#3) having spent far too much time talking to people over the past two days

[cosmictap]

Save me Joker out save me

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WICKED LOVE WILL LEAVE ME BLIND

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dangerous games are played between you and dazai during one of the most important events of the year for the japanese underworld. you're never this risky, not when your reputation is on the line, but fuck being near him just seems draw out all of the worst in you.

(wordcount: 4.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia member!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, public sex, spitting, unprotected sex, gagging dazai w/your panties, switch!dazai, switch!reader. lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOOWWWWWWW u all can thank tumblr user mioblobby for this one, she sent in an ask 3 days ago and this consumed me so badly that i dropped all of my wips to write this. anyway, enjoy dazai & pmreader being absolute FREAKS in public

His gaze hasn’t left you once all night. You can feel it dark and heavy from where he’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, black coat hanging around his shoulders and a cold, unapproachable expression on his face, looking every bit the wraith people claim him to be. 

Chuuya is off somewhere to your side, smooth talking two of Mishima’s daughters, surely planning to end the night in one of their beds to get those loose lips moving about the meeting that their father had with Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber two weeks ago, something he’s been unnervingly tight lipped about when Mori pried. 

You’re entertaining two of the younger members of Mishima’s upper echelon, Abe Kimifusa and Ibuse Masuji—they can’t be much older than you, early twenties max, and they’re delighted by the attention you’re giving them. Ibuse is half hanging off your shoulders, arm wrapped around you, too many drinks in as he leans in close and laughs at some comment Abe makes about one of their fellow executives. You smile idly as you listen, resting against him as you take in their words, trying to pretend to be engaged with the conversation to not give away how you’re hyper-focused on a certain black-haired executive in the distance. 

Usually, he would join you and Chuuya in your attempts to gather some easy intel on the Sun and Steel—that’s what he’s done the past year and a half, at least, targeting some of the older members of Mishima’s upper echelon who would sell half of their organs and their soul for a night with the untouchable Demon Prodigy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now, knowing what he told you, but you still can’t help but be a little surprised that he’s not even trying to put up a facade of charm and wit, rather spending his time skulking in the shadows watching you, especially when his usual targets are so blatantly staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.

You think it’s hypocritical the way you’re so pleased over the fact that he’s not entertaining anyone tonight, because the thought of him letting any of those men drape themselves all over him like Ibuse currently is with you leaves a very sour taste in your mouth.

You also think that’s why you’re letting Ibuse take it as far as he has—to see Dazai get wound up about it. You don’t typically let people get touchy with you unless you plan on taking them to bed, and you have absolutely no intention of fucking Ibuse Masuji. He’s pretty enough with dark hair and a nice smile, but too stupid for your taste—maybe that’s a good thing though, if he’s already so loose-lipped now with only a few drinks in him, you can’t imagine how much he’d let slip in a post-orgasm induced haze.

You start to reconsider your decision on Ibuse, looking up at him contemplatively as he makes a snide comment about Kamatsu Sakyo—an older executive of the Sun and Steel, one of the ones you know have spent a night, or more, with Dazai, so your smile is a bit more genuine when you hear the way Ibuse drags him for being incompetent and useless.

“The older generation has to go,” Ibuse hisses, shaking his head as his arm tightens around you, leaning back against the wall. “They’re running us into the fucking ground. That fucker Kamatsu wants us to take that deal from the Red Chamber-”

“Masuji,” Abe warns, giving you a careful look, not as drunk as his companion. You raise your eyebrows at the comment from Ibuse, looking at him questioningly.

Ibuse waves off Abe haphazardly. “The Port Mafia did it right,” he says bluntly, taking another sip of his drink. “Wiped out the whole old regime after the previous boss died. That’s what the Boss should’ve done when he took over from his father. All of these old fucks need to drop dead.”

“The meeting with Xueqin went that poorly?” you ask casually, sure to keep the interest out of your tone as you look up at Ibuse.

“Don’t even get me started,” Ibuse scoffs. “That fucker wants-”

You’re careful to keep the irritation off your face when you hear the telltale sound of Mishima preparing to give his annual ‘thank you, fruitful alliances ahead!’ speech that always bores you to tears. Next to you, Ibuse sighs and pulls his arm off of you, pushing off the wall.

“We’ve gotta go up there with him. I’ll find you later?” he asks you, eyes a bit too hopeful, voice eager as he waits for your response.

“Definitely,” you say—the things you do for information.

With most of the attendees of the ball distracted by Mishima’s speech, you slip away to make your way over to the far corner where Dazai is waiting. Still, he tracks you—from the moment you make your subtle escape from the crowd until you’re standing right in front of him in the shadows where he’s lingering, his gaze remains trained on you, intense in a way that lets you know that he’s unhappy, if the way his jaw is tight didn’t.

“You’ve been having fun tonight,” he drawls, voice low as he looks down at you, arms folded across his chest.

“Is that what it seemed like?” you say lightly, taking a step closer, casting one last glance behind you to ensure that all eyes are pinned on Mishima before hooking your fingers into his belt loops to tug him closer to you. “At least I’m doing my job properly then.”

“It’s your job to let Mishima’s whore of an executive drape himself all over you?” Dazai tilts his head to the side, one hand sliding behind you to close the small distance between the two of you, leaving your chest pressed to his.

No, you let that drag on just because you could tell how irate Dazai was becoming over it, but Dazai doesn’t have to know that. So instead, you play coy.

“I have appearances to keep up,” you say, tilting your head up with a simpering smile, enjoying the way his gaze immediately darts down to your lips, lingering there before he has to forcibly drag it back up to your eyes. “You know that.”

“Yeah?” Dazai hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze drifts above you. “Maybe I should be making more of an effort with appearances then, Kamatsu has had his eye on me all night.”

Your eye doesn’t twitch at his words, but your grip on his belt loops tightens. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice deceptively mild.

“And why is that?” Dazai drawls, looking too smug for your liking as he looks down at you as if realizing how much his threat bothered you.

“Because I’ll win,” you say easily, fingers slipping from his belt loops to slide your hands up and down his sides before settling them on his slim hips, relishing in the way his lashes flutter at your touch. “You know that. It’s unlike you to pick losing battles.”

“I won’t lose,” Dazai says with a scoff, and you walk him backward until the back of his knees hit a chair, guiding him back to sit down in it as Mishima finally starts a long-winded speech that’s going to last at least twenty or thirty minutes.

You give Dazai another teasing smile as you stand in front of where he’s sitting, lifting your hand to his chin, tilting his face up toward you. You lean down, lips brushing his as you murmur, “You already have.”

“Have I?” Dazai asks, amused. He unconsciously leans forward to capture his lips with yours but you shift just out of reach before he can, raising your eyebrows pointedly at the annoyed look he gives you.

You make quick work of undoing his tie, slipping it from his neck before wrapping it loosely around your wrist, hyper aware of the way his gaze is trained sharply on your face, studying your every move. You bring your other hand back up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, and your breath catches as he leans into your touch, eye lidded as he looks up atwith you. He tilts his head to the side to press his lips against your palm, keeping eye contact as he lifts his hand to cover yours, shifting it so he can graze his lips against the pulse point on your wrist.

“You have,” you agree, grateful that your voice isn’t as breathless as you feel from the combined intensity of his gaze and his lips on your skin.

“How so?” Dazai looks entirely too smug, probably can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, and you itch to wipe the smugness right off of his face.

“I’m meeting Ibuse after this speech,” you tell him, now entirely too smug yourself as Dazai expression drops and goes icy, fingers stiffening from where his hand is still pressed over yours. “Need to get him to spill about the meeting with the Red Chamber, he already started getting into it before. If I get him alone, we’ll know everything we need.”

“Go ahead,” Dazai sounds deceptively calm, you’d almost believe he didn’t care if the look in his eye didn’t betray him, cold and promising bloodshed. “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll start a war,” you say absently, the tips of your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

“I don’t care,” Dazai replies, and you know that he’s serious—it should worry you, he could throw all of your work with the Sun and Steel out the window in a split second, but instead you only find yourself giddy, tongue pressing behind your teeth and a smile curving at your lips as you look down at him.

“Careful, Dazai,” you breathe out, “almost sounds like you care.”

He does care, you know that and he knows that, but he refuses to admit it out loud. Refuses to put a label on anything between the two of you. You think it’s his way of maintaining some semblance of control over things; he thinks that if he actually admits what’s going on between the two of you, it’ll be a loss of control over himself that he can’t afford. 

As if threatening to start a gang war with the Mafia’s most important ally because you’re planning to sleep with someone for vital information isn’t a loss of control in itself. 

You also think it might have to do with the broken gasps he’d let out over the phone during the assassination plot on you a few weeks ago, when he thought that he’d miscalculated and they called his bluff, that they were going to get to you and no one was going to be able to get there in time to protect you. 

“Everything I never want to lose is always lost the moment I obtain it.”

You wonder, maybe, if he thinks that not making things official with you is his way of protecting both you and himself. 

But it’s fucking frustrating. It’s frustrating dealing with his hot and cold—days where he’s so clearly enamored with you, spending hours laid up with you admiring you while you do work, looking at you with eyes that should only be reserved for long time lovers, and then there are days where he can hardly bring himself to look at you, avoiding you at every given chance, cold and aloof. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhausting, you just want to be with him.

His eye darkens, jaw clicking at your words, but he doesn’t respond other than that.

You’re not sure what exactly compels you to take another step forward, you watch as his gaze tracks down to the low cut of your dress, as he shifts in his seat, legs spread, clearly withholding the urge to adjust himself in his pants. A dangerous thought crosses your mind, one that you know you should toss away because of where you are, how many people are just on the other side of the room, but you find your body moving before you can stop yourself.

You watch him inhale, gaze tracking down to where your hand has slipped into the high slit of your dress, casting one last look over your shoulder to make sure the two of you are at an angle that no one would be able to easily see you before pulling down your thin black panties—the ones you know he loves and wore just to see the way the pupil of his visible eye becomes blown wide at the sight of them, breath hitching.

You shift closer to him, balling them into your fist, one hand sliding behind the back of his head, fingers entwined with his dark hair as you tilt his head back, eyes tracing the exhilaration on his face as he looks up at you, realizing what you’re going to do, where you’re going to do it.

“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. The words are reverent, he speaks them in the same way you imagine he would tell you he loves you, it makes your breath catch. “Here? What're you gonna do if one of them looks over and sees you stuffed with my cock, hm? How're you gonna explain why you're full of cum when you go meet that clown?”

“You talk too much,” you note, stepping forward. “Open up.”

Dazai’s lips part instinctively, but before you stuff his mouth with your panties, you lean over him, fingers hooking around his bottom lip as you force his mouth a little wider, watching as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter when you spit right into his open mouth, swallowing it immediately. 

Your lips curl up as you lift the hand holding your panties, taking in an unsteady breath as he lets you push your panties between his lips; he lets out a muffled groan around them, eyes sliding shut as if savoring the taste of them. You shift your dress around slightly so you can comfortably straddle his thighs. His hands immediately fly to your waist, but you click your tongue lightly, pushing them off and sliding his tie around his wrists once you’ve got them behind his back.

He tilts his head to the side, giving you a heavy, judgmental look. He doesn’t even have to speak to know what he’s thinking: “You really think this is going to stop me?”

You give him a sweet smile, leaning in to graze your lips against his jaw, feeling the shaky breath he lets out around your panties. “If you free yourself from them,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear as you speak, “I’ll stop.”

You don’t wait for his reaction, directing your attention down toward his slacks, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You ease his cock out of his briefs, weight heavy in your hand, tip flushed pink and leaky. You give it an experimental pump, using his own precum as lube, and watch as he tilts his head back, giving a full body shudder.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” you sigh softly, shifting forward so that his cock slides between your slick folds, you press your lips to the underside of his jaw to smother the moan you almost let out when his tip catches on your clit. “I love it.”

You know he’s trying to shoot you a withering look, but the effects of it are severely diminished with how his face is flushed pink and his eyes are unfocused. You give him another saccharine smile, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re sinking down on his cock. 

You can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up until the tip of his cock is nudging right up against your cervix. It takes all of your self control to bite back the loud gasp that nearly rips from your lips, not wanting to have to bury your face in the crook of his neck just yet, watching as he lets out a choked noise that’s loud even with your panties stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Careful,” you warn, leaning in to drag your lips up his neck to the corner of his lips. You lift one of your hands to hold the back of his head again, gripping his hair as you force him to look at you again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. His gaze is unfocused, lips parting as he heaves around your panties, throat spasming—he looks fucking divine, and for a moment, you regret doing this here because you might have to kill someone if they see him when he’s looking like this. “You don’t want them to see you like this, yeah?”

