way you’ve been receiving it.

Eventually, he coaxes himself into clicking a link. An article with a big publication, too big for just an art instructor- but you’re not just an art instructor. you’re, like, good. The article is an interview, which could have just been recorded and uploaded, but for some reason, it was transcribed and written in article format anyway.

The twenty-first century is stupid like that.

When it was written, you had just had your first solo exhibition, and it was more successful than anybody ever anticipated. The interview is meant to be a little off-the-wall, charmingly eccentric, asking about favorite foods and then your future aspirations in the same sequence, and then debating different colors and some political situation within the same question.

Bucky stumbles through a paragraph or two, not really comprehending anything but getting the gist, and his head hurts more, but he’s blissfully relieved of it all when Steve barges into his room without knocking.

He shuts his laptop screen so hard that the screen nearly cracks.

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts a hand up, but doesn’t take any steps back. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, and stares at the laptop with fury, as if he’ll be able to close the tab that was still open through telekinesis alone.

“O-kay,” Steve says, totally unconvinced. He hoists the bag on his shoulder- his gear bag, with his supplies. He’s headed out for an indefinite period of time, anywhere between three days and two weeks. In the bag is his suit, in its patriotic spandex glory, his other supplies, bandages and a gun and a sketchbook.

To pass the time, if he gets bored on the flight.

“Are you leaving now?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Just came to say bye.”

“You mean see you later,” Bucky corrects, because those two things mean different things, and the difference is enough to matter to him.

“See you later,” Steve says, and he shifts, one massive wall of muscle leaning from one foot to the other. He’s uncertain of something- like Bucky can’t handle himself on his own.

He can handle himself.

Bucky lifts one silver hand and waves.

***

He doesn’t need to go.

Steve hasn’t returned, still somewhere in South America, away on a mission. It’s not like anyone is going to check, either, if he attends or not. It’s not like this is required, like he has some sort of moral or contractual obligation to show up.

Still, it’s become part of his routine, and deviating from routine makes his skin itch. As Monday strikes again, he slides into his seat in the art studio. At least he’s not too early; he doesn't know how he would be able to handle any pre-class conversation without Steve being there to do the actual conversating.

You start right on time. Always so prompt.

“We’re going to be working with oil pastels again,” you say, and make a big gesture with your hands. You wear chunky gold earrings that wink under the lights. “But I’m going to let you do whatever you want. Draw whatever. I’ve got out a few different types of paper, and some different tools for creating textures- I’ll show you all how to use them really quick.”

You scrape a sheet of paper hastily colored purple with something that looks like a plastic knife. Then you use something that looks like a plastic-toothed comb, and then some other pointy plastic objects to make lines and whirls on the paper. Texture. He watches the paper, some, but mostly you.

You look over at him two times. No more than you do at anyone else, but he still notices- as a precaution.

“Okay, I'm done. You all can get to work,” you say, and set the purple sheet down on your own table, at the front. “Have fun. Get crazy with it.”

Bucky looks down at the paper he’s set on the table, yellow-white and slightly textured. He looks at the oil pastels, sitting so dejectedly in their little cardboard dish, a product of low budget and disuse.

He takes the yellow one.

You come over to his table some time later, after getting to everyone else. He’s always last, he’s noticed- because he sits at the back, and because you like to take your time talking with Steve. But Steve isn’t here today, which means you won’t linger, which means he can continue on sitting in peace.

“How’s it going?” You ask. One of your hands comes to rest on top of the chair across from him.

“Your shoe is untied.”

Your smile falters as you look down, at your red sneaker- you wear hot red sneakers- but reaffirms itself a second later as you slide the chair out, and prop your foot up on it.

Bucky suddenly feels off. Your knee rests slightly above his head, and your head is tucked down but still looming high over him, cast in shadow. He’s beneath- under. And you’re double-knotting the laces of your shoe.

“Thanks,” you say, and it’s awkward to thank someone for something so little, but you don’t say it like it’s awkward. “I probably would’ve tripped on the laces. Anyways, again, how’s it going?”

He considers the question. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you repeat. You take your foot off the chair and tuck it back in, and then lean- loom even more- over him, looking over at his piece of paper.

He glares at you, even though you’re not looking at him.

“Wow,” you say, and your eyebrows are creasing, and he thinks that you’re struggling to come up with something to say, and after seeing those paintings online, he can’t even take offense at it. “Those lines are so… straight. How are they so straight?”

Because his metal hand has an internal stabilizer.

“They just are,” he says.

You look at him. Everything suddenly feels stuttered and slow, drenched in honey. He’s expecting some type of joke, and praying for the ground to open and swallow him up, bury him under six feet of tile. Has silence always been this unbearable?

“Awesome,” you say.

Then you look away and he’s able to breathe again, and you’re turning away, ready to flounce back over to someone else. He looks back down at his paper and picks up the pastel again, fingers pressing over the paper wrapper, so that he doesn’t get anything on his glove. He draws another straight line.

“Wait, one more thing.”

You turn around and his head snaps up, fully alarmed.

You take in his expression and look like you’re about to laugh. But you stifle it back, bite on your lip as you pull the chair back out again and sit down, across from him. Steve isn’t even here- Steve isn’t even your motivation for being here, today, and all he’s thinking about is you in that ridiculous art installation of a dress.

Floor-length. V-neck.

“So,” you say, and Bucky can’t look at you. In his peripheral vision he sees you curl your hands together, resting on top of the table. The glass on the watch flashes. “So, you know the idea that you gave me last week? With painting people I know? I started this painting of my mom- and all of these ideas in my head make sense to me now- wait. Let me show you, first.”

He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on his paper. Still, he can hear the smile in your voice as you pull your phone out of your back pocket, tapping away at something before turning the screen around for him to see.

Your arm is stretched all the way across the table. Bucky leans in a little bit, to see the picture you’ve pulled up.

A partially painted image of a woman that looks like you but not you, with almost the same face as you, but with hands mottled with age and a mouth starting to droop at the corners. Your mom, apparently, sitting with her hands clasped the way you’re clasping yours. She wears earrings that look like huge flowers, lilies, or something, and in a white dress that looks halfway like a swirled illusion.

“Nice,” he says, grudgingly, and you keep your hand outstretched. He wonders if you want him to take the phone from you, if you’re waiting for him to say more. “I like the dress.”

You beam at him. He’s been looking at you without realizing. “Thank you. I actually got the idea or the pattern from Steve- I’m just stealing ideas, aren’t I- but did you see the thing he did with his self-portrait last week? The swirls? It was so pretty- I couldn’t help myself. Anyways, where is he today?”

“Out of town.”

Dread curls at the pit of his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he has the heavy, stone-cold realization that he does not want to be talking about Steve right now.

It must show, because you’re in the middle of opening your mouth to say something, and then abruptly close it.

“Oh,” you say, and you shift. He realizes that he doesn’t want you to leave yet, either. “Nice.”

You’re getting out of your seat. You must be feeling it too, the heaviness, the atmosphere so overwrought with polite dislike, because he still doesn’t like you, even though he knows your name now, but-

“What’s your next painting going to be?” he asks, so quickly that it comes off as a little frantic.

Your eyes widen and you’re carried back down, drifting back into your seat.

“I’m so glad you asked that,” you say, as you settle in. For a second, you’re frighteningly put together, shoulders straight, hands neatly folded, earrings glinting. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it so bad.”

You want your next painting to be of your dad. A portrait of just his face, close enough to add little, inconsequential details. You have this idea where you create patterns that look like flowers out of his wrinkles. He has teeth that are always yellow, because he drinks so much coffee, you say, a habit you’ve picked up, but you want to paint them almost neon, bring as much attention to it as you can. His hair is thinning and you want to make it all blue, like a receding tide.

It devolves, and his grip on the pastel loosens as you fall into something more and more jumbled, divulging other ideas you have, about things that aren’t directly related. You want to go big- much larger than life. A canvas as big as your body, just to paint a head. You make your own canvases, too, and you show him your palms, skin beneath your fingers raised and bumpy, with a ropy pink scar on your right hand. It’s from an incident with a saw, you say, even though you know your way around a saw. He almost wants to touch it.

Bucky thinks of his own right hand, with as many scars as it has lines. What does that mean, in terms of fate? He knows his way around a saw, too, and many other bigger, dangerous things, but you don’t know or don’t care about it. It devolves further, you sink lower in your seat, shoulders curving forward, and you’re telling him something else about nothing, and you aren’t minding that he’s mostly focused on just listening.

*

You’re laughing when someone behind you clears their throat.

You turn back, to see Shonna, looking uncomfortable as she fiddles with the strap of her purse.

“I’ve got to go,” she says, and, for whatever reason, gives you a look. “I finished my drawing, so I’m taking it with me. See you next week.”

“Have a good night!” You say, and cast a spare glance at your watch, to see how early she’s leaving.

She’s not leaving early.

You’re running nearly twelve minutes over.

“Oh my god,” you say, quietly, and pull away from Bucky. You have to pull this back together, quickly, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, everybody,” you say, and so many people older than you turn to look at you, but the situation you’ve put yourself in doesn’t let you appreciate the thrill of it. “I wasn’t paying attention- we’re running past time. You all can go ahead and head out. I’ll clean up today. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is ignored, and it’s funny how quickly you’re able to slip away from him, him and unrelenting blue eyes and a stoic silence to bounce all of your thoughts off of. You keep your back to him and head back to the front of the room, standing and exchanging pleasantries as everyone heads out, apologizing with smiles and chastising yourself for being so careless.

Nobody berates you, though. You keep on expecting them to. There’s a sudden, sharp pain in the back of your neck. They all leave, and then it’s just you, standing by the entrance and staring at all the tables you have to clean, all the unfinished art projects you have to slide on the art racks, alongside the sticky poster-painted houses and clouds and corner-suns drawn by the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes.

All by yourself.

Or not.

Bucky lingers, putting his pastels back in the tray. He’s so silent that you missed him the first time, even though he was standing right there. Isn’t he some type of spy?

“Bucky, I got it,” you call. Without anyone in the room, it's like everything you just said to him didn’t happen. There’s no buffer and it’s just you and just him, and it's so empty. “You don’t have to clean up.”

Something in his gorgeous face shifts. You wish he was a little more expressive. His eyes hang dark underneath the brim of his dorky hat.

“I can help you,” he says, and adds, after an impossibly long second of hesitation, “I’ll make sure you don’t break any jars.”

You laugh out loud, but you’re confused. First listening to you talk on and on, now offering to help you and trying to make a joke- he doesn’t like you enough to be doing any of it. 

You know you like him, or at least find him intriguing enough to disregard his douchiness, but, like, still. Something’s off.

But then again, how do you deny him after that joke?

“Thank you,” you say, so formally, and you want to grimace. “That’s really nice of you.”

He blinks slowly, and you think that he’s going to smile, catch a ghost of it in his eyes.

It vanishes too fast, as he slides the cover back on the tray of sad oil pastels. You’re about to make some cynical comment about the lack of funding for the arts, just so there’s something to occupy all this new space between you and him, so you don’t accidentally lessen the space by doing something dumb, like moving closer to him.

“Where do I put these?” He asks, holding the sad tray up.

***

Steve returns for the seventh Monday class! You’re so happy when he walks in through the doors, abandoning your stacks of paper and speed-walking toward with a smile and a bouquet of paintbrushes.

“Hey, Steve!” you say, and he spooks, a little, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. No Rina today- she’s been leaving early lately. Maybe there’s some residual fear in her, just from that stare she was subjected to, all those weeks ago. “It’s good to see you.”

You get those stares every week, multiple times an hour, are getting one right this second- she needs to get over it.

He smiles and comes further into the classroom, meeting you over one of the tables. “It’s good to see you, too. Sorry I missed class last week.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. Here, take these for a second.”

In his massive hands, the paintbrushes look silly. Like dandelion stems, but it’s Steve, so he holds them gingerly, at a distance, like the wood might snap if he applies even the tiniest bit of pressure.

It’s not a good thought that you have next- it’s a deplorable thought- but you wonder if all super-soldiers have hands like that.

Behind Steve, there’s Bucky, standing in his usual black ensemble and glower. You know, now, that if you asked him to help, he would, but your mouth suddenly goes gummy and you trail off to the shelves instead, talking yourself up as you try to find a container for the brushes.

There, on the top shelf. How did it get all the way up there? You swipe it off and turn around, cheery and hopefully composed enough to not let any of your deplorable thoughts slip, and-

He’s there.

Not there, not all up in your face the way you would not want him to be, but closer, next to Steve instead of behind. His cheeks are rosy. You look out the window, to see if it looks cold. His face is pink, but he looks cold. Winter Soldier. You’re running hot, hot, hot.

“Hey,” You say, and politely smile, like while cleaning up last week, you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes just talking to him.

“Hey,” he says, and does nothing, like the impassive brick he always is.

God.

You can’t be like this. This isn’t… it’s not cute. It’s embarrassing.

“Help me find the palettes,” you tell him, and place the container on the table for Steve. “I’ve been looking for them, for, like, ten minutes, and I can’t find them. And we’re painting today, so we need palettes.”

Steve dumps the brushes into the container. Bucky nods. He understands the importance of the palettes.

“Okay,” he says, and in the time it takes you to turn back to the shelves, he’s already standing behind you, surveying the shelves with you. Steve is probably giving you a look- he and Bucky seem like the kind of friends that tell each other all of their feelings, paint each other’s nails and read each other's diaries- he probably knows what’s going on.

If he does, you would like for him to tell you. All you know is that you’re really liking this.

Bucky finds the box of palettes wedged in the back of one of the shelves, in between thick pads of watercolor paper and glass cases of craft knives.

“Thank you,” you say, as he hands the box to you, as his fingertips just barely brush against yours. “Thank you so much.”

You catch another ghost-smile. “You’re so welcome,” he says.

Behind Bucky’s back, Steve gawks at you in disbelief.

*

Acrylic paint- the love of your life.

“It’s best for me to just let you guys loose,” you say, in your spot at the front of the room. Even now, your hands are itching, humming with energy, humming for a paintbrush. “If you need help, ask me, of course, but it’s more fun to just try and see what you can do.”

That’s part of why you love it- for its ease. Quick-drying, not water-soluble once dried, saturated. What is there even to explain? That you apply it with a brush? That you can blend with it? All of that is, like, obvious. All of it can be learned from trial, and any error can just be painted over.

Expression is so simple, with acrylic paint.

It’s messier, too, but nobody’s perfect.

You walk around. Shonna sketches out more birds- finches, yellow and mid-flight. Marcie and Ahmed start by painting without sketching first- one going for a sunset, the other palm trees. Classic. You catch a few others, silhouettes, some flowers, some abstract paint splatters.

Then, of course, you head to the back.

Steve is something out. You can’t tell what it is, yet, but you know that it's going to be beautiful. It’s already beautiful. He looks up and gives you a wordless smile, then gets right back to work. One of his hands is splayed over the sheet of chipboard, the other drawing quick, light lines with his pencil.

You wish that you could give them canvas. But canvas is expensive, and again- funding is bad, and you want to save the few you’ve scrounged up for one of the later classes, when everyone is more confident in their abilities.

Bucky mixes paint on his palette. Red and… black.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say, nodding down at the sad maroon. He looks up at you and you ball your hands into fists, placing them on your hips, not because you put your hands on your hips, but because you feel like you should be doing that right now, with how he’s looking at you. Gutting you.

He acknowledges you with a nod, and goes back to mixing the colors. 

Good grief, how much more is he going to mix?

You’re suddenly searching your mind for something interesting to say.

It’s awkward, and you’re even more mad at yourself- how can you be awkward in your own class? You’re so off today. Even Steve is solely focused on his canvas, and you’re happy for it- he’s drawing and really getting into it, but now you have no reason to linger!

You stay, for another awkward, insufferable second, before moving on to somewhere else.

It’s whatever. You want to think about it, but you push it out because there’s so many more important things to consider- like the painting of your mom nearly finished in your studio, the sketched-out canvas of your father, the dozens of other little ideas pushing up through the cracks in your thoughts, like delightful weeds.

You want to paint Rina. If her hair is still red when you see her, you’ll draw her upside down with poppies, wearing whatever crazy outfit she wants. You want to paint another friend, who’s constantly travelling but might be in New York next month, draped in gold jewelry and marigolds. You might even- you might even draw a few people you don’t talk to anymore, or people you don’t talk to enough, draw them with pansies and chrysanthemums.

Flowers. First, you were fixated on animals, but now it’s flowers- but it’s wholly unsymbolic, because symbolism gets trite, and you just want to make something that looks pretty.

Nobody asks you for help. Acrylic is fun like that- it’s a medium where you can help yourself.  The class gets loud- lively, even, and you just sit in your chair at your table and take it all in.

Bucky, in the far back, works on his painting with concentration that rivals Steve’s. You look for too long.

He can probably feel your eyes on him. You wonder if you should look him up, but that’s weird. Really weird, and what would you even search for? A Wikipedia article? Pictures? An interview?

Maybe you should, but you like the hot-and-cold mystery just how it is.

*

The class ends on time. You’re extra vigilant today, showing people how to lay their paintings on the drying racks, showing them where to dump their paint water.

You say that you’ll wash the brushes. Bucky can tell that you don’t trust anyone else to do it properly. You say that you’ll wipe down the tables, too, and you’ll move all the supplies back to the shelves. All you want is for everyone to put their paintings away and wash their palettes.

The work is done, and everyone files out, spurred by you wishing them all a good week. Steve lingers, as usual, and Bucky follows behind him.

You didn’t talk to him that much, today.

“Did you figure out your painting yet?” Steve asks.

“I did,” you say, and tell him exactly what you told Bucky, but more clearly, more well-articulated.

And less… elaborate. No talking about the idea for the second painting, no mentions of the canvases you make yourself. You don’t show him your palm.

Steve chats with you for a few minutes, until the conversation fizzles out. He shifts his shoulders and tells you he’s going to go.

“Have a good week,” you say, smiling, looking back at Bucky.

Steve gets to the doorway, and Bucky stays right where he is, and his stomach does a flip, because he can’t believe that he’s really going to be doing this.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve says.

“I’m going to stay back for a minute,” Bucky says, while looking at you.

He’s not a confident person, but he’s also not not confident. He just does what he has to do, without thinking, without sitting on it long enough for it to morph into anxiety, because when you've been impassive for seventy years, it’s hard to turn the faucet back on. 