You can hear the whine that builds in the back of his throat, trying to rock his hips up into yours. The sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt is too loud—Mishima is still speaking loudly, drowning out any noise that could possibly be coming from your secluded corner, but it’s so risky, you almost don’t know what’s gotten into you. If anyone happens to wander over this way…

“God, what do you do to me?” you gasp, leaning in so you can graze your teeth against his neck, threatening to bite down. 

You’re never this reckless—not when it’s your reputation on the line, you’ve spent years honing it into the weapon it’s become, and here you are risking it all just because Dazai Osamu decided to give you bedroom eyes during one of the most important events the Port Mafia attends. Fuck, he drives you insane.

His head lolls forward, forehead resting against the side of yours, lips brushing your ear. You can feel his heavy pants, each one catching over a moan muffled by your panties. You rock your hips back and forth quickly, each drag of his cock against your walls making you hot and lightheaded. Whether it’s just from the sheer pleasure of it all—the way the tip of his cock pressees right into that sensitive spot deep inside of you, the way he’s so quickly coming undone beneath you, body trembling and drool pooling at the corner of his lips around your panties—or if it’s because of the way anyone could wander over in this direction, catch you fucking Dazai so brazenly when there’s a crowd of one hundred and fifty, two hundred of the most important people in the Japanese underworld just on the far side of the room, you don’t know, but heat pools in your abdomen so quickly that it’s almost impossible to control. 

You can feel his breath ragged, his body tense, each roll of your hips against his has Dazai falling apart, and you can feel the telltale sign of his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he’s about to finish. You tug his hair, pulling his head back from where it's fallen against you, and you lift your other hand quickly up to his lips, pushing them inside of his mouth to hook your fingers around your panties, pulling them out of his mouth.

Instantly, Dazai is pushing himself forward to press his lips against yours, freeing himself of his own tie so his hands can fly to your waist. You let out a low moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue into yours, one hand sliding from your waist to your back, keeping your body flush to his as he grinds you down on his cock hard.

“Fuck,” Dazai groans into your mouth, voice choked. You can see the way he can hardly keep his gaze steady, the way he’s gripping your dress to try to keep himself grounded. “I-ah, shit-I’m close. I’m-”

You lean in to swallow his moan, kissing him hard as his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips stuttering as he spills his cum deep inside of you. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cum filling you up, warm, heavy, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling out from where his cock is still stuffed deep inside of you; it’s the last thing you need to push you over the edge, mind blank and jaw falling slack as your body shudders in his arms.

Black dots spot your vision, your nails dragging down his black coat, your whole body consumed with pleasure—it hits you so hard that you think maybe you might’ve passed out for a split second. The feeling of your release sends a shockwave through Dazai, you can feel the way his body spasms and jerks when your walls suddenly tighten around his sensitive cock.

“God,” Dazai breathes out against your lips, eyes glazed over as the two of you come down from your high, an expression so adoring on his face that you think for a moment, you might be imagining it. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaves it to your imagination, and you want to press, but you don’t have the chance because you’re slapped hard with reality when you hear Mishima’s speech coming to an end, eyes widening. Your legs are shaky as you push off of him, hissing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your cunt—you almost snort when you see how Dazai twitches and winces at the sudden movement, still sensitive.

“Clean yourself up,” you tell him sharply, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, trying to catch sight of yourself in the reflection of a nearby glass, watching from the corner of your eye as Dazai stuffs himself back in his pants, wiping your cum off of his expensive black slacks before sucking it right off of his fingers. He grabs his tie from where he’d let it fall to the ground, and then your panties, winking at you before he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket. 

His gaze lifts to you as he rises to his feet, drifting lazily over your form, lingering on the way your skin glows with a soft sheen of sweat, the loose strands of hair that cling to your forehead—something you hope you can play off considering the air condition in the ballroom isn’t on. Then his gaze settles down on the lower half of your body, lips curling up into a slow smirk.

He takes a few steps closer to you, holding his tie out to you. “Re-tie it?” he hums, and you roll your eyes because you know he can do it himself and you know he has some sort of ulterior motive right now, but you take it from him regardless.

You quickly slide the tie around his neck, trying to tie it quickly before anyone catches sight of the two of you, but with you so focused on getting this done, you miss the way his hand sneaks forward until you feel it slip into the slit of your dress. 

“Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice low, but your breath catches when you feel him gather up all of the cum that had dribbled out of your cunt, head falling against his shoulder as you try to force yourself not to react when he uses two fingers to stuff it right back inside of you.

You can feel the wicked grin against your ear as he leans down to tug your earlobe gently. “Good luck explaining this to Ibuse.”

Then he steps away, dark eye glittering dangerously as he looks down at you.

“I’ll find you later,” he says before turning to walk away.

You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a promise and you don’t have time to make a snide comment asking, because you hear Ibuse approaching you from behind, giddy and excited until he catches sight of Dazai’s infamous black coat retreating, swallowing thickly and eyes flickering nervously between the two of you—a common reaction to the executive’s presence, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable he can be.

You wonder if Dazai would make Ibuse half as nervous and uncomfortable if he’d known he just spent the last fifteen minutes with your panties stuffed in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back, whining and whimpering, muffling all of his sounds so people didn’t overhear the two of you. But you dismiss that thought—that’s knowledge for you to keep to yourself, you don’t like sharing.

“Let’s get out of here?” you hum, drawing him out of his thoughts before he can spiral.

He lights back up again, but you can tell he’s still nervous from Dazai’s brief appearance. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Two hours later, you wander out of one of the back rooms in Mishima’s mansion, intent on getting back to headquarters. You don’t get more than two feet before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you backward hard until your back meets a familiar chest.

Your heartbeat stills from the brief bout of erraticness when you felt someone grab you, relaxing back into Dazai, tilting your head back and to the side to look up at him as he holds your hips, keeping you flush to him.

“Did you fuck him?” Dazai asks, voice low and expression unreadable.

You have half a mind to say yes, just to see what Dazai plans to do if you did. He can’t kill Ibuse, not even he is reckless enough to start a war with the Sun and Steel right now, but you don’t think you want to risk it.

“Didn’t have to,” you say honestly. “He was babbling out everything I wanted to know before the doors even closed.”

Dazai searches your face for a moment as if trying to decide if you’re being truthful, when he does, one of his hands slips off your waist into his coat, and you hear the familiar sound of Dazai flipping the safety of his gun back on.

“Dazai,” you snap. “You can’t just-”

“I can do whatever I want,” Dazai interrupts you with the type of confidence that lets you know he had every intention of putting a bullet through Ibuse’s head if you fucked him, regardless of the consequences. The thought of that alone makes your blood run hot, pupils dilating as you look up at him; Dazai’s lips curve up slowly as if he knows just what’s going on in your head. He looks behind you curiously before focusing back down on you asking: “Is he passed out in there?”

“Mhm,” you agree, watching him curiously as you try to figure out what he might be thinking. “Drank too much.”

“Good,” Dazai murmurs, walking you right back into the room you’d come out of, a sharp smile on his face. He closes the door behind the two of you, gaze flickering over to where Ibuse is unconscious on the couch before he backs you up until your knees hit the corner of the bed, pushing you back onto it. “Let’s see if we can wake him up then.”

[magniloquent-raven]

Day 3: Missing Moments

a little something for @bucktommypositivityweek 💜 tommy POV after their first date + buck calling about meeting for coffee

**

Tommy's not moping. He doesn't mope. Especially not over a relationship that wasn't even a relationship yet. It was one date. Arguably less. Half a date with a guy he's hung out with—if he's counting very generously—a grand total of four times.

A blip, as far as relationships go. He has more history with that guy he used to trade semi-frequent blowjobs with who's saved in his phone as Nose Ring.

...Come to think of it, he should delete that guy's number. They haven't spoken in years. He's pretty sure the last text in their message history is—yup. Dick pic. From Nose Ring. They'd gone six months without contact, then he sent a picture of his penis and nothing else. Tommy couldn't find it in himself to be even vaguely interested, and there's been no communication since.

And that's really that's the problem, isn't it. His dating history is riddled with guys like that. Dead-end hookups and bad dates with people he didn't click with no matter how much he tried to force it. And people who just...didn't care enough. Then Evan...

Alright, he's moping a little bit. He's only human.

He's been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Pretty much since he got home. It's not late enough that he's tired, really, but he's also exhausted. In a soul-deep sort of way.

It was nice. He had a nice time, sitting across from Evan, letting him stutter his way through all the usual first date talking points like he was reading them off a list in his head. It was cute, how seriously he took it, how he'd pause and smile and get that soft look in his eye when he was listening to Tommy talk.

It would have been so easy to be greedy and keep spending time basking in that warmth he seems to radiate. Evan was clearly willing to push himself way past his comfort zone, but. Tommy wasn't. Isn't. His stomach twists just thinking about it.

But maybe he's being selfish either way. He wants more than Evan can give him, so he's pulling away completely, retreating before he can get too deep into planning a future Evan isn't ready for.

He sighs, feeling around next to his pillow until his fingers close around his phone.

Maybe Evan will reach out again. Some day. Eventually. Once he's more at ease with himself. Or maybe Tommy already ruined what could have been before it even started. Probably safer to just assume the latter. Restrict himself to hoping they can still be friends after this.

He scrolls aimlessly through his contacts. There's quite a few numbers in there that he should delete. Names he's not sure he recognizes anymore. Ones he wishes he could forget.

For some godforsaken reason he still has Sam Westbrook in here. Just reading the name puts a pit in his stomach. He doesn't remember everything about the three horrible months they spent together, it's mostly just flashes. The taste of too much beer on his tongue, saturated and clumsy in his mouth. A sharp smile and a sharper suit, always pressed and starched and better-than-you.

Tommy was newly out and far too hard on himself about how difficult it was. Guys like Sam seemed to sniff that out, made his personal shame all about them. It didn't always work, but Sam was particularly good at it. He always left Tommy feeling gutted and guilty and far too willing to do whatever it took to make it up to him the next time they saw each other. It's not a relationship he likes to think about.

But it's a reminder that he did the right thing tonight.

And...

Maybe he'll call Evan. Not yet, not right away. Tommy needs time to square away his own messy feelings, but maybe in a couple weeks. Just to let Even know he's. Around. If he needs someone to talk to about all this.

They can be friends. He'll make it work.

He deletes Sam's number, and tosses his phone aside.

Two weeks.

—

It's only two days later when his phone rings, Evan Buckley written across his screen in big white letters. He stares at it through five long buzzes while his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

This...wasn't the plan. And to make matters worse, he's at work. He catches one of his coworkers side-eyeing him curiously, and that pretty much guarantees he'll have at least three people ask him what was up with the phone call before his shift it over.

Well. He should at least give them something to gossip about. A guy called me and I watched it go to voicemail isn't much of a story.

He swipes to answer, before he can make himself any more nervous.

"Hey."

"Tommy! Hey!" Evan's voice crackles a little through the phone with a surprised intake of breath, like he wasn't the one who called in the first place. The corner of Tommy's mouth twitches. "H-how's it going?"

Tommy spent four hours yesterday taking apart his neighbours' lawn mower because he'd convinced the man it was making a weird noise and he could fix it. There was nothing wrong with it, but he checked every inch anyways, and put it back together well-oiled and exactly as pristine as it was before. That morning he'd gone grocery shopping with a paper list and his phone at home so he'd stop obsessively combing through all his files trying to find things to delete.

So, he's having a very normal week, clearly.

"Good," he says instead of explaining any of that. "I'm actually at work right now, so—"

"Oh crap, I forgot you were working today, sorry. I—I can call back later if you're busy."

"No, it's okay. Slow day so far." He pauses. "One might even say qui—"

"Ah, don't jinx it!"

Tommy snickers. Apparently Eddie wasn't exaggerating. He's known a lot of superstitious people, but most of them didn't take it this seriously. Evan sounded less panicked about flying directly into an actual hurricane. "Right, the dreaded Q-Word."

"Did you hear about the power lines that fell on our engine?!"

"Yes." He'd seen the pictures too. Pretty much everyone had, the 133 were sending them around all day after they took that call.

"And then some guy stole it later that same day, y'know. It was a terrible shift."