Right now, though, he might be getting what they call butterflies.

“Why, is there something you-”

Steve cuts himself off. He understands.

“Nevermind,” he says, backtracking. “Okay. See you later.”

He leaves.

“What’s up?” You ask, as you head over to the sink. You’re so nonchalant, and he doesn’t know if he’s resenting it or grateful for it, so he just watches you pull cleaning supplies from the cabinet underneath.  “Are you here to help me clean up?”

No, but he’ll do it, if...

“Yeah.”

You reach out and rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.

“Great,” you say, and he’s just thinking, No, this is not great. You hand him a spray bottle and the paper towels. “Wipe down the tables, please. I’m going to get started with these brushes.”

He starts to wipe down the tables.

You get the sink running.

The streaks of paint on the tables haven't dried yet, so it all comes off with no effort. He gets through it all pretty quickly, one table after another.

Then he’s at your shoulder, tossing the wad of paper towels in the trash, setting the spray bottle precariously on the sink’s edge, since your legs are in front of the cabinet.

What else could he do? Sweep? Turn off the lights? He doesn’t know if you would trust him to do either of those things. He could close the blinds, but the sky is in transition, from grey to blue to ink, and he likes the way the dark seeps into the room.

It sets up the atmosphere.

You give him a quick smile, rub your thumb over the bristles of another brush. “That was fast.”

He shrugs.

It’s a dead conversation- he’s not used to this. Maybe he should be chatting you up, but he doesn’t chat people up, ever. You’re supposed to be the one that talks first, says something for him to go off of. He’s not good at this, but he suddenly wishes that he was.

“Cleaning brushes is such a painful process,” you say eventually, trying to sound exasperated, even though you’re  clearly not. “Takes forever- oh, wait. Not painful, paint-ful. Get it? ”

He gets it.

“You’re funny,” he says, and it’s not much, but it’s something. He wants to laugh but doesn't.

You add another brush to the growing pile of clean ones, laying on a bed of paper towels. The sink water drains slowly, dirty grey-brown.

“I know,” you say. “But anyways, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Is Bucky your real name?”

The fuck?

You’re genuinely asking, brows drawn close together. He wants to reach out and smoothen it. And also tug the strings of your apron loose, and hook a finger inside the hoop of your earring. He’s wanting to do lots of things- all crazy, irrational things.

“No,” he says, and he sounds weird saying it, when all that’s weird is you having asked in the first place. Your frame of reference for him is so poor- which is better for him, better for everything. It’s almost flattering. “It’s a nickname.”

You open your mouth for the next question, but he beats you to it.

“My real name is James.”

You abruptly look over at him in disbelief. “No way. Really?”

“Really.”

You’re on the last brush. You run it under the tap and the bristles send streams of purplish paint water over your fingers, and turn your head, looking over at him. He meets you back, glare icy, even though inside, he’s burning up.

“You don’t look like a James,” you say, and grin at him, and keep yourself looking at him as you finally shut off the sink.

He knows he doesn’t- that’s why he doesn’t go by it. But he’s going to indulge you, because he wants to.

“Don’t look much like a Bucky, either.”

“It’s a cute nickname, though,” you say suddenly.

His heart leaps to his throat.  

“You think it’s cute,” he says, and he shifts over and leans, against the wall, crossing his arms. He’s been standing too close, feels so unnaturally light. He can’t even pretend to dislike you anymore, not when you use the word cute to describe him, not when he likes it. Not when your name is rattling through his head over and over, a mile a minute.

“It’s so cute” you start, nodding along to yourself, “It’s like… nevermind. I don’t even remember what I was about to tell you. Can I get your number?”

That was not smooth.

At all.

But it still works, doesn’t it? You’re not trying too hard, so he doesn’t have to try too hard, either.

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at you- and takes extra satisfaction in the way you light up. Yellow and radiant.

“Okay.” You wipe your hands down on your apron before pulling out your phone. Its case is glittery pink. The tips of your fingers have pruned.

Before, this would have all been so easy. Bucky could have you beside him the day he met you, turned you over in a whirlwind, in a flurry of milkshakes and dancing to music nobody listens to anymore. He wonders if he should miss you- and then tries to imagine you in a red lip, peroxided curls and a modest day dress, and gets the answer for himself.

He doesn’t miss it.

“Here,” you say, and hand him your phone, and he takes it immediately, he’s so over in his head.

He types his number in with his right hand. When he hands the phone back, the question is already burning in his mind.

“When will I hear from you?”

He shouldn't ask. But he needs to know, always needs to know things. Things can only be so irrational, it has to start making sense sometime- and anyways, it doesn’t seem to bother you. You stare at his number, type something in and put your phone away, and the whole time you’re grinning, and he realizes.

You’re pretty.

“Sometime.” you say, and you reach behind your back to untie the strings of your apron. As you bring the neck of it over your head, you wink.

Sometimes, parts of him still feel frozen, trapped in ice, like he wants to smile but can’t remember how, like he’s forever moving too slow, falling too far behind and below.

Right now, he’s all thawed out.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting like that?” He says, and he takes a daunting step forward, cocks his head to the side. He’s on autopilot, reacting on muscle memory alone- this is flirting, this is charming like it’s ‘38.

You nod, adopt a mock seriousness. “I am,” you say. “I like to keep a little bit of mystery.”

“Mystery girl.”

“You know it.”

His heartstrings loop over themselves, tying into in a double-knotted bow.

[staylavendertea]

ya head canons cause my brain won’t leave me alone

billy is low key a skater boy - he skateboards 🛹🛹 converse high tops, ripped black jeans with bandaids on his knees, and oversized stolen boyfriend jean jackets rolled sleeves god yes he skates 🛹🛹 he and tommy will team up just to be bastards for like ten minutes and do that synchronized talking just to both annoy and creep the hell out of eli and kate

tommy is a rollerskater - and roller blades - the twins are skaters, he totally would have been a roller derby kid i tell you, also quoting everything he hears on the internet “what are you doing out here with all that ass double checked up on a thursday afternoon hella ass” “tommy that’s just a fat pigeon stOP” and even tho he did have a hard time for a while to open up to everyone and be emotional in front of the people he loves, with the help of everyone, he’s slowly learning he can confine in people and have relationships and bonds and that enough is to make me cry at night, i love thomas shepherd and his character so much

kate is always hung over, even when she isn’t - sunglasses on, looking like every day is too much for her head to handle especially with all these dumbass clumsy boys she gotta deal with, just let her chill with cassie at lakes and look at fireflies, but that lake better have good service so she can text billy the first scoop on that celebrity goosip - they’ve been following this shit for weeks, phone service don’t let her down now

teddy is an artist, sketching like always ya know, usually billy ends up unconsciously being most of the drawings, but his favorites to use is watercolor, pretty flat colors and making his friends look all blushy in drawings, the group doesn’t believe him when he says that they’re all cute so he’s made it his life goal to keep complimenting him cause he’s the nicest boy alive - a stranger calls bee cute, teddy will nod and agree because truetrue, but will send a semi threatening death glare

nate is like the teenager that will go on walks by himself and end up stumbling upon abandoned and creepy places and then either like billy/eli/or cassie ends up getting a call at one in the morning because he got either kinda lost or kinda stuck and the gang needs to come get him - he and eli probably have matching jojo clothing merch but eli is a repressed nerd so rip nate who just wants to have matching jojo sweatpants when they go work out together

eli may or may not have done the jojo pose trend of anime characters in the studio he does his boxing and martial arts, katie and cassie may or may not both of saved the video, eli is actually a total repressed nerd but won’t admit it and tommy can totally see it, nate can also see it, why do you think these three argue so much - nate just wants to be anime buddies i tell you - eli is someone who feels very strongly about injustice and gets emotional when all his friends back him up when he speaks out about it - please i need to see eli bradley in more comic books, give him and tommy the fame they deserve

cassie went to the broug and got herself some frogs - not only do i not know if i’m spelling that right or what it is, i just saw the tik tok and the cassie energy was too strong, she likes froggies and makes those tiny moss environments in jars and she likes to chill in nature and steal nate’s flannels and when her, katie, and billy are hanging out, cassie and billy will be gushing about boyfriends ya know with katie making gagging noises in the background

david is that dude that can just read people but is also like really chill about it “like yeah i totally just did a mental psychoanalysis on you just by who your kins are, but i know that you get kinda guarded about it so i won’t say anything because i love and respect you” i love david a lot okay, - he’s also resident technology please make work or i need you to look at this video or photo and prove this shit guy - he’s fixed poor nate has somehow flung this thing across the room like four times now phone on more occasions then he can count but he’s pretty chill about it

noh-varr is a non binary asexual dork that likes aliens and video games, he has a jacket that’s green and has a human getting picked up by a ufo that only says “fuck this. i’m out.” 🛸🛸 and him and katie have given poor mom of the group teddy a heart attack on more than one occasion being deadass serious about storming area 51

america has got her hat on backwards and is ready to fucking party and to mess around with her friends, the best part of her day is to get stuck in abandoned places and flirt with katie, her and noh varr go randonauting like every other day and get so lost, then her and the chaotic twins team up to be mischievous little bastards, her and teddy did pride and racial injustice movement graffiti that one time and she really just here to be the most badass around and protect their group and also like the whole world

(an extra billy one cause i relate to him on an emotional level)

billy is a film kid, like in a non powers au, he’s the dude that literally does all film related classes and is gonna be a film major and the best sfx make up artist, knows all movies/quotes/and endings - he’s the kid that knows the sfx stuff too well, he will liquid latex and cotton ball zombie your ass up if you let him to - you can’t tell me that his favorite genre of movies is horror monster and aliens, but also those pretty aesthetic romance ones that take place in country side france in small towns

these dorks also totally go to abandoned places for adventures (most of them stumbled accidentally upon by nate) and just have fun ya know

these are the most brain forth ones atm, i definitely have more, and will be adding most of these to the young avengers fics i’m working on, but please do add your own !! these dork teens are currently my everything

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: when the weather gets hot

---

The sun was just over the skyline as they’d pulled up - best to get an early start, after all, had been her argument when they’d been discussing how and when to get going the night before. The orange of the sky glowing as the first rays of light were lighting up the few fluffy, lazy summertime clouds above them. It was as golden as it could be, and just the perfect start to a day to hop out of the car to the crisp air and the scent of dew on the ground not yet heated and gone.

Jo smiled widely as she moved to grab the backpacks from the trunk and give the other a few minutes to recompose himself. They didn’t often drive places, most of their favorite places being in walking distance or more useful to just arrive wherever they wanted to go, but there was nothing like driving up towards a lookout parking space as the sky started to lighten and the silhouettes of the growing number of trees cutting a dark, jagged line against the sky as they got closer to start off hiking than just suddenly appearing there. It’s the travel, the journey, the experience, every bit of it, and Grey was already going to be responsible for enough travel or appearances that day that Jo’d suggested the drive and sweetened it with his favorite tunes on the drive up.

Fishing the bottle of bug spray out of the heavier pack - two large water bottles for each of them, and sunscreen, the bug spray, a first aid kit and some trail mix concealed inside of it, compared to the picnic rug, trail mix, sketching and water-painting equipment, and spare pairs of socks packed into the other one - she spent a good few minutes spraying every bit of herself she could reach in the spray. It was supposed to get hot later in the morning, and she’d dressed for that in her jean shorts and tank top, but that just left a lot of spaces available for hungry bugs to snack on without the right amount of coverage between the tops of her knee-high socks and the shorts and her bare arms. Tucking the spray away afterwards, she shrugged the heavier pack over her shoulders and clipped the central cord around her waist before taking the other bag around the other end of the car.

“You ready to go, hunny?”

“Yeah, just had to, uh, get some fresh air.”

Jo gave a little laugh at the sheepish look on the other’s face as Grey pushed himself up to standing freely from where he’d been slumped against the side of the car. Holding out the other backpack to him, she smiled toothily at the tiny frown he gave before throwing the pack onto his back with a sigh.

“Did you need any water?” “I’ll be fine - let you know if I do need it though, Jo.” “Best set off then before it gets too hot, then!”

The nod of agreement seemed less enthused than her own excitement to go hiking across the Magney-Snively nature park, but she couldn’t expect him to be as excited as it was. He hadn’t grown up needing to just get out and run into the wilds sometimes, and she was sure the tall hardwoods that circled the carpark and ran throughout the whole nature reserve were probably less exciting and more dauntingly familiar to him than to her. But regardless, he was grinning at her with a smile that made her stomach flip a little as he looked up through the short pieces of hair hanging over his eyes as he’d been working to clip his own bag into place. He was happy to be there with her, and that felt all kinds of special for her.

After locking the car and tucking her keys away into Grey’s bag, Jo smiled all the brighter at his hand slipping into hers before they took off towards the nearest hiking trail.

When Jo had first made a comment about wanting to go hiking sometime when the weather was nicer, she’d not expected Grey to say it sounded fun and to want to come along with her, but the blissfully happy feeling had stuck with her. They’d talked back and forth about where to go - a few easier tracks closer to home, or if they went for nicer trails rather than convenience - and then to devise the plan for the day when it would come. Spring had been too wet and muddy all around gross, and then summer had come with an early vengeance but finally it had mellowed out somewhat with some promised cool winds off of Lake Superior that would keep the temperature from absolutely sweltering. They’d planned that they’d hike for as long as Jo wanted, or as long as Grey could keep up - as she’d teased him, and then stop for a nice picnic lunch wherever looked pretty, before he’d smoke them back to the car rather than the added distance home.

Holding hands as they wandered down the start of the trail, Jo found herself smiling as brightly as the rays shining over the sky above them at each time she felt his hand squeeze hers back. A game of its own as they walked along through the lush hardwood forest over the dewy leaves and bark and gravel of the pathways that led them through the woodlands. The red oaks and sugar maples of the earliest parts of the trail giving dappled light as the morning started, and there was still frost clinging to the bluebead lilys and other flowers that covered the forest floor.

The first half an hour of walking was at a slow, sedate pace, hand in hand, and stopping regularly as they made their way along the section of the Superior Hiking Trail that led from the carpark. They stopped to watch the odd bird flitter by, and on two separate occasions paused to watch small families of late-spring bunnies hop across the path not far before them. Grey stopped frequently to snap some photos of various birds, plants and the sunrise sky through the lush trees above them; while Jo would take similar photos of the dew dripping spiderwebs that glistened when the sun caught them just right. They made a comfortable pace, not pushing too hard, and both just enjoying the slightly crisp morning that nipped at Jo’s bare skin between her socks and shorts, and colored the tips of Grey’s ears and nose pink.

They eventually stepped off of the much longer trail, that spanned the whole from the Minnestoa-Wisconsin border up to the Canadian border that was definitely beyond either of their wishes, and instead onto the much less well-tred cross-country loop that would take them to a spot Jo was most excited for. The path was muddier underfoot from the lush dropped leaves and thick grass that was clearly battling for control over the gravel, but between Jo’s hiking boots and Grey’s sneakers they were both relatively sure-footed.

Or at least they were until the track took a turn for the steep, weaving it’s way up towards the highest peak, Ely’s Peak, in the park that would overlook the full glistening lake far, far below and away.

Jo had heard that from that peak point there was a great selection of boulders for rock climbing or, rather fittingly, bloudering, and she wanted to clamber all across whatever outcropping there was before any other people showed up. Theirs had been the only car in the parking lot, and she intended to squeeze in as much fun as she could that day.

Their pace decreased dramatically though as the incline increased. Jo bounced along merrily, talking about the latest gaming night they'd had with their friends just a few days earlier and just how badly Spruce had played the whole night. Beside her, Grey nodded in agreement and huffed quietly every few steps as Jo's excitement seemed to push his desire to move faster onwards but he struggled to even maintain the previous pace of before.

"What do you think was wrong with him?"

"Mhmm, you're right."

"Whatcha mean I'm right?"

"Whatever you say, Jo."

Jo let out a bit of a laugh as she looked across at the red and sweaty look to Grey's face as they hit the hour mark and the first half hour of the higher inclined walking. His eyes were focused on the path in front of him, and clearly glazed over.

"Hey, let's take a little breather and have some water. I'm parched." Jo replied rather than trying to pick up the conversation, pointing towards a fallen log a few steps off the track up ahead. "I could do with a drink."

"Yeah?" Grey's head swung up off of the path at that, looking brightly and lovingly towards her at the prospect of sitting down, before looking to follow her pointed finger to the logs. There was a flicker of disappointment on his face, the realisation it wasn't a bench signifying they'd reached the peak, before he nodded enthusiastically anyway. "Water sounds really good."

"And you've got some trail mix in your bag we should have too."

"Good idea, pretty one, we only had those quick egg and bacon sandwiches on the way out-"

"-and you can't hike on an empty stomach after all!"

The shared smile lit up his face in a way that made Jo feel like swooning as they got to the log and sat down. Grey fished the trail mix from his bag while she tugged one of the water bottles to share from hers. Taking a short swig, just enough for a few gulps, Jo held it out to the other before fishing in the trail mix bag with her free hand, chewing happily over the mix of nuts, sultanas, chocolate nibs and dried fruit she'd grabbed.

Grey likewise chewed and swallowed a mouthful of the mix, before lifting the water bottle to his lips. Glancing out the corner of her eye, Jo let out a little giggle as she watched him drink almost the entire bottle thirstily. His whole face was red now, and not from the cool air that was slowly starting to warm up, and she could see the way his hair was plastering to his forehead from the starts of sweat. But his smile was big and bright, and as he set the bottle between his knees, he turned to look back at her. "Okay, right, you were saying something about Spruce?"

"He played terribly."

"True."

"And I was just wondering is something was going on with him?"

"It's this girl at his work. He thinks she's cute," Grey said with a small smirk, taking another, smaller, sip from the water bottle before he sat it back between his knees and continued. "She is a little bit older than him, and has a kid that likes Dungeons and Dragons. So obviously he thinks she's the perfect woman."

"Naturally!"

"Which is of course a fallacy, given you are the perfect woman-"

"Grey…"

"Sorry, off topic. But anyway, he had asked us guys what he should do to woo her a few weeks ago…" The way he trailed off, waving one hand for a moment before picking out another handful of trail mix and chewing thoughtfully delivered the right balance of drama and storytelling to have Jo on the edge of her log.