He'd heard about that too, but not that it was the same station. Damn. "Alright, alright. No tempting fate."

"Well. Good. Too many things can go wrong with helicopters."

Tommy squints up at the rafters, feeling unbearably fond. Like he's full of something warm and syrupy and too big for his chest, like he's spilling sunlight between his ribs.

He should ask why Evan called. Polite check-in after their date ended so abruptly? Another storm he needs Tommy to fly into? Metaphorical or otherwise. Hopefully it won't involve stealing anything else. They got way too lucky the first time for Tommy to trust it working out again, and he kind of likes his job.

He slips his free hand into his pocket. "How are you doing, Evan?"

"Oh." He lets out a soft exhale that comes through as quiet static. "I, uh. Good, actually. B-better, um. Listen, are you free tomorrow?"

Tommy stops breathing, lungs seizing for a long moment before he very carefully reminds himself how to use them. "Yes."

"I wanted to. Talk. To you. Um. In person, preferably."

This really wasn't the plan.

But it's fine. It's more than fine. It's...

He'll just have to deal with wanting to kiss the living daylights out of someone who's off-limits, it's not like he's never had to do that before. If Evan needs something from him he's not about to say no, he just didn't expect it to happen so soon, if it happened at all.

"I, uh, would've just popped by your house unannounced, but I thought this might be more polite," he continues, a teasing lilt in his voice. Tommy purses his lips against the smile threatening to overtake his face. "Also, I don't know where you live."

"You could've asked Eddie."

"Oh, so you're saying I should have ambushed you then?"

"No, that's very rude. Who does that."

Evan's delighted laugh is bright and infectious, and has him grinning at his feet, sunlight spreading down to the tips of his fingers.

"So, coffee? Tomorrow?"

"Alright."

"Cool. Awesome. I'll text you the details?"

"Cool," he echoes, purposefully deadpan. "Awesome."

He can hear the smile in Evan's voice when he pretends to be offended by the mocking. It's there all through their goodbye too, and Tommy finds himself coiled up around his anticipation at the thought of seeing that smile again.

It's going to be a long 18 hours. But it's worth the wait.

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 3 — 𝖕𝖙 2 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 7.2k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, hints of petplay, mild public play notes - part 3 kind of ran away from me, if you can't tell from the word count!! i had a lot of fun with this one, so i hope you enjoy! also on ao3! ♥

Life was teaching you early on in this budding relationship that life without Johnny drags. 

The first day or two he was gone wasn't so bad. Before he'd even left the country, he'd sent you an incredibly drool-worthy photo of him in his fatigues. You've spent more time looking at it over the past week or so than you probably should've—fixated on the size of his arms, the confident pose, and the mic set around his neck. 

The sight of that alone sent your thoughts reeling—and was the part you'd zoomed into on the most, beside Johnny's handsome face. 

Then came the voice note, the one you've been listening to on repeat—addicted to Johnny's words and voice. Finally, you have it captured to listen back to on demand. He'd sent you other voice notes since, shorter ones with "I'm thinking about you." or "Just met a street cat, his collar said his name is Halim!" with a photo accompanying it. 

Those made your heart sing, and your smile wide, but the last one he sent was him explaining he'd be going dark, and he'd message again whenever he could. 

That had been over a week ago now, and the radio silence left your nerves on edge, frayed and tested as you waited for any sign.

Some sense of salvation had come in the form of an after-work drinking session that turned into a full-blown night out—it was a welcome distraction and an oasis of general socialisation after your desert of solitude.

You were dressed up nice, getting a little tipsy and dancing the night away—only checking your phone as you pulled it out to pay for a drink. 

The missed call notification has you rushing to down the drink, so you can head out the back of the club. As soon as the pounding music fades away, you're pressing the phone to your ear and listening to the dial—it feeling tortuously slow as you wait for Johnny to pick up with every ring. Just before it goes to voicemail, his voice is blessing your ears once more. 

"Hey, pretty girl." He greets, his voice seemingly as bright as always. 

"Johnny!" You all but squeal in excitement, a heady combination of missing him and the effects of the alcohol making your enthusiasm bubble over.

He laughs, slow and sweet, as warmth spreads through your chest. "Missed me that much, aye?" 

You missed him far too much considering the current state of your relationship, but even in your intoxicated state, you know to keep that mostly to yourself. "Missed you so much!" You giggle, moving further away from the door as a group of people join you out back—cigarettes hanging from their fingers.

"Missed you too. Where are yer?" Johnny asks, clearly hearing the commotion in the background. 

"I'm out with some people from work, but I'll go home right now, I swear—" 

Johnny cuts you off before you can even finish your offer. "Don't you dare, lass, enjoy your night. I just wanted to let you know I'm back, tha's all."

Hearing from him was such a relief, and you are so glad he called—though now you don't want to stop talking again. "Does that mean we can meet soon?" You ask—voice light, flirtatious, and most importantly hopeful.

"I was thinking Sunday if that works for yer?" 

"Making me wait again, Sergeant?" You practically twirl your hair around your finger as you tease him, smiling unreservedly as you hold the phone to your ear. 

"Keep talking like tha' and I'll come down there right now." His growl is playful, but you can tell using his rank has some sort of effect on him. 

You pull your lip between your teeth, giggling once more and flushing with need. "Do it, I dare you." You taunt.

Johnny's sigh is a little defeated, his tone a little tired and flat compared to usual."I cannae, still got things to wrap up. Tha's why I said Sunday and not tomorrow, sweet thing." 

You relent with your joking, not wanting to keep up with teasing when Johnny seems a little... low. "You're worth the wait." You whisper into the phone, soft and sincere—you hope that makes him smile at least. 

"We'll sort out the details tomorrow, yeah?" 

You nod, even though he can't see it. "Sounds good." 

He perks up a little bit, even if it sounds somewhat forced. "Feel like doing me a favour before you get back to yer friends?"

"Anything." Your answer is instant, especially if it would cheer him up right now. Coming back from the things he must see has to be hard, and you can't blame him for continuing to be affected by it. Is that why he needed an extra day? To decompress and adjust back to being Johnny instead of a sergeant in the army? 

"Send me a picture of your outfit." The sentence lands somewhere between a question and a command—though you had every intention of complying anyway. 

"Yes sir." You answer instinctually, not putting too much thought into it until you hear Johnny's growl in response. The kind of growl that ignites something deep within you every time you hear it. 

His voice is low, rumbling down the phone with a hint of playful warning. "Bonnie..." 

"Sorry." You laugh lightly, before turning more sincere. "I'm glad you're safe, Johnny."

The line is silent for a moment, just long enough for you to worry you've said the wrong thing, but as always, Johnny washes away your doubt.  "I'm glad you waited for me." 

"Of course." A shiver passes over you, the night air making you want to retreat back inside. You wrap an arm around yourself as you brace yourself from the cold. "Talk tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, for definite. Have a nice night, angel." His wish is sincere, the softness in his voice something you'll replay over and over again. 

"Night, Johnny." 

You wait for him to end the call before you rush back into the club, beelining straight for the bathroom to snap a picture just for Johnny. The dress isn't your usual clubbing outfit, having come straight from work, but you look cute, and you feel confident as you send the picture straight to Johnny.

The next day drags even more than the last few have, especially with the mild hangover thundering your skull. Every part of the day is just about going through the motions, getting through it, so you're one minute closer to seeing Johnny. Every moment is a little dull, until you find yourself waiting for him at the exit of the train station.

The excitement and the nerves wage war inside you—with each passing second, you're getting closer and closer to being swept up in Johnny's arms, to hopefully feeling like you're finally home. But with each second, you're inching closer to vulnerability, to risk, to the possibility that somehow he might decide after today that he never wants to see you again. 

Maybe he'll look at you and realise he doesn't quite like your body, or the way your mouth moves when you talk. Maybe he'll hate your mannerisms, or find that in person you're actually really boring to talk to. Perhaps he'll just know within moments of meeting you that you'll never be his home, never be his.

The thought is terrifying, crawling around the back of your mind as you scan every passing face in the hopes of seeing the silly little mohawk you long to run your fingers through. 

And when you do, the world stills.

You spot him before he spots you, and you get a moment to appreciate his searching gaze, his quietly confident swagger, the way his denim jacket stretches over his shoulders, and his shirt clings to his stomach. 

In short, he's a vision. All man—big and strong and beautiful. It takes everything within you to not launch yourself into his arms as soon as he gets close. 

He continues to look around as he makes his way through the ticket barriers, glancing between the crowds and his phone as he makes his way closer and closer. You emerge from your hidden spot, your legs carrying you without hesitation over to him—and when your eyes meet, you both stop completely still for just a moment. Nothing but wide smiles on your faces and a magnetic pull that draws you together. 

The bodies in between you are a hindrance, a barrier you both need to be gone as you weave through them before finally standing before each other—and at that moment everything feels right. 

"Wow." Johnny says as he looks you up and down and drinks all of you in.

"Wow yourself." You giggle, checking him out just the same and adjusting to just how much more handsome he is in person—as if such a thing were possible. "Hi Johnny." Even you are surprised by how breathless you sound, but it makes perfect sense when you consider how fast your heart is beating, how your hands are starting to shake. 

"Think I must be dreamin'" He blinks in disbelief, unable to keep the radiant, infectious smile off of his face. 

You blush deeply, and find you can no longer meet the intensity of his eyes. "Flatterer." Your word is a whisper as you push yourself to your tip toes and wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him in for a hug.

His strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you close, tightly enveloping you in a serene feeling of safety, as well as his fresh, masculine scent. 

Home. You think it's the closest you ever felt to it, bundled up in his arms as he cradles you like you're the most precious thing on earth to him. 

His hands roam over your back, caressing you so delicately and savouring every bit of you, as your own hands thread around the back of his neck, and you sink your fingers in, grasping him to ground yourself in the moment. It's real, he's real, and being in his arms feels so right it almost hurts. 

"You're even more gorgeous in person, bonnie." He whispers in your ear, breath hot and sending shivers all over your body. Thank god he's holding you upright, as your entire being is so vulnerable right now to every sensation. 

He pulls away slightly, but keeps you close, his eyes returning to yours once more, looking at you like you're everything. 

"I could say the same about you." You giggle, feeling self-conscious beyond belief. "Your eyes..." They're so blue, two oceanic pools of deep emotion, pulling you under the longer you stare. 

Everything you feel is reflected in his eyes—hope, bliss, excitement. 

"Grew them maself." He laughs, his nose wrinkling as he laughs at his own silly joke. 

He has you captivated entirely, as you drink in every single feature on his face—the strong brows, the scar on his lips, the dimples hidden behind his stubble. Every detail makes your heart thump against your rib cage, makes you want to reach out and trace your fingers over every little thing you discover. 

You're snapped out of your reverie when someone's bag brushes past you, and you remember you're in the middle of a train station, blocking people's way. 

"We should move out of the way." 

"Aye." He nods, slipping an arm around you so as to not lose contact as the two of you shuffle out of the path of the commuters. "Fuck. Am not letting you go now." 

His grip tightens around you as he pulls you in once more, hands settling on your waist as he stares down in adoration.

"Good." You can't help the smile on your face, so big and bright your cheeks hurt from how unwavering it is—that's just the feeling Johnny inspires. 

This time, it's him who seems affected by your gaze, as he averts his eyes from yours. "'s a bit weird, though." He admits, a strange shyness to his tone. 

Nothing about Johnny right now would suggest he's anything even close to nervous or uncomfortable, but you figure a man like him is very good at masking how he really feels. Your hands slip to his chest, your thumbs rubbing soothingly back and forth as you try to project a sense of calm to soothe you both. 

"Have you never done this before?" You ask, curiosity brimming but with no underlying judgement.

"No." His cheeks begin to redden as he glances at you briefly, a rare display of shyness from the seemingly endlessly confident man. "Don't laugh, it's ma first time." 

You continue your soothing gesture as you speak from the heart. 

"I wouldn't laugh! I have done this before, and I'm still so fucking nervous." Said nervousness escapes you in the form of a clipped laugh. "... If it wasn't obvious from the blushing and shaking." 

Johnny made you nervous, and yet peaceful all at the same time. His pull was irresistible, concrete, even if you stumbled to him on shaky legs. You knew what he might be feeling right now, if his heart was anything like yours. 

"Oh, am sweatin' a tonne right now, if ya cannae tell." His laugh and smile are almost disgustingly sweet, along with his unbracing honesty. Johnny really is something else, you think. 

You step away from him, intertwining your fingers into his much larger hand, as you start to lead the way out of the train station. "Better get you out into the fresh air then." 

The two of you walk in comfortable silence across the short distance until you're hit with the sun's warmth and a blast of cooler air. You start walking into the city centre, aiming to wander around for a little to kill time.  

As you walk, Johnny's grip tightens, and his hips sway playfully into your own, nudging you only to pull you back to his side with a bright grin on his face. "Meant what I said about not letting go of yer hand." 

"Keep it, it's yours." You squeeze back, looking up at Johnny to see him observing his surroundings keenly—must be a soldier thing, you muse. "Do you come here much?" 

"A little. Usually kept pretty busy back on base." He answers, glancing at you before taking in more of the area.

"Well, I guess you'll be getting familiar." You nudge his hips, returning his earlier playfulness as you flirt with him unashamedly.

His eyes are fixed on you now—a brow raised and a mirthful smile on his face at your assumption.

"Oh, will a now?" 

"I hope so." You admit sincerely, feeling the heat in your cheeks. If you keep smiling as much as you have so far, the expression will be permanently etched onto your face. "But that'll be more, so after we see the kitties. Our slots in 20 minutes, right?" 

"Aye, you excited?" He looks at you as if to confirm your true reaction, his eyes searching. 

"I am, honestly I was expecting just a normal coffee date but as soon as you suggested it, I couldn't let it go." You're practically rambling, but honestly, Johnny's suggestion was perfect. First, it let you know he enjoyed, or at least was at ease around cats, which was always a green flag. Plus, it was something different, catered to the two of you that shows he'd been thinking about it, and who wouldn't swoon at that? 

And on the off chance there was an awkward silence where you didn't know what to do, at least you had furry friends for you both to pay attention to. 

His eyes flicker with doubt for a moment, before he masks it with a distracting smile. "Was worried it might be a bit naff." 

If only he knew how much you had been freaking out about how cute you found the whole thing—and the fact that he might as well have just straight up said it was the beginning of your new dynamic together. You'd be his pet, the whole thing made perfect sense. "If it is naff, it'll only be because I might get jealous." 

"Ach, why?" He asks, seemingly finding the idea of you needing to ever feel such a thing ridiculous. 

You look up at him with soft, pleading eyes and a playful pout on your lips. "Well, you'll be giving all the cats head pats, but will you have any for me?" Even the tone of your voice is designed to tug at his heartstrings, slipping into your role so naturally. 

"I'll always have some for you, kitty." He laughs, letting go of your hand just to ruffle at your hair until you playfully shove him away—then he's grasping at you again, not wanting to relinquish contact for even a second. 

"Besides, they get to wear collars and flaunt it right in front of me. Don't they know what they're doing?" A suggestive smirk is directed at him, which he eagerly returns.

"Oh, you'll be in one before you know it, bonnie." He drops this news so casually, like it's the most natural thing in the world— as if the two of you are just having a regular conversation  "We'll come again, make them jealous right back." 

You swallow thickly, already aching for that eventuality—even if it may be a ways away.

"Sounds like a date." You mumble, filled with shyness and need. Coughing, you take a moment to compose yourself and steer the conversation away from something that will send your thoughts spiraling. "I did look through the website to see what kind of cats they had, and there's a cat with your name, different spelling though." 

Johnny pulls you closer, head dipping slightly to talk close to your ear, his tone dropping to a dangerous low. "Now I'm gonnae be the jealous one." 

His words make you shiver, make it difficult to keep walking like everything is fine—but you can flirt just like he can. You look up at him, fluttering your eyelashes prettily as you smile so sweetly. "I've only got eyes for one Johnny, don't worry." 

The blush that rises to his cheeks tells you that your act had the desired effect.

"That's what I like tae hear." He mumbles, squeezing your hand in an affectionate gesture. 

After wandering the high street for a short while and just enjoying each other's company, you circle back to your destination. The two of you enter the café, kick off your shoes (or boots for Johnny), and are seated at a table toward the back of the room— just a little out of sight from everyone else. You order a tea, while Johnny orders a flavoured coffee, giving you an insight into his tastes and preferences that makes you smile. 

You remind yourself to keep that information in mind for later, filing it away under your list of things about Johnny that you're sure will only expand throughout the day. 

When the server leaves the table, the two of you look upon each other fondly—shy smiles and burning cheeks. There are so many words at the tip of your tongue, so many things you want to say and ask and know about the man before you—as your brain buzzes with energy, so do your hands, feeling a little lost now they're no longer connected to any part of his body. 

It's easy to tell that Johnny sees more than he lets on, as he observes you before him and seemingly filters through your thoughts.

You return the favour and watch Johnny intently—eyes fixated as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, as his throat bobs as he swallows, and your brain is invaded with a deluge of inappropriate thoughts. 

Luckily, you're saved by the bell—a little tinkling noise from a cat beside you as it walks on by and demands your attention with a haughty meow.

"Look, there's Jonny!" You gasp quietly, the cat just a few feet away staring at you curiously. Taking it slow, you lower your hand to the ground and make no move toward the cat, waiting for it to get a smell and a feel for you. It isn't long before the cat in question is launching himself into your lap, drawing delighted laughs from both you and Johnny. 

You run your fingers through the thick fur of the white longhair, figuring out what spots the cat likes most. 

"He likes you." Johnny comments with amusement, shuffling ever so slightly closer until your thighs touch—his arm slips around the booth seat behind you as he settles in.

Your eyes meet his, your skin prickling with the intensity of his closeness. "Hopefully like the human version." 

"Definitely." The arm around the back of the seat comes to settle on your shoulders, as Johnny slowly moves his hand over to the cat and lets him sniff his fingers. Johnny's eyes brighten unmistakably when the feline nuzzles against his hand, and then he breaks out into a mischievous grin. "D'ya think he's cuter than me?" 

Johnny tilts his head to the side, almost puppylike as he preens at your attention—your eyes roaming over him as if you're making a difficult choice.

"Hmm. He has a lot more hair than you do, but I think you win." You give cat Jonny another stroke, while you smile at human Johnny with glee. "I'll have to feel how soft your hair is to make a real decision, though."

You say it mostly as a joke, but Johnny looks sincere as he urges you to do it. "Go on." 

You raise your hand, panic flowing through you as you hesitate for a moment—your fingers hovering inches away from Johnny's head. He leans into your touch, as you stroke through the short tufts of hair. "It's... so soft." You admit, pulling away quickly before you get carried away. 

"What did yer think it was gonna feel like?" Johnny asks with a barked laugh that you can't help but return. 

You crinkle your nose, because honestly, with the fact he clearly uses styling products to make his mohawk stand on end, you hadn't expected it to feel as soft and pleasant as it did. "I don't know, I can't imagine you have premium shampoo and conditioner in the army." 

"They're just naturally luscious locks, dinnae what to tell yer." He swishes his head playfully, as if he's flipping a head full of hair. 

"Effortlessly flawless, just like the rest of you." You tease him, joining in the joking. 

"Oh aye?" He asks with a wink, playfully fishing for more compliments. 

Not that he needs to fish, you think. Surely Johnny knows how handsome he is, and even before meeting him, you've gushed over his good looks.  

Still, you look upon him with genuine admiration and rapidly unfolding infatuation, you're exalting words tumbling freely from you without much thought. "You're just so... gorgeous, godlike, really."  

"As are you, bonnie. Cannae believe it." The look in his eyes is so real, so intense it makes your heart twinge, and leaves no room for you to doubt the sincerity of his words.

The two of you continue to stare into each other's eyes, enjoying the silent conversation that seems to pass between the two of you—the unspoken desire and adoration. 

"Are we just gonna spend the day staring at each other?" You giggle, breaking the moment when it becomes a little bit too intense for you.

"Wouldnae be such a bad thing." Johnny replies swiftly, ever so smoothly. 

Jonny the cat takes that moment to crawl off your lap, rubbing himself along Johnny as he all but demands pets from the man. Johnny indulges him instantly, large fingers scratching at that perfect point between the kitty's ears. Watching it shouldn't make you blush as much as it does.

"I think he likes you too." 

Johnny nods, a serious look on his face. "He knows we're chums."

"You must give really good head pats." You tease, wishing you could take the words back as soon as you said them. Was saying such a thing too much too soon? Was it too early to start to invoke elements of your potential future dynamic? 

Johnny meets your eye, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes turn mischievous. "Wanna find out?" 

"Of course." Your response is instant, breathless—already offering yourself up to the man before you. You quickly remember your manners. "Please."

Johnny lets the cat on his lap jump down before he turns his attention to you fully, his hand settling on top of your head as he gently, carefully caresses you. Your body is quickly overwhelmed with shivers, an electric sensation coursing through you as his fingers dip deeper into your hair, massaging at the back of your neck until your eyes start to slip shut from the sheer bliss. 

They shoot back open when his fingers dip the chain on your neck, tugging sharply enough to get your attention without putting any real force behind it.

He leans in as if to share a secret, his smirk wolfish as you continue to react so perfectly to his touch. "Nice choker, by the way, pet." 

"Wore it just for you." You whisper, words weak as you tremble with so much need for Johnny. 

He's pulling back, taking all his warmth with you, before he strokes through your hair one more time. "That's my girl."

You could burst into flames right now, or simply melt under the intensity of his gaze. Not even an hour into date one, and you can already feel how wet this man has made you, how much he makes your heart call out to him. Your body and soul burn with need, already wanting more of him in every way.

"Fuck." You sigh in frustration, burying your head into his shoulder to hide your aroused expression. "I hate that there's so many people around right now." 

"Feeling naughty?" He chuckles in such a knowing way, because he knows exactly what he's doing and how you feel about it. 

You meet his gaze, eyes desperate and pleading for mercy. "Johnny, I feel drunk and mindless already and you haven't even actually done anything." 

He moves one of your hands from your thigh to his, holding onto it for a moment. He won't offer you mercy, but he will at least let you see how you make him feel too. "Can I borrow your hand?" 

"Why?" You ask reflexively, before your thoughts catch up to you. Oh. Oh!" 

You allow him to move your hand further up his thigh until your fingers graze over the hardness in his jeans, and you have to stifle your gasp with your other hand.

"Why am letting the cats come to me insteada the other way around." He whispers, voice gravelly and strained. 

The feelings both his words and his body inspire in you are dangerous, causing you to act as you palm at his cock through his jeans, listening to the hitches in his breath as you begin to stroke and caress. He's rock solid, all before you even laid a hand on him, and it's addicting to you that he's clearly in just as deep as you are—that he sees all this as you do. 

His hand moves to grab at your wrist, warning but not painful. "Ach, quit it." He groans, now on the receiving end of such wonderful torture.

"You started it." You whine, taking the chance to grasp him one more time before you stop your teasing. "Johnny you're fucking huge." 

Already your head spins just contemplating it, but Johnny only adds to your delirium. 

"Wait until it's stuffin' yer little cunt full." He purrs, lips brushing against your skin as he does, and you have to resist the urge to moan aloud.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to pull away from Johnny as you slip out of the booth. "Okay, I need a breather, join me at the cat tree when you've... calmed down." 

His smile is devilish, as he watches you go, content to spectate from afar as you coo over the kittens until he can join you.

Your time at the café passes quicker than either of you would have liked, and when it's time for you to vacate your table, the server approaches once more with a bill for the teas and coffees you had enjoyed. 

"Will you be paying together or separately?" They ask, which causes you to glance at Johnny questioningly.

You'd already, in your mind, prepared yourself to offer one or both halves of the bill.

Johnny speaks before you can. "Together." He insists, reaching for his wallet and offering his card to the server—not allowing any room for argument. 

You stay silent until the transaction is complete and the two of you are alone again, before you decide to address it. "Johnny... I would've paid." 

He shakes his head, flipping his wallet shut as he slips it into his back pocket. "Don't be ridiculous." 

You open your mouth to offer further protest, but his brows quirks as he almost challenges you to say another word.

Accepting defeat, you smile graciously and sincerely. "Thank you."

"My ma would pitch a fit if she found out I let yer pay." He continues to wave it off like it's nothing. "Let me spoil yer, aye? You'll hafta get used to it anyway. Okay, kitty?" 

You're not sure if it's the idea of him spoiling you or the nickname that makes you shiver the most, but the combination of both makes your head spin.

"I better start thinking of ways to repay you." You joke, throwing him a flirtatious wink as your hand snakes under his jacket to stroke at his chest. 