Wide eyed and disbelieving, wanting to hear any and all the suggestions. "And?"

Grey let out a chuckle, swallowing his mouthful before shaking his head. "Well, Ed said he should go around and 'help the kid with some D&D, before giving her some PIV'-" The slight confusion on her face disappeared at the accompanying hand gesture, getting a whoop of a laugh out of her and a corresponding snicker from the other before he continued. "Harry said he should ask her out for coffee. Which Spruce pointed out he hadn't even done for Sophie yet which derailed the discussion for a while."

"Of course. What did Garth say?"

"Garth said much like Harry he should be upfront and ask her out. Tell her he thought she was beautiful and ask politely if she'd be interested in going to dinner with him when it was appropriate for her."

"That charmer!"

"It's so surprising he doesn't have a girlfriend." Grey shook his head sadly, thinking over their friend while Jo took another handful of trail mix, slowly popping individual pieces into her mouth as she looked at him expectantly. There was a few seconds before the other grinned back at her cheekily, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Oh, I suppose you want to know my suggestion?"

"I mean, I would like to know how you'd have woo'd a normal woman," she replied with a corresponding smile, bumping her shoulder against his arm after a second. "So?"

"First off, you are both a normal woman and so extraordinarily special that what I said would never have worked to remotely let you think I was worth your time."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"Fine, so secondly - my suggestion was that he find out her favorite coffee from the cart downstairs. And pre-order one a day for her for the whole week so she could not worry about the expense and would have a fresh coffee each morning. Having a kid as a single mom must be exhausting after all-" Grey let out his thoughts in a rush of air, taking in a huff as he had to that sounded much like the huffed breaths he'd been making climbing up the mountainside so far. "And that he should stop by on Wednesday, not earlier and not later, to say he'd gotten her coffee for the week to help her out some, welcome her to the company, and maybe as a promise to take her out for coffee sometime in future if she was interested. But to make it clear the coffees were a friendly thing and not contingent on her going out for coffee with him in future!"

Jo's eyes widened as he talked, her mouth dropping open and a look of abject horror crossing her face the more he spoke. The idea as an adorably sweet, selfless and caring gesture that of course only Grey would come up with - that blend of friendship at its core but with the hint of something else if you happened to want to look at it that way, so perfectly him. And yet…

"Oh god! How badly did he fuck it up?"

"...badly enough he had a HR meeting about appropriate workplace behaviour."

The loud guffaws of laughter from the both of them as Jo shook her head in shock. Only Spruce.

"And?"

Grey shrugged a shoulder. "The meeting was for the day after our game, so that's probably why he was so bad. But he texted to say that he'd properly explained himself better in the meeting and he was neither fired nor disciplined." There was a pause before he smiled a bit. "And the lady in question has said she will have that coffee now she knows he isn't 'trying to buy her for five coffees'."

"How did he fuck it up that badly?!"

"I don't know!"

"Fuckin' hell, hunny, don't give any of the guys advice again. They all don't have the default adorableness you do to pull it off!"

"Oh? You mean that wouldn't've worked on you?"

"Of course not." Jo beamed back at him, bumping her shoulder to his again. "I can only be charmed by bein' nursed better and the beauty of my bein' discussed as I get undressed."

Jo let out a giggle as she watched the tips of his ears go red all over again, the normal color coming back to his face with the extended rest turned right back around to red at her words. Grey's eyes widened a fraction, blue swallowed up for a moment by pupils, before he noticed the cheeky grin and shot her a rueful one in response.

"Ah, of course that is how to woo the lovely Joanna Harvelle." He replied with a smile, shifting his arm to wrap around her bare shoulders and bring her into a side cuddle with a sigh. "How lucky for me I stumbled right upon the perfect pick-up lines?"

"Very lucky," she answered, turning to kiss him briefly but sweetly as they just soaked in the slightly cool breeze and the starting warmth from a few sunny rays.

They went through another few handfuls of trail mix, and Jo finished off the last of that water bottle, before they packed both the bag of snacks and the empty water bottle away into Grey's pack this time before they set off again towards the peak.

---

It took almost another hour to reach the lookout - the incline slowing at least half of them down, and the excited bird and animal spotting slowing the other half's pace to almost the same as Jo'd run ahead and excitedly point out various animals that would disappear just as Grey'd caught up. The family of white-tailed deer a hundred feet through the trees were the only ones that stayed long enough for the other to see and enjoy them, grazing on the grass and berry bushes away from the track. Jo happily still showed the photos she'd snapped of the cheerful little squirrels, a chipmunk hoarding a mouthful of nuts, and the most exciting spot for her was the pine marten that had scurried up and down a tree as she'd set pieces of dried fruit from her pack of trail mix out for it to take. Grey watched the video, smiling as he listened to the record gasps and quiet excited squeaks Jo had let out, as well as laughing at her trying to talk to the creature.

When they finally reached the point of Ely’s peak, both let out exclamations at the beauty of the landscape. Lake Superior spread out before them - a deep rich blue mirroring but darker than the soft blue of the sky. The fluffy clouds spaced across the sky at random dispersion all the way to the horrizon which was still not the other side of the Greta lake. Duluth was below them but tucked off to the side - hidden by the lush forest reserves or wide Green farm pastures more than the city itself. All down the hillside before them were boulders upon boulders stretching down a not quite sheer cliff face, the odd bush and tree springing out from in the grey rock formation like bursts of life. It was stunning.

Jo turned towards her lover with a wide smile, exclaiming happily. "Oh my god, it's so lovely!"

"Yes, yes it is." Jo frowned as she looked over her shoulder towards him, noticing the way those eyes as blue as the sky were focused upon her face and then slowly glided off to view the picturesque landscape beyond. "So beautiful, almost as beautiful as you."

That got a gentle punch to his shoulder as Jo blushed, and after a few quick kisses and a few more happy couple photos that Jo snapped with the view behind them, she unclipped her bag and set it down by the nearest viewing bench.

"Can you do my sunscreen before I go leapin' off rocks?"

"Sure thing, Jo. Did...did you need company?"

"Don't worry hun, I packed your things in your backpack so you can paint and sketch instead."

"The most thoughtful woman in the world," Grey grinned, rubbing his nose against hers affectionately before moving to slather her shoulders, arms, neck and chest with sunscreen. He moved onto her legs while Jo took care of coating her face and then fitting a cap over her head with her pony tail sticking through the back hole just right. "You let me know if you need help though?"

"Of course." Jo smiled back as she used the remaining sunscreen on her hand to cover his face, neck and the tiny amount of sweaty chest visible at the neckline of his tshirt as Grey covered his arms as well. There was a water tap nearby for them to wash the greasy feeling off of their hands before they both got to doing their own activities.

Grey was set up with a little help from Jo with his watercolor paper sketch book and charcoal pencils beside him to one side and his water color palette to the other with a small container of water. One of the water bottles was left with him, along with both their packs on the ground beside the bench as he finally focused on the vista and sketching out the faintest lines in preparation for a first image. The spot that he’d chosen wasn’t as shaded as some of the others, but sunburn was the least of his worries compared to getting an accurate view of the rich and vibrant colors he’d be trying to replicate and wanting to ensure he got them just right in the sunshine.

On the other hand, Jo threw herself into having fun clambering over the rocky outcrop with reckless abandon. The moment she’d left the other on his bench, set up and happy to spend quite some time just relaxing, catching his breath and doing something he enjoyed with his paints, she’d jumped off one of the highest boulders and down onto one further down. The ebb and flow of climbing and leaping warmed up her muscles as she clambered down as low as she could down the cliff face, uncaring to the worries of climbing all the way back up later. She would have to jump and scramble on occasion to reach the next rock up or gently scrape herself down the side of another to find a safe foot hold down - but that was half the point and half the fun between the warm sunshine, cool breeze and bird calls that would come after a whoop of laughter or enjoyment from her.

Jo lost track of time entirely as she got to the base of the outcrop, sitting atop one of the biggest rocks nearby to soak up the sun and catch her breath, before the tranquility was broken by a voice shouting.

“Jo?!” Grey’s voice carried down from the peak, and it took a few moments for her to realise the startled tone as she tilted her head back was because she could not see the top of the mountainside from where she was beside a slow trickling waterfall she’d set out to find. He called again, the tone borderline panicked, “Jo? Where are you?!”

“I’m fine hunny,” she called back as loudly as possible, hands cupped about her mouth before pushing herself to her feet so just the very top of her cap and eyes were visible over the big boulder face between her and the peak. There was a second before she had to wave a hand to catch the panicking man’s attention, a wide, affectionate grin on her face he probably couldn’t see as she called up again. “Here I am! Don’t worry! I’m all good!”

“Fuck, you scared me.” Grey shouted back down, and she could just make out the jittery nervous energy in his hands flapping a few times from the distance before she let out a loud laugh. “Don’t you laugh at me! I couldn’t see you for a whole half an hour!”

“Sorry, hun!” Jo replied, chided at just how much and how long he must have been looking for her as she’d climbed, scrambled and ducked about the rockside. Glancing down at her watch, she let out a surprised noise to see it was already midmorning and that she had spent the last hour running about the rockface. “I’ll come up now-”

“No, no, don’t rush if you’re-” “I’m gettin’ hungry and we still gotta find a picnic spot.” “Hmm… okay, I’ll start packing up up here.”