Johnny pulls back, face flashing with a realisation and a bright grin. "Oh, before I forget." 

You watch him, just a touch confused, as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, patterned paper bag—he hands it straight to you. "Got yer a little somethin'" 

"Johnny..." You groan playfully, having not expected a gift, or having brought anything for him either. 

"It's nothin', promise." He smiles, encouraging you to open it. 

You peel open the paper bag to find a handmade, woven bracelet inside—one you've seen in countless stalls across your life, but the sight doesn't fail to make your heart sing.

"Oh my god, a friendship bracelet?" Your delighted gasp is genuine, as you feel touched by the gesture. 

"Needed to buy something at a souvenir shop. Y'know blend in, look like a tourist." He shrugs casually. "Thought of you." 

"I love it, thank you." You clutch it to your chest, genuinely so pleased. "Did you get yourself one?" 

"No?" Johnny plucks the bracelet from you, as he takes hold of your wrist and gets to tying the threads together. 

You pout, half joking and half serious, as you realise you won't be matching. "Wow, guess we're not friends then." 

"Puppy." His tone is warning and serious, drawing your attention to him so obediently. 

You swallow, nerves flooding through you. "Yeah?" 

His eyes never waver from yours, the sincerity within making you tremble. "The things I'll do to yer, friends don't do tae each other, yeah?" His low tone and the lack of a playful smile make you clench. 

"Understood." You nod dumbly, too awestruck and aroused to give him a real response. 

"Good girl." He grins, patting your wrist with the bracelet now attached. "Ready to go?" 

"Yeah..." 

He takes your hand in his once more, leading you back to the entrance to collect your shoes before you make it back onto the street. All the while, you turn his words over in your head, desperately holding on to the soaring feeling in your chest and the pit of arousal deep inside you. The effect he has on you is downright vicious.

"Where to now?" He asks, waiting for you to lead him around the city. 

The cooler air of the street helps calm you down, as you steer your thoughts back to more appropriate things. 

"I was thinking we could just walk around, window-shop. Maybe grab some dinner? When have I got you til?" 

"Last train is at 9." 

You sigh wistfully, already dreading the moment he has to feel. "Doesn't feel like long enough." 

"You'll be sick of me by then, lass." He chuckles, his smile still making you feel as full as it did the first time you saw it. 

"Not if you're sick of me first."

The two of you take in the city streets hand in hand for a little while, wandering around the shops and chatting about anything and everything. The conversation comes just as easy as it always does, and before long the two of you head for something to eat and drink at a nearby pub.

The atmosphere is cosy as the two of you tuck yourselves away at a table in the corner, order your food and drinks and get to chatting once more. You've already teased Johnny for ordering another coffee along with his meal, while he needled you for ordering several side dishes instead of a main. 

Both of you are excited to tuck in when the food arrives, and your conversation turns to getting to know more about the other. 

"So, what can you tell me about work?" You ask, finally feeling brave enough to broach the subject. Johnny's work will come with a lot of complications, you already know that, and one of them is likely that he will have to be careful about the things he shares. That doesn't stop your curiosity, though. 

"What d'ya wanna know?" He responds, open and earnest, as he dips a chip into his sauce.

You think for a moment, trying to conjure up your most pertinent questions. "Who do you work with?" 

Johnny swallows his food before wiping his hands on his napkin and pulling out his fun. He turns it to you when he brings up a photo, zoomed in on an older man in tactical gear.

"Well, first there's the Captain, Price. Best captain we could ask for." He comments, looking to you for your response.

Something in the Captain's eyes tells you he's dependable, and you can hear the respect he holds from Johnny's voice. 

"Interesting facial hair." You giggle, referencing the grown-out mutton chops that surprisingly suit him.

Johnny laughs, nodding in agreement. "Oh aye, a right character he is." He swipes along the photo to another man, much younger but tall too.

His smile is the first thing you notice, so bright and earnest, and with perfect teeth. 

"Gaz, Kyle. We're always getting into shit together." He adds with a mischievous chuckle. "Good lad though."  

"He looks nice." You offer, before scrolling across the image yourself. 

The next man in line is the tallest and broadest, his face hidden behind a skull mask that you find strangely endearing. "Ooh, cool mask." 

"That's Ghost." Johnny whispers, his voice more sombre than before.

The lack of a real name combined with the mask confuses you. "Just Ghost?" You ask. 

"Aye, unless he tells you otherwise. Scary motherfucker, loves a good dad joke though." Johnny humanises him, and the fondness within his voice doesn't escape you. 

All in all, you're left with more questions than answers, but you already feel privileged that Johnny has shared this much with you. Still, there's something pressing on your mind. "Everyone gets a nickname, what's yours?" 

"Soap." He answers firmly, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Soap? Why?" You can't say you're familiar with military nicknames, but Soap certainly seems like a strange one. 

"Am good at cleaning house." There's something underlying his playful tone that you can't quite put your finger on, something hinting at the inevitable darkness underneath. 

Johnny pushes past it like it never happened, turning the attention back on you. "How's your work, anyway?"

"Boring, though I imagine every job is compared to yours." You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you try to conjure up anything interesting about your career. "I work at my PC all day and the highlight is office gossip, which is often about one or two messy people fucking everyone in the building." 

"Like reality TV, but you live it?" He smirks, already seeming amused by the inevitable stories he'll get to hear. It seems Johnny might be a little bit of a gossip. 

"Yes, exactly!" You giggle, finding his intrigue endearing. "So I live in reality TV and you live in one of those gritty military shows." 

"Pretty much." He clicks his tongue, turning to take a sip of his own drink as his eyes glaze over again. 

You dread to think of all the things he's seen—witnessing them on TV is already too much for you, never mind seeing them for real. 

"... It must be tough." You offer earnestly, unsure of what else to say. 

"Sometimes, it's no' so bad, really." He shrugs, a tight smile on his lips. "I'd rather not talk about it while I'm with yer, not now anyway. That okay?" 

The softness in his eyes fuels the guilt gripping at your chest—you never meant to pry or make him uncomfortable, only to offer yourself up as a safe space. "Yeah, I'm sorry." 

"Nothing to apologise for. You'll have plenty of time to get to know that part of me, tha's all." He gives you a smile, a more earnest one this time, as he refuses to let either of you settle in a solemn moment. Instead, he redirects to the idea of you spending time together in the future. 

"Oh, I will?" You ask, voice hopeful—any negative emotions swirling away as Johnny reaches out to stroke your hand.

"Already planning our second date in ma head." He winks cheekily, that gorgeous smile back on his face in full effect. 

You settle back into your meal with a contented warmth spreading through you, feeling like there's nowhere else you'd rather be than by Johnny's side.

When you make it to the train station hours later, your heart starts to sink as you get closer and closer to your goodbye. The sun is only just beginning to dip into the sky, but the train schedule demands Johnny's return to Hereford. 

The two of you stand before the departure boards, savouring your last moments together as you hold each other close.

"How are yer getting home?" Johnny asks, ever the gentleman. 

You don't look him in the eye as you speak words you know he isn't going to enjoy hearing, in fact, you all but hide in his chest as you mumble. "I was planning on walking." 

He stiffens, pulling away slightly. "I'll order an uber." His words are laced with a protectiveness—and whether it's his instincts as a man, a soldier, or a dom you're not sure. Likely, it's a combination of all, making him determined to get you home safe and sound. 

You already know better than to argue with him on this. "I can order my own uber." 

His eyes soften, clearly relaxing upon hearing you relent so easily. "Promise?" 

You nod. "I swear, I will." 

You cuddle back into his chest again, the two of you clinging to each other. With your ear pressed against him, you can hear the steady rhythm of Johnny's heart, and you focus on it beating as you absorb every last moment with him. 

That moment is interrupted by the station announcement, informing you that the next train to depart will be his. 

"I better get going." He loosens his grip on you but still holds your arms as he stares down at you adoringly. 

"Don't want you to." You admit, voice a little forlorn. It already hurts to let him go, especially since you don't know when you'll see each other again. Johnny could be deployed again at any moment, and after making all of this real, the thought seems paralysing.

"I don't want to either, but I'll see yer soon." He whispers soothingly, a hand stroking across your cheek as the promise falls from his lips. 

You force yourself to smile, to feel strong in the face of your separation. Something within you urges you to put on a brave face, to show Johnny that you can be resolute for him. "We'll have to think more on a cool date number two idea." 

"We will." He nods, fingers still stroking oh so delicately across your cheek, as his eyes flicker down to your lips. "Bonnie?" 

"Yeah?" Your response is barely audible, your breath stolen as you know what's coming next, and you crave it so desperately. 

"Gonna kiss yer now, if tha's alright."

"Please." 

Johnny closes the final inches as he presses his lips to yours—soft and gentle at first as his hand cups your cheek, before the other comes to grasp at you too, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. Your body floods with euphoria, desire, peace—as you kiss back with everything you have and pour all of yourself into him. 

The two of you are lost in each other, all grasping hands and lips caressing lips—two hearts opening up to each other. 

Johnny is the only one of you with enough restraint to pull away, settling his forehead against yours as he smiles unreservedly—his eyes shining with delight. "Fuckin' Christ." 

You push against his chest, putting some distance between you as you giggle. "You better go before we commit acts of public indecency." 

"Aye." He nods, yet he tucks a finger under your chin to angle your mouth up at him. "One more?" 

You nod enthusiastically before diving back in, savouring his lips on yours—the taste of coffee, the softness contrasted with his stubble, the hint of a groan that rumbles through him. 

"Okay." He sighs, forcing himself to step away, even if your hands remain linked. "Message me when you get home, yeah?" 

"I'll be texting you the second you leave, sorry." 

"Oh, I was planning on doing the same, dinnae worry." He winks.

Reluctantly, you let him go—instantly feeling a little more lost without him at your side. 

"See you soon, Johnny." You call out, smile soft as he makes his way over to the ticket gate. 

"Not if I see yer first, sweetheart." He calls back, then turns his attention away to scan his ticket at the barrier. 

On the other side, he catches your eye once more, offering you a tiny, playful salute before he turns to make his way to his train. 

You're left in a weird state between euphoria and emptiness—feeling like you have everything and nothing at the same time. Johnny was everything you could've wanted and more, and you're already counting down the days until you can see him again. 

You watch until his silhouette disappears, and turn your attention to your phone to get to ordering that uber you promised him you'd take. When you unlock your phone, a message from Johnny is waiting for you. 

Miss you already, my pretty kitty <3

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 26: Thereafter

Start From Beginning | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1k AN: This is more of an epilogue of sorts. There's not a lot of dialogue, but it does kind of wrap everything up. I really have enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have enjoyed it as well :) thanks for a fun time and a great ride. I could say 5,000 more things about this fic and how much I love you for supporting it, but let's finish this up :)

It had taken Ace a few days to make the house liveable, but plenty of people had opened their homes for you to stay in while you all finished the essential repairs. They never made you feel like a burden, and even though you tried to keep to yourselves, they were eager to get to know you.

You had expected to pay for all the tools you needed, but the townsfolk on this island were kind and generous. Several families had lent Ace tools, and some had even come by to offer their help. Even though you were on a hill outside of town, people dropped in throughout the day, bringing baked goods or hand-sewn linens as welcoming gifts. 

So much for privacy. You had more of it in your shared bunkhouse on the Moby Dick. 

But you didn’t find yourself irritated by the townspeople’s check-ins. While most of them asked basic questions about your past and eyed Ace’s scarred back, they never pried. And even better, they always seemed to know when it was time to leave. 

After a few weeks, you had fallen into a strange pattern of familiarity. Even as your belly grew bigger, you tried your best to help Ace as much as you could every day. In the morning, you would get up and make him coffee. He would always scold you, claiming that you were the one who was supposed to be pampered right now, but he continued to allow you to do it for now. 

You all would eat a quick breakfast, and then begin to work on house improvements. The morning was the best time to work, since it was still cool out. The two of you patched up holes in the walls and began to decorate the inside of your little two-bedroom cabin. The projects never seemed to end.

And every morning while you worked, Mr. Cheddle would deliver a newspaper, and you would invite him in for breakfast. If he declined, you would send him some kind of snack to thank him for bringing the paper up the hill. You knew he didn’t mind, but you still felt obligated to send him away with something. 

You’d leave Ace to go make lunch, and usually find some variety of baked goods on the counter from someone welcoming you to the town. You often found yourself wondering if people would ever stop sending you things, or if you would become someone who baked for your neighbors just for the hell of it. 

At lunch, you would read the paper and update Ace on anything interesting. Afterwards, the two of you would typically walk to town together to find something to do. Some days you would shop, others you would go your separate ways. Whether it was tea with Arabelle, or a walk in the park with Crilly and her three dogs, or even sitting at Sellie-Tien’s shop and catching up on gossip, you always found something to do. 

And as the sun set, you and Ace would walk back up the hill, talking of your time spent apart, and even stopping to chat with others along the road. 

What a strange life you were living. How mundane it all was. And yet…perfect. 

On one particular day it had been too hot for you to work, even in the morning. And with nothing to do, you decided to read the News Coo early. You kept your eyes peeled for any words of Luffy, but there had been no news of him since his stunt at Marineford. 

However, today there was far more interesting news on the front page. One you had been waiting for. 

One about Portgas D. Ace.

“You’re dead!” You cheered, holding up the News Coo to show Ace. 

Ace dropped his tools and ran over to you, reading it over quickly. 

“They made a grave for me and everything,” he said. “Impressive.” 

“It helps that they took your hat,” you mentioned. He pouted at the thought. 

“I’m gonna miss that hat.” He handed the paper back to you. “What about you?”

“Still nothing.” You read through the article once again just to make sure you hadn’t skipped anything. “I doubt they’ll officially say I’m dead.”

“Really?” Ace asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because they reported it wrong once,” you admitted, setting the paper down. “They can’t do that again. Can you imagine the embarrassment?”

“But they won’t bother us here.” Ace looked out over the ocean. “They don’t have jurisdiction.”

“That’s why Marco chose it for us,” you said. “It’s quiet. Out of the way. Nobody will bother us. It’s perfect.”

“Seems like a more than fair trade off,” Ace said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“We finally get to have our happily ever after.”

Ace smiled at you, kissing your cheek. “And I can’t wait to spend it with you. Our perfect little family.”

---

Sengoku stared long and hard at a small piece of paper with little hearts doodled all over. Against everything that he knew and had been told, the card sat between his fingers in perfect condition. 

Garp walked into the room, full of drive and purpose. “Listen Sengoku, I need to tell you something. I-“

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to retire. But before you turn in that resignation letter, I want to give you something.”

Sengoku handed off the piece of paper covered with hearts. “Do with this what you will. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never seen it.”

Garp examined it, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name written across it in perfect cursive. Ace. 

“Where did you get this?”

“We took it off Portgas D. Ace when he arrived at Impel Down.  We thought it belonged to him, but that must not be the case, since he’s dead now.”

Garp held the card in his hand carefully. The paper slowly inched away from him. “So who’s it belong to then?”

“Probably nobody,” Sengoku shrugged. “I’m about to retire myself, and that little scrap of paper seems like a lot of paperwork and a lot of personal investigation. I just don’t have it in me. Especially for some pirate who we all saw die. Take it off my hands for me. Do something with it, just don’t tell me what. As a favor.”

“Yes sir,” Garp said, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“No Garp,” Sengoku said. “Thank you.”

--

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598  @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi  @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep  @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

[captaindysdexic]

My problem with Twisted Wonderland

As someone who used to consistently play every single day for months, I've got a lot of issues. Let me preface this by saying I know nothing I'm saying will change the game and how it runs, I just want to come here and rant about the game I used to love.

Rant below the cut

My biggest problem is how grindy the game is, especially as a strict f2p player.

As someone who's never spent money on the game, it is so easy to tell how much of a cash grab the game is. The people that work on the game care about it I'm sure, but it is so hard to do anything in this game.

It's hard to get SSR cards, not only because the Gacha system is hella fucked up, but because it's hard to get enough gems to get pulls. Yeah we've got weekly and the logins, but that's so not enough unless you save for a card months in advance.

When you're a new player they give you some leeway, lots of free stuff because all the easy missions are meant for that, but as you get further and further into the game it's extremely hard to get even a 10 pull unless you're on the game basically 24/7.

As someone who is rank 72- and again, played almost religiously for months- it's hard to enjoy the game.

And I know as the story goes on it's meant to be harder, but because of how little they give you it's hard to get past the story as it goes on. It's hard leveling cards up, especially the spells.

It would be nicer if they gave you more materials or gems, that would make all the grind worth it, but that's not how it is. Hell, even events barely give you any pulls and yet they expect you to spend hours doing lessons to unlock the chapters and leveling up the free cards. Someone who's f2p (in my and my friends experience) will find it hard to get motivation to continue playing.

I want to continue playing, I love the characters and the story, but it's so hard to level up cards, or get pulls, that it breaks my heart and makes me want to not continue because I know I won't ever get that card I want, that I won't be able to get past this chapter, that I won't be able to finish an event fully because of the system.

It's so obvious they don't care about f2p's because reruns and even some event banners are strictly p2p things. Rerun banners require special keys that are pay-walled, event banners like the anime expo ones or special non-event related ones are pay-walled, THEY'RE ALL PAY-WALLED.

To me it is extremely frustrating to know that the developers don't seem to care about the fan base at all.

I mentioned earlier about the Gacha system, which I find really, REALLY dumb. 100 pulls for a guaranteed SSR? 200 needed for the event SSR? That's so dumb! Even if you were p2p you'd have to have some extreme luck to get an event card before at least 70 (which it's hard to get if you're far in game and f2p). In my experience, all the event cards I have that are SSR's (WHICH IS 2 BTW, ive been playing since idia's groom event and only have TWO EVENT CARDS EVEN WITH CONSTANT GRIND) I had to do over 70-80 pulls for and spent weeks grinding for. Not to mention pity doesn't carry over to other banners.

Speaking of events, I swear to god the events are getting shorter and shorter every time. The Stitch event that just passed? I swear it only lasted 3-4 weeks, banners ended way too quickly for any f2p that wasn't saving to pull without extreme luck to get any SSR card, got forbid the event exclusive ones. I got like 25 pulls during that event and 10 of those were because it was Kalim's birthday. It's extremely dumb and next thing you know it events will be lasting only a week or two and you're probably fucked over.

Anyways, that's basically all I have to say. There are a lot of things that frustrate me, like how they do events and some characters stuff, but I can't bother to put it here because I'm not as pressed about that stuff as I am about the stuff I did talk about.

I'm aware that people probably won't read this, but it's nice to get off my chest y'know? I'm going to continue to play the game, but I'll never play as constantly as I did when I first started because it's so hard to play and find motivation for it anymore.

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

[clip-the-simp]

Not Much Else [Pt.2]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,233

Warnings: burning, cannibalism, canon typical violence, swearing, slight angst, unwanted touch (not from The Ghoul), (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, eventual smut (if I can get the balls to write it), reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: This is part 2 to the cringy ass shit I call a fanfic. Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The pair of you had been traveling for two days by the time you caught wind of the target's whereabouts. After stopping at several towns to get supplies and information, you had been pointed east, away from the coast. He was trying to get over the mountains, or what remained of them, in order to get as far out of town as possible.

Once knowing this, The Ghoul and yourself continued on. Not much had been said in the two days of traveling together. You didn’t take The Ghoul for much of a talker so you kept your thoughts to yourself in hopes of not disturbing his peace. Most of your time was spent pondering over that feeling that continued to linger.

The familiarity from before continued to pluck at your thoughts the more you took in The Ghoul’s demeanor. Surely he couldn’t be someone from your past. There was no way someone could live over a hundred years, but maybe there was. With some of the other people and creatures you had encountered, maybe there was a possibility. This world was odd like that, and you had heard that The Ghoul was a lot older than most. So just maybe he was someone you truly recognize, however the wasteland changes people. Let alone someone who had been doing this for over a century.

So one night after you had settled at the ruins of a worn gas station and started to fix a meal, you decided to pry. It was a difficult situation. You couldn't be too blunt or he would quickly shut you down. However you couldn't tiptoe too much or he would get agitated and again shut you down.

Having managed to haggle some ingredients off someone at the market in the last town you were in, it could make for a good bargaining point with The Ghoul. Perhaps if you gave him a good meal he would loosen up a bet to talk. You had been contemplating the proper way to ask your questions the whole time you sat over the pot of stew. So when the food was done, you spooned out a bowl full of the stew for The Ghoul and waited a moment before to ask your questions.

“So, how long have you been wastelanding?” You started, making a bowl for yourself and blowing on it lightly to cool it off. The Ghoul was already a few bites in before dividing to take the chance of prying for information, and when you did he stopped momentarily to stare at you. His shoulders straightened as the bowl in his hands lowered to his lap.

“Why y’asking?” He asked bluntly as his expression stayed stone cold. The blood in your veins felt cooler than before as your gaze left his to reside on the bowl in your hands.

“I-” You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to scare him off. However, you could feel The Ghoul’s gaze burning into you as you searched for an answer. Against your better judgment, you decided to be upfront.

“I just have this feeling that I know you is all. Maybe that’s why I wanted to follow you in the first place.” Your eyes rose to meet The Ghoul’s once again only to find his expression to no longer be cold but instead a bit sorrowful. However that moment was brief as he asked you another question.

“What makes y’think that?” His voice was not as harsh as it usually was. It was as if he was trying to remember, just as you were, who you could’ve been to him in a past life. That sudden change in him sent a pinged of pain through your heart. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for making him recall the old life he once had.

“Your demeanor just reminds me of a man I once knew.” You said. Setting your bowl to the side, you remove the goggles from your eyes only now realizing they still lingered on your face even after the sun had fallen. Your gaze lingered on them for a while before you began to speak again.

“He was popular in western films back in the day and I had the pleasure of Co-starring in a few films with him. He was a good man which wasn’t too surprising.” You chuckled to yourself as you remember the time you had tripped over the bottom of the costume dress you were wearing on set. Cooper Howard had caught you mid fall and the two of you joked about it a bet after.

“It’s funny now that I think about it. If I placed you two side by side there wouldn't actually be much that y’all have in common. Maybe the cowboy physique but that's about it.” When you looked back up, The Ghoul’s gaze was trained on you. It was full of mixed emotions that were balancing sadness and anger. Guilt settled itself low in your chest as you realized perhaps you had gone too far. Picking your bowl up, you quickly raised it to your lips and started to drink some of it. Hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“I’ve been doing this shit for over 100 years. The waste land changes people.” The Ghoul finally answered your question. His voice was still angry but the somber undertone didn't go unnoticed. As the two of you continued to sit in silence, the man sitting across from you, past the fire, spoke.

“I’ll take first watch.” The Ghoul grumbled as he finished his soup and went to spoon the last of the stew into his bowl. A worry he was going to leave in your sleep crossed your mind and as you began to voice your concern he spoke before you.

“I’m not gonna leave y’stranded. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. So sleep.” The Ghoul growled the last bet which caught you off guard but definitely got the point across. You leaned against a rusted gas pump while pulling your wings over your arms and partially over your legs. It never took you long to fall asleep, but the guilt from hurting your traveling companion lingered. You wanted to make it right but reasoned you could mend things while traveling again tomorrow.

An abrupt crash caused you to wake up with a start, but before you could get your bearings, there was a heavy weight on you that hadn't been there before. It had you pinned to the ground as your senses came back to you and you realized it was a raider. The fire was still blazing which allowed you to see the man on top of you clearly. He was barking orders to his group which you weren’t coherent enough to make out.

“Get off me!” You shouted as you squirmed to fight against the man’s hold on you, the ground digging into your back. Your pulse pounding in your ears as panic washed over you. How had they gotten the jump on us? Your eyes frantically looked for The Ghoul only to see him lying face down in the sand. It was far too dark and you were in far too much of a panic to focus on if he was breathing or not.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?” The raider leader said as he leaned down and ran his tongue up the side of your neck to your ear. At that moment instinct kicked in as you turned your head and bit down into the raider’s cheek when he was pulling away. Your teeth, having been abnormally sharp canines, beat through the flesh with ease and left a large hole in his face. The chunk of meat was left in your mouth as he jerked back in pain and held his face.

Taking that opportunity you got out from under the man but quickly yanked him up as you went to promptly throw him in the fire. His screams as he hit the flames alerted his group who quickly pulled out their weapons to attack. The fire was being smothered by the man writhing in it which put your opponents at a disadvantage. You spat out the flesh that remained in your mouth and beard your teeth, now stained with blood. Most of the raiders carried knives and close ranged weapons which only put them at an even greater disadvantage, as long as you stayed out of range.