“Okay, be there in a minute!” She called back happily before turning her gaze from where he’d been to looking at the somewhat intimidating climb in front of her to get back up to the top.

Jo shrugged a shoulder and tucked a strand of stray hair back under her cap and behind her ear as she swiped a bit of sweat from her brow before starting the daunting climb back up. The rocks were so much taller going back up, and on more than one occasion she had to back up for a run up before leaping to try to grasp the top of the next rock up. Some she could wind her way through small wild life paths between rockfaces, but others she had to muscle and shuffle her way up awkwardly, all dirt and moss and hot stone under her fingers as she scrambled her way back up towards the peak. It took longer than a minute, that was for sure, and by the time she got up there Grey’d already repacked his backpack and had the second water bottle of the day ready and waiting for her with a smile.

Gulping down the remaining half of the bottle, Jo grinned widely back at him before tucking the empty bottle into his bag and then shouldering her own back on. “I bet we look like we match now.”

“Oh?” “Well, I’m all hot and sweaty and I bet red-” “Yes, very prettily so though.” “Naturally. And in about ten minutes you’ll look the same!” “How dare you-”

Grey cut off his admonishing with a laugh, pulling her in about the waist - hand slipping into the space between the curve of her back and her backpack, to kiss her thoroughly. They only pulled back after a long moment when their lips were tingling with the sensation of the other’s and the loss of them. Jo let out a laugh of her own before shaking her head free of the floaty, unfocused feeling his kisses left her with before gesturing back to the path to get going.

They hiked again, following the path winding back down from Ely’s peak at a much quicker and more comfortable pace for both of them with the downhill decline far easier than the hiking up had been. Grey’s hand slid into hers within a few minutes and neither let go as they kept a happy pace back down to the join of the previous track within half the time as before. Jo frowned as she glanced back the way towards the carpark before giving a tug and setting off into the denser forest cut through with another trail instead. There’d been no where suitable for a picnic the way they had come, and she was determined to find somewhere private and beautiful to spend their time.

Following the new path took them through basswood’s rather than redwoods, the foliage thicker and more shaded as the sun was moving towards overhead, but the undergrowth was still filled with the mixture of bluebead lilys and other shrubberys and wildflowers that thrived under the thicker canopy above. It was cool even though each poke of sun felt hotter than before and the warmth of the day was starting to set in. They wandered, up and down hills across the park as they went for another half an hour - much to Grey’s consternation he got hot, sweaty and red as quickly as Jo predicted as they started on the inclines, to a lot of teasing from the smiling blonde.

They’d just turned a corner when Jo noticed a creekline ahead and a small footbridge across it. “Oh! Come with me!” She tugged gently on the other’s hand as they approached, stepping off the path and instead following the lush, moss covered creek line down stream. Grey made a confused noise for a moment, before she grinned over her shoulder at him. “This is Sargeant Creek. I saw a little pond or inlet type place in Google Maps off this stream earlier, we should try to go there for our picnic?”

“Oh. That sounds like a great idea, pretty one,” he agreed readily, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he nodded and followed further along the creek and left the path behind them. Not that he’d had disagreed, following a creek means walking down hill and no more inclines. “Any idea how long it’d be?”

“Awww, are your feet hurtin’?” “As a matter of fact, yes, yes they are.” “Poor Grey!”

The teasing swat he gave to her backside at her joking at him got a squeal of laughter that set the birds hidden in the trees around them off, the ringing of bird call and happiness fitting so perfectly for the pair as they trekked onwards.

About ten minutes down the creek a large downed tree fell across the creek line, and giving a whoop, Jo tugged Grey in for a quick peck. “You’re it.” She whispered against his lips before pulling back and dashing across the log with a laugh. It took a moment, long enough for her to get to the other bankside before he seemed to realise what had happened and took off after her.

Their game of tag, kisses exchanged each time one or the other was caught and playful ducks out of grasp, took them back and forth across the creek. Jo’d even leaped just out of reach one time across a wider part of the creek and when turning back to tease the other couldn’t spot him until two hands grasped her cheeks and pulled her into a kiss for a long moment before Grey let go and smoked back across the creek with a rougish grin. They were moving slower and less productively with the game, but it kept both of them laughing and the focus off their feet and just how long they’d been walking in search of their picnic spot.

---

When Jo was finally skipping ahead out of Grey’s grasp and stepped out from under the thicker tree coverage to a sunny clearing and the widening of the creek it came as a surprise to have reached their location, and even surprised her enough to be caught up on a quick, hot kiss like the sunshine coming down on them before they both looked about. It was less a natural pond and more clearly a small beaver dam before continuing down the creekline on the other side of the pond. The slope around the dammed water was gentle and covered in lush grass, and brightly lit in the clearing, clearly caused by the beavers work a long while ago.

Moving over the grass and looking at the dam, Jo smiled widely as she turned about to see Grey setting his pack down and getting out the picnic rug.

“This looks pretty alright, don’t it?” “Yeah. You were right, Jo, this is much nicer than somewhere that there could be crowds and that.” “I know right?”

Smiling together, they set the picnic blanket out and Jo fished out one of the water bottles from her bag as she set it down before spraying more bug spray on her skin having noticed the croak of frogs from the pond and the number of bugs flying about the waters edge. Grey sank happily into the blanket and pulled off his backpack followed by his shoes and socks to rub at the soles of his feet happily before taking the water offered. “I’ll get the picnic in a minute-”

“No rush, hun.” Jo smiled gently at his insistence, shaking her head and kicking her own boots off and wiggling her socked toes with a groan. “God, you never notice your feet hurt ‘til you stop.”

“Oh, do your feet hurt, huh?” “Yes yes, payback’s a bitch!”

Grey laughed warmly as he moved to lean back on his elbows before reaching out to tug her down against him. They play wrestled for a few seconds before laying back in the sunshine happily together, each catching their breaths and enjoying the quiet of the thick forest around them. The fluffy clouds above, the warm sun, and the cool ground soft beneath them was as comforting as the other’s presence as they relaxed and recovered from the hiking so far.

It was another few minutes before Grey pushed himself into sitting up again, Jo shifting around to rest her head in his lap with a little yawn, before he finally felt up to summoning their packed picnic. The basket had been packed that morning, padded with cooling packs and everything they could need carefully tucked into tupperware containers and bowls, and left on the kitchen counter for easy summoning later on. It wasn’t a hard task to bring it to them, and Grey’s fingers ran through Jo’s hair once he was sure he’d brought their picnic basket correctly to them, just enjoying the moment. Eventually the smell of food roused Jo out of the happy doze she’d found herself lulled into by the warmth of the sunshine and the comforting touches from the other to push up and help start unpacking their early lunch.

They’d worked together the night before the prep and pack their picnic - Jo baking chocolate chip cookies mixed with strawberries and some coconut, choc-chip muffins with the express discussion about the choice of ingredients and some teasing laughter from both of them over just how many kisses she had wanted; Grey cooking pasta and whipping up pesto for their salad filled with feta, shaved corn and fresh cherry tomatoes from Jo’s plant in the back yard. They’d had grilled chicken for dinner the night before and packed away the leftovers to be added in for their lunch with some spicy hot sauce in a tub for Jo too. Taking the various containers out and cracking them open, Jo made a curious noise waving a tub filled with balled melons towards the other before getting a sheepish look in response before she picked one out with an excited moan at the slightly spicy but obviously sweet syrup coating the balls. Someone had been busy when she was getting dressed. Grey took the large thermos filled with blueberry-sweetened lemonade and started pouring the drinks as Jo took out the plates and utensils in tandem.

Sinking back to their sides, they tucked into their picnic lunch with a lot of exclamations over how nice certain things were - pasta salad and chicken eaten first and foremost, leaving the cookies and muffins for later. Jo teased Grey into warming her chicken up for her, and then got further teased at the way her encouragement got him to blush brightly in turn. And he got her in return by asking just why she’d picked chocolate desserts again, ribbing her gently back.

Stomachs full and not quite ready for their desserts yet, Jo shuffled about to rest back against Grey’s side as he pulled out his sketch book to show her the paintings and sketches he’d been working on. The first a richly colored vista of the lake, the lighter sky and the endless view of green that would have once stretched all the way through where their home city now was. The second was a more contemplative image of what might have been the lake shore itself, pebbled and sandy shore and the sky reflecting off the gentle swells of the water. A few sketches, darkly filled in with charcoals of the trees that filled the forest, and even a sketch of the cute pine marten Jo’d shown him was on the third page, the marten’s little nose looking extra cute and like it was in the middle of wriggling happily at the scent of food. The last page was faded grey boulders and the odd tree but clearly the figure leaping between two rocks was the main focus of the picture, long legged and arms out stretched and radiating childish glee. That got him a lot of those teased about kisses as they lay back down on the blanket, stretched out in the warm sunshine.

They whiled more time away cloud gazing, making shapes and stories out of the fluffy figures that danced across the sky as their stomachs settled, and Jo cuddled into Grey’s side happily. A duck with a top hat fought against a teddy bear with a cane, a clown which neither of them could agree was good or creepy disappeared rather quickly on the summer breezes pushing it along before they could quarrel longer, then a little girl spinning a pirouette was followed by a school of fish being lectured by an octopus. They’d giggled loudly when a very obvious cloud floated past that had Grey covering Jo’s hand with a mouth as she’d squealed out the word ‘penis’ loud enough to send a few birds flitting away from the canopy above them.