You pulled out the pistol holstered at your thigh as you aimed and fired the first round. The bullet landed square in the chest of the raider closest to where The Ghoul laid motionless. As the body fell the other two charged in your direction which you quickly ducked away from and led them out from under the gas station canopy. They quickly followed suit as they chased after you. Not wanting to take a chance of them ripping your wings you stayed nimble on your feet.

Firing off another two rounds, one landed in the thigh of the farthest while the second lodged in the shoulder of the other. They continued to come after you which led to the last fatal two shots fired, but not before the one closest to you managed to swipe his blade across your forearm and leave a trail of blood running down your arm.

You quickly applied pressure to the wound as the bodies fell and you ran over to The Ghoul’s side. The man in the fire was no longer a threat and was burned bloody. Examining The Ghoul you realized he was still alive, but saw a bruise beginning to form on the back of his head. The raiders must’ve been hiding out and waiting.

What had The Ghoul so distracted he didn’t see them? You thought to yourself as you sat up. Rummaging through your bag you looked for your med kit to wrap your arm. It was going to be hard to bandage the arm with only one hand to work with but you would make do.

The Ghoul had been out for the rest of the night which worried you as you kept watch for him to recover. However, when morning arrived he came too and in a bet of a panic at that. His weapon was immediately in his hand as he waved it around looking for the raiders. You had already taken care of the bodies and harvested whatever meat you could manage off of them along with any supplies they could’ve had.

“What happened?” The Ghoul demanded as he leaned back on the wall behind him. You had flipped him over while he was sleeping so he wouldn't be lying face down in the dirt all night. His demeanor and frantic actions had startled you a bet so had your hands raised in defense.

“Raiders must’ve been camping out and ambushed us in the middle of the night. I took care of them.” You lowered your hands as he returned his gun to its holster and rubbed the back of his head. Slowly, you brought forward a makeshift bag filled with the remains of the raiders. You took it upon yourself to dry out the meat last night as you kept watch, not wanting to fall back asleep by accident. The Ghoul raised an eyebrow as his gaze moved from the bag, to you, then to your bandaged forearm.

“I figured if you don’t want it, someone in the next town will.” You explained as realization slipped into The Ghoul’s expression. Tossing it over to him, he looked in the bag to find what he was expecting.

“Well look at that. Looks like y’have more uses than y’let on.” His voice was teasing as he wrapped the meat backup and found a place for him to carry it. The Ghoul stood as he checked his belongings. Soon after, stretching to relieve the ache in his body from being shuffled around while unconscious.

“I got a lot of talents if you’re looking to test my limits.” You chuckled lightly as you stood up from your spot near the burnt out fire. Gathering your belongings, you quickly stretched your wings before tucking them back under your jacket. Your eye’s met with The Ghoul’s which caused you to startle as you saw the expression it held. It wasn’t something you had seen on him before, but it looked almost hungry as he smirked at you.

He began to walk closer to you leading to you stepping back into the gas pump you had been sleeping on. Your eyes rose to hold The Ghoul’s stair as he leaned forward to your ear. Worry settled into your veins as you wondered if he could hear the pounding in your heart against your rib cage.

“Maybe I should, darlin.” He whispered before turning away and beginning to trek into the wasteland. A deep red plagued your face as you tried to get your bearings. Why did he do that? Was he trying to rile you up? No he couldn’t have been. Could he?

“Come on now! Don’t make me wait on y’.” You heard The Ghoul shout over his shoulder as you realized he was already far ahead of you. Quickly gathering your composure, and throwing your goggles over your eyes, you ran after him to catch up.

[sebflix]

Arabesque; sebastian sallow | pt2 (m)

pairing: sebastian sallow x ballet!reader(f)

genre: strangers (to friends) to lovers

warnings: all characters are 18+! smut!: masturbation(m)!, oral sex (f receiving)!, fingering!, kissing!, back scratching!, begging!, slight dirty talk! hurt & comfort, deep convos about their traumas, needy seb

word count: 4.8k

chapter synopsis: As you and Sebastian get closer, whispers and subtle glances begin to follow you both around about your new friendship. After having a heartfelt conversation about your pasts, you both realised that perhaps you were more alike than either of you had initially thought. The tension between you both is undeniable now and Sebastian, deeply aware of his growing affection for you, is determined to show you just how much he cares about you.

other notes: finally some action for you all! very one-sided smut in this chapter, but chapter 3 will have more juicy content ;)

links: ao3, masterlist

[read on ao3]

01 | 02 | 03

After that night in the Room of Requirement, you and Sebastian had grown very close. From him showing you around Hogsmeade to you sneaking into the Restricted Section to help him find a cure for Anne’s sickness, you spent a lot of time together. He even covered for you when Peeves caught you both, deepening your trust in him. Other students had noticed too, whispering and gossiping whenever you were seen together. Even Natsai had questioned you about what was going on.

"I've heard some interesting things," she began, leaning casually against the wall. "People are talking about you and Sebastian."

You sighed, trying to sound nonchalant. "Oh? What are they saying this time?"

"That you two are always together. Some even say you're... more than friends."

You laughed it off, shaking your head. "That's ridiculous. He's just been showing me around and helping me get settled here, that's all."

Natsai looked unconvinced. "So, all those times I've seen you two talking and laughing together, that's just friendly behaviour?"

You felt your cheeks flush. "Yes. It's not what people think."

She smirked, crossing her arms. "And what about the way he looks at you? I've seen it, you know."

Flashbacks wash over you, recalling the countless moments you'd shared with Sebastian. You remembered the intense way his eyes locked with yours the night you caught him sneaking in. The way your fingers would brush against his when passing ingredients in Potions class, each touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. And then there was his cologne, a scent that lingered in the air whenever you stood a little too close to him. These moments played over in your mind, making your heart race and your cheeks flush.

You hesitated, trying to hide your flustered expression. "He looks at me like a friend. Nothing more."

Natsai's expression softened. "You know, it's okay if you like him. He's a good guy, despite what I said the other day."

You glanced away, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. "It's not like that, Natsai. We're just friends."

You and Sebastian were back in the Room of Requirement. He was seated on the couch, engrossed in a book he ‘borrowed’ from the Restricted Section, while you sat on the floor, lacing up your ballet shoes. Over the past few weeks, your trust in him had significantly deepened. Aware that Sebastian didn't want to alarm Ominis with all these secretive books, you agreed to let him use the room.

Sebastian suddenly let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the book shut. "This is useless," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

You look up, concern etching your features. "What's wrong?"

"These books... they’re supposed to help me find a way to help Anne get better, but so far, it’s just been dead ends and cryptic nonsense," he said, his voice tinged with desperation.

You got up and sat beside him on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Sebastian," you started gently, "how is Anne doing?"

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed on the book in his hands, tracing the ancient runes etched into the leather cover.

"She's... not well,"

His brows furrowed in deep thought, lips pressed into a tight line as he wrestled with the weight of his words. You could see the turmoil etched on his face, the conflict between wanting to confide in you and the fear of burdening you with his family's troubles.

"I... I haven't told anyone else about this," he admitted at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "Only Ominis knows. It's just... it's complicated."

You nodded silently, sensing his hesitation.

Sebastian took a deep breath, steeling himself before continuing. "Anne... she's my twin sister. We've always been close, you know? But since she got... cursed, everything's changed. She's not the same anymore. It's like... like a darkness has taken hold of her."

He then tells you everything. How Rookwood, Ranrok and Ranrok’s loyalists raided Feldcroft and a goblin cursed Anne after she rushed to help the villagers. How after the raid, she was in constant agony and was sent to St Mungo’s, but nothing helped.

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable. You could feel his pain as if it were your own, the anguish of watching a loved one suffer without knowing how to help.

"I've been researching everything I can," Sebastian went on, his eyes filling with frustrated tears. "Trying to find a way to break the curse. These books," he gestured towards the stack on the table beside him, "they're my only lead, and...,"

He pauses before he continues.

"I’ve been practising the Dark Arts." He whispers.

Your hand froze on his shoulder, a mixture of shock and concern spreading through you. "The Dark Arts?" you echoed softly, trying to process the weight of his words.

"It’s the only option now. I’m desperate."

You withdrew your hand slowly, processing the weight of Sebastian's confession. The air thickened with uncertainty and the weight of his burden.

Despite the unease creeping into your thoughts, you couldn't ignore the anguish etched on his face, the desperation in his eyes that spoke volumes about the depth of his struggle.

"I had no idea," you finally whisper, your voice tinged with concern. "Sebastian, this is... it's dangerous. Are you sure about this?"

"I don't have a choice," He looks at you with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

"I can't just stand by and watch Anne suffer."

Your heart aches for him, torn between the fear of what he was dabbling in and the empathy you feel for his plight. "Is there anything I can do to help?" you ask softly, your voice filled with genuine concern.

Sebastian hesitates, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Maybe, I... I don't know," he confesses, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his burden. "But just knowing you're here, that I can talk to you... it means more than you know."

You nod slowly, your mind racing with questions and worries. "I'm here for you, Sebastian," you reassure him quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your thoughts. "Whatever you need, whatever happens... we'll figure it out together."

He meets your gaze gratefully, a flicker of relief crossing his features, his eyes still glazed with tears. "Thank you," he whispered sincerely. "I... I appreciate that more than words can say."

Sebastian's gaze softens as he continues, "You should keep practising. I'm sorry for interrupting you."

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, the tension in the room easing slightly. You finish tying the ribbons and stand up, ready to resume your routine. "It's okay," you reassure him with a smile, "I can always use a break from pirouettes."

Sebastian returned your smile, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Fair enough," he replies, a touch of warmth in his voice. "Go on, I'll be right here."

You moved to the centre of the room. “Ludere musica.” You use the music charm on your violin and piano in the corner. As you begin to move, the strains of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake fill the air.

Sebastian watches quietly from the couch, his earlier concerns momentarily forgotten as he witnesses the grace and beauty that radiates from you.

As he observes you, a whirl of thoughts races through his mind. The weight of his sister's condition still heavy on his heart, he couldn't help but find solace in the serenity of this moment with you. Your support, your understanding — it means more to him than he could express. And yet, beneath the surface of their growing connection lay a lingering tension from their conversation the first time he was in this room.

The charged tension that crackled between them that day left him exhilarated. The way you had looked at him with your mesmerising eyes, the softness in your voice as you bid him goodnight.

Oh, how he wished he hadn't left after that. How he wished he had gathered the courage to reach out, to gently cup your cheek in his hand and taste the softness of your lips against his own. The desire to stay, to linger in your presence, had been almost unbearable. But he had to be a gentleman, to respect your boundaries.

So, instead, he ran to the nearest bathroom, unbuckled his belt, and released his unholy thoughts about you using his hand.

He leaned against the cold, tiled wall, his breath shallow and uneven. The image of you, your eyes, your lips... it was seared into his mind, the desire for you almost driving him mad. He took his already half hard cock in his hand and started stroking quickly. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, the bathroom stall vanished, replaced by the sight of you underneath him.

He imagined the sight of you on your knees, your rosy, pink lips wide open, taking him into your mouth so well. Your hair was a mess as he gripped it, fucking your throat deeply. The sound of your moans muffled as you choke around him. And your eyes – those eyes will be the death of him. Your tear-filled eyes, fixed on him as he stares down at you, mouth full of his cock.

A soft, sudden gust of air rushed from his lips as he began to speed up, growing closer to his high. He pressed his left hand against the bathroom wall, a feeble attempt to keep himself steady and upright.

He shouldn’t have said goodnight.

He should have grabbed you by the waist and pushed you down on the sofa. He should have kissed down your body, from your neck, between the curve of your breasts, to the inside of your soft thigh until you begged him for more. He should have slipped his fingers inside your tights and pressed against your clit, rubbing in slow circles until your legs twitched in pleasure. He should have tasted you with his tongue, devoured you until he tasted your sweet release.

"Fuck..." He stroked himself one last time as he came at the thought of you, releasing all over his fingers. The euphoric wave rode out for a moment. He let out a breath and looked at the mess he made. He suddenly felt dirty, knowing that he was going to see you around Hogwarts after this.

So he plays it cool, acting as a guide to show you around the school and helping you in class, all the while trying to suppress the aroused energy that surges within him. He tries very hard to focus on his classes, but his eyes always shift back to you, studying the curves of your body and how your hair falls playfully around your face.