“Ugh, I feel so sticky.” Jo complained quietly as she snuggled her nose in against Grey’s shoulder when he finally uncovered her mouth with a smirk. “It’s so warm today!”

“Sorry pretty one, I didn’t pack a cold shower in the basket for you.” He teased quietly, tapping her wriggling nose with a finger before making a surprised noise and Jo’s jerking to a sitting position and then to her feet. “Jo?”

“You didn’t, sure, but there’s a nice cold pond right there!” Grinning widely back at him, she quickly tugged her knee-high socks off and piled them with her boots before tugging her tank top over her head followed by her shorts. Reaching into her backpack and ignoring the confused squawk from the other, she held the sunscreen out to him with a smile. “Slather me up, hun?”

Grey gave her a confused look for a moment before taking the bottle and checking it was a natural, grey water safe product, and shifting to sit up enough to cover her back, and arms all over again with the protective cream while she took care of her exposed stomach, chest and legs to save time rubbing it all in. Grey teased her quietly about wanting to be a tanned summertime goddess with the amount of sunshine she was getting that day, only to be teased back he was just mad she’d already rubbed it in on the bits of her breasts not covered by her bra and taunting whether he’d join her.

“To quote that movie you love - wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” “Oh?” “I mean, the best vantage point for me would be here to see your figure while you’re playing around in the water.”

Jo let out a peal of laughter, nodding and pressing a quick kiss to his lips at that, before dashing off to the waters edge, careful not to startle or step on any frogs. It was a fairly clean and clear pond, and at it’s deepest would only just come up to under her chest - the perfect depth to see the muddy, pebbly pond floor and float around without fear of something unexpected catching her unawares. There were frogs and the odd baby trout swimming about in it as she splashed about, chasing tadpoles and floating on her back as the sun reached it’s crest of midday.

After she’d splashed about enough to acclimate to the cool water, she’d looked over to their little picnic to see Grey sat up with his sketch book all over again. Tilting her head curiously at him, Grey waved a hand at her and called out gently with a smile, “I’m good, pretty one. You have your fun in the water.” She waited a few seconds to watch him pick up one of the cookies with his spare hand before turning about and diving under the water to splash about some more.

The water was the perfectly cool temperature - breaking her out in goosebumps as she would sink under the water and then float to the surface - and the dappled sunlight coming from the trees lining the other side of the pond than their clearing left her cold despite the warmth in the air. Little fish swam up, mouthing at her toes occasionally before swimming away, and Jo even backstroked over to the reeds edge to look at the clusters of frog spawn sticking around the waterline of the water plants. She floated gently across the water quietly, eyes closed and just enjoying the peaceful silence as she drank in the sunshine.

By the time she got out of the pond and laid out on the blanket - now clear of their lunch dishes packed away and the two containers of muffins and cookies left out with the watered down lemonade - her toes and fingertips were all pruny and wrinkly. Grey let out a laugh looking at her fingers before kissing the tips and bunching up a spare corner of blanket to give her a pillow to lean back on as he continued to work on his sketches. The number of birds crowded to one side of the clearing - bird seed scattered on the ground before them that Grey must’ve summoned at some point bringing them close enough for him to sketch - chirped happily and their voices and song floated away on the breeze.

Curling on one side, she watched him quietly as he worked - those talented hands sketching carefully the array of different birds chirping and hopping about the place, from chickadees to wrens and even a bright red cardinal had flown down and pecked at the seed before digging out a worm as well. Two yellow warblers, clearly a mated pair, hopped about on the edge of the group for a little while - one grabbing a seed before handing it to the other who would fly off and return a few moments later before going again - probably taking seeds back to their nest for their little family. Jo watched the birds quietly, soaking in the peacefulness of their secret little space as Grey continued his sketching.

“You almost dry?” The question broke through the silence a while later, after the sun had helped warm her back up, and Grey raised a brow over at her as he flipped his sketchbook shut as the last bird had finally departed. “Or at least dry enough to drive home?”

“I think so. You feel recovered enough to get goin’ back to the carpark?” “Yep, I’m all rested, and we’ve got a bit of a drive home still.” “And still some lemonade in case you get nauseous again-” “So mean.”

Giggling quietly Jo got to her feet as Grey packed the remaining tupperware away into the picnic basket and shook the crumbs off of the blanket into the grass as she got dressed back into her shorts and tank top. Rather than pull the old socks on, Jo slipped the spare ones from his pack on and tucked hers back in their place, before clipping her backpack into place. Grey did the same before picking up the picnic basket in one hand and taking hers with the other, before they disappeared away from the sunny, secret clearing.

The forest was shaded but thick and muggy without the breeze permeating through to the underbrush as Grey appeared them ten feet off the trail and just out of sight of the carpark. Quickly making their way to the path and not spotted by any of the family groups slowly making their way along the hiking trail at the midday time, they slowly made their way to the car.

The walk back wasn’t long, but it was just long enough for the pair of them to hold hands and exchange smiles and teasing touches as they made their way back along the path. They passed some unruly children and their exhausted looking parents, lugging picnic baskets behind them, with angry looks towards the happy, peaceful couple clearly swinging their joined hands and very much young and in love. There were heavy duty climbers with harnesses already around their waists, jangling with clips that would scare off any of the animals that they’d managed to spot walking so quietly earlier in the morning if the screaming, running children hadn’t already. There was even a younger couple, clearly high school sweethearts, all blushing and twigs in their hair despite being not even twenty feet from the carpark as Jo and Grey had almost made it to the carpark.

Sharing a smirk to one another at the embarrassed look on the teens’ faces, Jo giggled loudly as they made it to the car and packed away the picnic basket and their backpacks into the trunk of the car. “So… when are we goin’ to be like those two?”

“What? You want to have bark-rash on your back?” “Oh, that’s true, that doesn’t seem particularly appealin’.” “Or perhaps you were thinking in a bush?” “That does seem to be what they’d been doin’!”

“Maybe next time,” Grey replied with a shake of his head, smirking across at her. “Or back in that little clearing, we should take advantage of those chocolate cookies-”

“And the muffins.” “That’s very true.” “Well, why didn’t we?”

Jo tilted her head at him, smiling gently before blinking in surprise as the other moved around the car to crowd her up against the warm metal side on her back as Grey leaned in to kiss her - hot and needy and all kinds of ways that made her weak in the knees - before he pulled back with a smirk. Grey leaned into her, lips against the shell of her ear, before speaking softly. “I didn’t want to scare away the birds.”

“Very fair!” Laughing together, Jo drew him in for another quick kiss, pressing all up against him, before they pulled apart and finally piled back into the car. The seatbelt metal was hot but clicked away quickly, and sharing a few sips of water from the last water bottle, Jo threw the car in reverse and then pulled out of the carpark towards home.

Glancing to the side as she drove them down the winding roadway down the other side of the mountain, going slow and cautious for the other’s usual motion sickness, Jo smiled softly to herself watching him press his face to the cool glass of the passenger window - figuring they could stop at the ice cream shop on the way home for a creamy treat and maybe even some Sprite to settle the other’s stomach before they would get home to their likely still dozing baby ready to go out to the backyard. Looking out the front window as the trees slowly got high enough and the road flattened out that the deep blue of the lake disappeared from sight behind them, she couldn’t help but smile over the loveliness of the day, noticing an equally loving smile directed her way out the corner of her eye.

---

[lokislittlesigyn]

OG616 : Thor 1 - Pt.4 [A New King]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Angst? Maybe?

Author’s Note:

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath

To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm going to find Sif." Sigyn clipped a short dark brown cloak around her shoulders. She was dressed in her regular clothes, now – sapphire and silver, dyed leathers mixed with comfortable, woven fabric. Like Lady Sif, she usually wore pants rather than dresses - but while Sif did so for flexibility in battle, Sigyn preferred it mainly for horseback riding. And it showed: her attire had hardly any metal on it, more breathable and adjustable than most armors. She smirked approvingly at her reflection before turning to Loki.

Loki nodded an understanding. He was still on the balcony. Staring out over the city, as though glued there, tethered there by some unseen force. She wasn't even sure he'd eaten yet.

She walked closer to him. Stopped a few paces behind, and waited.

"...Loki, are you all right?"

"I’m fine."

He didn't sound fine.

But she figured he was just as scared as she was, just as concerned. After all, their entire world had changed in a day.

Perhaps he needed more time. Time to mull over things, to process. He was always an introspective sort of person.

"I'll be careful."

Another nod.

Give him time.

Sigyn glanced at him once more on her way out.

~~~~

As she made her way through the castle, following a guard's guide of where the Warriors Three were resting, Sigyn thought to herself.

If Laufey truly meant his declaration of war, the Frost Giants would be here by now. They would already send war bands. Heimdall would see them, she assured herself, quickening her pace. They must still think Thor is still here. And they don't know about Odin... They have no reason to believe we're vulnerable.

She straightened up.

If we act wisely, we can avoid war. But first, we have to bring Thor home.

Sigyn reached a set of large gold doors. The guards in front of it stepped aside, allowed her to enter.

"It still stings a bit…"

"You've had worse, my friend."

"Believe it or not, Volstagg, being impaled on ice rather hurts."

“Who would have thought?” Sigyn stepped into the healing room. It was a comfortable, enclosed space with a fire in the center. Clearly, they had been here before – their wounds mostly mended, now only needing a checkup. The warriors turned to her.

"Ah, my beautiful Sigyn..." Fandral practically jumped up to greet her, kissing her hand with a wink. “Come to see me, have you?” She noticed the wrapping still around his otherwise bare torso. He caught her eye and shrugged playfully.

"Now he feels better.." Sif snorted.

“No, Fandral...” Sigyn smiled. The Warriors Three - and Lady Sif - had always felt like family to her, ever since she spent more time in the palace. They certainly joked like family. “I was rather hoping you could explain what happened yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

"Loki has been remarkably silent, even for him. What little he has said is far from good news. I'm worried."

"Well," Volstagg shifted in his seat, "What do you want to know?"

Sigyn took a seat across from Sif. Fandral joined her.

"Did anything happen to Loki, while you were away? He hasn’t been himself lately."

Sif shook her head, "Not that I saw. Though we were in the heat of battle... We may not have noticed."

"A bit of his armor was damaged," Fandral glanced at Sigyn, "But no. He wasn't hurt. He seemed remarkably untouched."

Volstagg nodded. "But it's not like Loki to get jostled in battle, now, is it?"

Fandral chuckled. "Doesn't want to ruin his hair."

"You're one to talk." Sif smirked at him.

"Where was Thor banished to?" Sigyn pressed.

"We don't know." Sif swallowed. "Allfather Odin demanded we leave the Bifrost before he was banished... And we had wounds to tend."

"Was Loki with you?"

"No. He stayed while Odin and Thor.. Talked."

Sigyn felt the breath leave her chest. "..He lied." She stood, clenching her jaw.

"…Well, that is one of his defining traits," Fandral settled into his seat.

"No, he told me he didn't know where Thor was. He lied. Oh, Loki, what is wrong with you?" She started toward the door, but Sif spoke.

"Sigyn - if there is any way to bring Thor back…" The warrior was standing, watching her with pleading eyes.

Sigyn paused, let out a deep breath. "I hope there is. But we can't do anything until we know where he is."

~~~~

On the way back to her quarters, Sigyn asked palace guards if they had any idea where Thor may be, or how Odin fell into the Odinsleep. None knew.

She re-entered her room. "Loki, I need to speak-"

Loki was gone.

Of course he was gone.

"Perfect."

"Is something wrong, Princess?" A guard peered around the door.

"Where is my husband?"

"Prince Loki has gone to the Allfather."

"Thank you." Sigyn made her way to the Allfather's room.

Act wisely and we'll avoid war... She huffed. We're off to a magnificent start, now Loki's lying to me. She pursed her lips. Don't assume anything. Give him a chance to explain. He deserves a chance to explain.

She reached the Allfather's room, stepping in to find Frigga, still at Odin's bedside.

"He's just left." Frigga stroked Odin's hand, speaking with her eyes still trained on him. She had a way of knowing just what people wanted.

Sigyn let out an audible sigh. "Just marvelous..."

Frigga smiled, turning to her. "You'll find him in the throne room."

"Throne room..?"

Frigga nodded at Sigyn. "The throne room."

With a slight huff, Sigyn turned and left, and broke into a sprint. A few passersby shot her looks as she ran past them, but she hardly cared. She was more concerned with finding Loki.

Throne room.

Why would Loki be in the throne room? He was a prince; princes hardly belonged there. Unless...

As she neared the throne room, she heard voices.

She turned the corner and - "Ah!" - Nearly collided with Volstagg.

"Whoa, you must be more careful, Princess." He steadied her shoulders, keeping her from falling over. She smiled in thanks, still breathing heavily.

"My apologies, sorry.."

"In a hurry to see your beloved?" Fandral stepped up beside Volstagg.

"Actually I was. Frigga said he was here."

"Oh, he's definitely here." There was an air of spite in Fandral's voice.

Sigyn paused. Even Fandral didn't despise Loki that much. "What's going on?"

"See for yourself." Sif passed by, giving a slight nod as she did.

Sigyn furrowed her brow when they left, then entered the throne room.

She froze.

Loki.

Loki was there.

Standing tall, clad in his full armor and holding Gungnir. He looked imposing. Regal. Kingly.

When did this happen?

She inched forward, astonished.

"You're allowed to speak, Sigyn." Loki straightened up, but his gaze was soft.

Sigyn now stood before him, mouth slightly agape, still staring at him.

"Did you plan on telling me about this?"

Loki smiled. "Actually, a guard was on his way to bring you here."

Sigyn nodded, adjusting to the sight of Loki as king. Loki as king. She swallowed.

".. Loki, I need to speak with you."

"Clearly."

"Why did you lie about Thor?"

His jaw stiffened. "I couldn't tell you."

"Why?"

Loki paused a moment… "Because if I told you, you would go after him."

Sigyn's cheeks turned a slight pink. "I.. Would not necessarily-"

"Oh, I think you would."

She shifted her weight. "I'm only trying to help."

"Even if you were to find Thor, you couldn't help him. He's on his own."

"And what of Odin? Of the Frost Giants? If they make it back into Asgard, if they find out our eldest prince and our king are powerless to defend us, they could-"

"Silence."

Sigyn shrank back, folding her hands.

"Odin will rest until he is restored. The Frost Giants have no knowledge of him nor Thor. And I am king, now."

They watched each other, each waiting for the other's move. 

Sigyn broke the silence, never breaking eye contact with Loki. "Very well. Guard, have Villieldr saddled."

"Stay here, Einherjar." Loki turned to the guard, who remained at his post, then looked back at Sigyn.

Sigyn clenched her jaw. "I-"

"I am your king, Sigyn," He spoke with intent, lowering his head slightly, "And as your king, I order you to remain within the palace. Understood?"

She stepped back, fidgeting her hands. He never spoke like that to her. He hardly even raised his voice at her.

He's scared. His father and his brother are practically gone. He's carrying the burden of the throne now. The burden of the entire realm.

Just listen to him.

".. Yes, my king," She bowed, "As you wish."

Loki turned, cape sweeping after him, returning to his throne. He sat, watching her as she left.

~~~~

Sigyn stayed in the palace, as Loki ordered. She sat in a chair – one of a pair in their room, next to a table they set books on. But she hardly felt like reading. She had hoped to ride down to the Bifrost and ask Heimdall where Thor was, demand someone give her answers, but of course, Loki forbade it.

And he was her husband.

And her king.

This wasn't like times before, where she'd sneaked off before the sun rose, saddled her horse, and galloped off to explore the forest. Loki wouldn't follow her like he used to, laughing and calling for her, telling her how she should at least eat breakfast before going on adventures.

She wasn't sure Loki would laugh much anymore.

With a gentle sigh, she wiped a strand of hair back from her face. There was nothing more to do. Even if Frigga knew where Thor was, Sigyn couldn't change anything. She tapped her foot in annoyance.

Her only option was to wait.

Finally surrendering, she grabbed a book and took it out to the balcony. Opened it. The pages were covered in sketches, wispy drawings of various objects and people.

Her helmet. A wine goblet. A fire pit. Sif's sword. Mjolnir. Loki's daggers.

She turned more pages.

Villieldr, her beloved horse. Odin's horse Sleipnir. An Einherjar. Frigga.

Another page.

Loki.

She paused.

Loki, asleep on a quiet afternoon. Loki, deeply focused on perfecting a spell. Sharpening his daggers. Reading. Grinning after a particularly skilled trick.

She ran her fingers down the page, tracing his jawline with her fingertips. She heard footsteps, with a third beat accompanying them, then the soft clink of metal on the table. Someone stepped onto the balcony.

".. I thought you'd be in our room."

Sigyn lifted her head, snapping the book shut.

Don't mistreat him just because you're hurt. Don't make the wrong choice.

"I was. For a time. But then I wanted some fresh air."

Loki stopped next to her.

"Don't think I'm punishing you by keeping you here. I'm trying to keep you safe."

"I don't think that."

Loki hummed an understanding, turning to the city.

Sigyn joined him. Shifted her weight. "When were you crowned?"

"Today. Mother gave me Gungnir. I'm to act as king until Odin wakes."

"...I'm sorry, Loki."

He turned to her, his brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry all this has happened," She looked at him.

He swallowed.

"Loki, I," She stepped closer, "I can't imagine the pressure you're under. Everything that's happened in so short a time, everything that might happen.."

His expression didn't change. He just watched her. Silent. Waiting.

Please talk to me.

Please.

"If you need me… For anything, please, just say something. We can't lose each other." She blinked, swallowing hard.

Be strong. Be strong for him. He needs you.

Loki took a step back. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it, taking another step away and turning back to the city.

Sigyn waited. She watched him, internally begging him to say something. Anything. Even if it hurt...

Nothing.

Then a noise from the distance. Flashing lights. The Bifrost had been activated.

Sigyn could feel Loki tense next to her. By the time she turned to him, he was already leaving.

I love you, Loki.

The door shut behind him.

I love you so much. Even if you stop loving me.