There are times when he has to suddenly excuse himself or leave class swiftly when he finds himself with a tightness under his trousers, running to the nearest safe place so he can rub one out while you haunt his thoughts.

And here you were now, in front of him as you close your eyes and effortlessly glide across the floor, oblivious of what his mind thinks of you. He admires the lines of your silhouette, the way your curvy frame fits into your ballet ensemble. The gentle curve of your neck, the bend of your back as you arch gracefully and the strong muscle of your thighs peaking underneath the tutu. He wonders what they would look like on his shoulders when he fucks you deep.

"ARGHH!"

Sebastian snaps out of his daydreaming, his gaze immediately drawn to you. You had lost your balance, stumbling slightly before falling to the floor with a soft thud. Concern washes over him as he hurriedly rises from the couch and crosses the room to your side.

"Merlin! Are you okay?" he asks, kneeling beside you and gently offering a hand to help you up.

You wince slightly, rubbing your ankle where you had landed. "I'm fine," you reply with a sheepish smile, though the slight tremor in your voice betray your discomfort.

You take his hand and stand up again, ignoring the spark you just felt from the contact. You try to balance on your foot, but it gives way, and you nearly end up falling again. Luckily, he grabs your arms before you meet the floor. He suddenly lifts you into his arms, carrying you bridal style to the couch. You gasp quietly at the suddenness, internally praying that he didn’t hear you. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a spark that you both tried to ignore at that moment.

He places you down on the couch carefully, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he moves to fetch the Wiggenweld potion from the nearest table.

"You need to drink this," he insists, his voice tinged with concern as he holds out the vial.

You shake your head stubbornly, wincing as pain shoots through your ankle. "No, Sebastian, I'll be fine," you protest, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

Sebastian's brow furrows in frustration mixed with concern as he held out the vial once more. "You have to drink this," he said firmly.

You met his gaze defiantly, though the pain still pulsed through your ankle. "I said no, Sebastian," you reply, your tone matching his firmness. Despite the ache, you were determined to tough it out.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" he grumbles under his breath.

Sebastian kneels beside you, gently inspecting your ankle. "It might be sprained," he assesses, his voice laced with worry. "Let me help."

His touch is gentle yet firm as he begins to assess the damage. He carefully undoes the silk ribbons of your flats. The moment feels so intimate, watching his slender fingers slip you out of your shoes. You feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture.

Despite the pain, you find yourself captivated by the warmth of his hands and the tenderness in his gaze.

"Pass me that liquid over there." You point towards another table.

It's a painkiller, specifically a Muggle-made one, so it did not have the extreme qualities that Wiggenweld holds.

He passes you the bottle and you take a sip, hoping the effect of the medicine will kick in within a few minutes.

Sebastian continues to hold your ankle gently, the silence between you stretching on for a moment. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, you break the silence, your voice soft yet determined.

"The pain I’m feeling… it's part of who I am," You start.

He looks at you confused, waiting for you to continue.

With a deep breath, you begin to open up to Sebastian about your past.

"My mum was a professional ballerina," you explain, your voice filled with a sense of nostalgia. "She was the one who taught me ballet."

You continue, your gaze on your lap as you fiddle your fingers. "She passed away when I was young, so every time I perform, every time I push through the pain to perfect a pirouette or an en pointe, I feel closer to her,"

Sebastian listens intently, his gaze never wavering from yours.

"I was muggle-born. And when I found out I could do magic," you say, your voice tinged with sadness, "my friends drifted apart from me. I felt alone, like I had nobody who understood me. That's why I cling to ballet so fiercely; it's my connection to my mum and my life before magic. It's the one thing that makes me feel like I really belong somewhere. That’s why I don’t want to take the potion." You look up at him.

"The pain and the passion...they're intertwined. Taking the Wiggenweld potion would numb the pain, but I'm afraid it would numb my connection to her."

Sebastian's expression softens as he takes in your explanation, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that can only come from someone truly listening.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice filled with sincere regret. "I had no idea that your connection to ballet ran this deep. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard to take it. I just wanted to help you."

"I know," you say quietly, your voice carrying a hint of forgiveness.

"Your mum would be incredibly proud of you," he says quietly. "She would be honoured that you've continued her legacy in such a beautiful and powerful way."

You exhale, feeling a whirl of emotions at his words. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Why do you keep it secret? Why do you feel the need to hide something that means so much to you?" he says quietly.

"Ballet is a rush, an escape from the rest of the world, and it's a part of my vulnerability… and I don’t want anyone to see that."

He ponders for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours as he absorbs your words. Sebastian's mind drifts back to his own experiences, and he realises that there are parallels between your situation and some of his own issues. When his parents died, he felt the same way. Of course, he had Anne, but after she was cursed, it felt like he had no one.

"I'm glad you're here now. At Hogwarts." He chuckles quietly.

You let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Me too," you murmur. You're not sure if you're talking about being at Hogwarts or being here with Sebastian, but the words feel true nonetheless.

Sebastian's hand is still on your ankle while the other hand plays with the loose ribbon idly. His grip tightens ever so slightly as your body tenses up at the touch. His gaze locks onto yours, and you can practically feel the heat in his eyes as he looks at you. His expression is a mixture of desire and vulnerability, and it's making your heart race. He holds your gaze while his thumb moves in small, slow circles across the skin of your ankle. The air between you crackles with energy.

His finger runs across the arch of your foot, the silence in the room broken by the sound of your sharp inhale.

"Sebastian..."

Gods. He loved hearing his name coming from your lips.

"Yes?" he replies, his voice low, watching you with intent.

"Please..." you whisper, your voice laced with desperation.

Sebastian's gaze locks onto yours with a newfound intensity, his expression filled with a mixture of raw desire and vulnerability as he hears the pleading tone in your voice. He slowly runs his fingers up your leg, moving higher and higher, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

His body hovers over yours, making sure not to put pressure on your ankle. To you, the pain is hardly noticeable now. His hot gaze and the touch of his fingers send shivers down your spine. You can feel the ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

He leans in closer, his face now mere inches from yours. You can practically count the freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, each one like a tiny little constellation on his skin. You can see the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes.

"Tell me what you need," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of pleading. "Tell me how I can help you."

You struggle to find words for a moment, your mind swimming in a haze of desire and need. You're acutely aware of Sebastian's proximity, his body so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

Finally, you manage to find your voice, your tone pleading and desperate.

"I need you," you beg. "Please, Sebastian."

His fingers grip the flesh of your inner thigh as he hears your words, his expression growing even more intense. His eyes are like pools of fire as he looks at you.

He leans in even closer, his lips inches away from yours.

"Whatever you need, my little ballerina."

His long fingers graze against your covered core, drawing out a soft moan from you. You instinctively slide your hips forward, needing to feel more.

"Fuck." He breathes out.

His fingers continue to rub against your clit, drawing small, torturous circles that drive you wild. Your legs twitch in response to the pleasure.

"You're so sensitive," he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting across your neck. "So desperate for me, aren't you?"

You moan at his words, and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks. He can feel the way your body responds to his words, the way the wetness of your core seeps into the fabric of your tights. The feeling is driving him wild, making his own desire even more intense.

You feel him pull away, already missing his closeness to you. Your hands reflexively reach out to grasp his shirt, trying to pull him back towards you.

Sebastian chuckles softly at your eagerness. At that, he starts to unbutton his shirt slowly, and his eyes hold your gaze the entire time until you realise he is done. He pushes the shirt away, the material running down his arms, and you awe at the sight.

His body was as perfect as his face, slightly muscular and defined. You find yourself biting your lip, staring at the lines of his hips that made a perfect V, travelling underneath his trousers. You can see a bump forming at the front of his trousers, a gush of wetness seeping out of you at the sight.

He gently teases the waistband of your tights, slipping underneath the elastic and slowly pulling them down your legs, making sure your ankle is okay. He takes his time, enjoying each inch of skin that is revealed to him.

As he takes off your tutu, he puts his hands on your thighs and slowly pushes him apart, letting out a groan as he finally sees you bare before him, his eyes staring at your soaked core. You whimper at the way he’s looking at you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I could spend hours just looking at you." You feel his fingers trace from your ankle back to your thighs again.

His breath is hot against your skin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches away from yours. He traces his fingers up and down your slit, soaking them in your wetness. You let out broken moans.

"You're so wet," he whispers in awe, slowly slipping one finger into you, curling it upwards and making you moan out his name loudly. Sebastian grins at the sound of your moans, clearly pleased with the effect he's having on you.

"Say my name again," he whispers, his voice low and deep.

"Sebastian..," you whimper out, as he sets a faster pace, the squelching of your wet core filling the room.

"Do you want more, my little ballerina?" You feverishly nod as he slowly adds a second finger into you, the fullness making you even wetter. His other hand slides up to your bodice, his fingers tracing along the lace. He grabs your breast as he increases his pace, finger-fucking you into the soft couch.

You look down at where he was pleasuring you and nearly get sent over the edge at the sight. The same slender fingers that were playing with the ribbons of your ballet flats are now in you, pumping in and out deliciously, twisting and curling his digits at just the right spot. You moan loudly at the sight of your essence all over his glistening hand. Your hands grip his bare back, leaving marks to manage the pleasure he is giving you. He groans at the feeling of your nails, experiencing pleasure rather than pain.

"Sebastian…I’m so close! Please, don't stop!"

"Mhmmm? You’re close sweetheart? Let yourself go, come all over my fingers." he purrs seductively.

He smashes his lips to yours, moaning at the feeling of your soft lips kissing his. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing quick circles as you finally fall apart. Your eyes roll back into your head as you let out the most delicious sound Sebastian has ever heard, your pussy clamping around his fingers as they pump in and out to ride out your high. Your heart is hammering against your chest. Your mouth is dry and your whole body is trembling. His lips are back on yours, kissing you with a feverish intent. They trail down your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses on your skin.

Sebastian looks up at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and need. He tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. "Please," He whimpers, his voice desperate. "Let me taste you sweetheart. I need to make you feel good. I want to take care of you, please, let me."

You nod softly, your body still trembling but filled with excited anticipation. "Yes," You whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Yes, Sebastian, please. Make me feel good."

He lets out a low groan as you give him permission. He leaves sweet kisses from the curve of your breasts, down past your navel until he is positioned in front of your core. You feel his hot breath against your most sensitive area, shivering at the contact. He grips both of your thighs, keeping them spread out as he dives right in. You moan out loud as his tongue presses against your folds and brushes against your sensitive clit.

"Fuck…you taste so sweet," He dips in tongue into you, every lick full of purpose and hunger. You were a moaning mess and he was cleaning you up deliciously.

You run your fingers through his soft hair and grip it, grinding your hips against his mouth. His trousers were becoming annoyingly tight and he’s ready to take you right there and then, but he wants to please you today and take his time. You, however, were running out of patience and he could sense it. He picks up the pace, and you feel a build-up in your core. The intense eye contact he holds with you as he continues his lewd actions tips you over the edge. You cry out in pleasure as he laps up your sweet release.

He travels back up, hovering over you again. "Was that okay? Are you okay?" He asks with concern, a stark contrast to the passionate, desperate way he was just touching you. You almost laugh loudly at the difference. You giggle, smiling at him, and it's that genuine smile that always warms his insides and makes him feel at ease. He looks down at the dazed look on your face, thinking of how this sight will be etched into his mind forever.

“That was more than okay, Sebastian, it was amazing.” You murmur softly, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your body. As your fingers trace over the marks you left on Sebastian's back, you can't help but feel a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry about these," You say quietly, looking up at Sebastian.

"Are you kidding me right now?" He says, a playful glint in his eye. "I like them there. It's a reminder of how much you wanted me, and how good I made you feel."

You sarcastically roll your eyes at his egotistic reply and run a hand down his chest, feeling the strong muscles underneath. "I want to make you feel good too," You murmur, feeling a sudden urge to give back all the pleasure he's given you.

Sebastian gapes at your words but gently shakes his head. "Today was all about you, my little ballerina," He smiles, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. "And besides, I'm perfectly happy just holding you right now. We can do something else another time."

‘Another time.’ You ponder, happy that this isn’t a one time thing for him.

He quickly cleans you up with a simple charm, then gently takes your ankle in his hands, checking to make sure it's okay. Once he's satisfied that you're alright, he grabs a blanket and carefully drapes it over both of you, settling in with his arms wrapped around you. He pulls you close, nuzzling his face into your hair.

"You know you can be vulnerable with me, right? I'm here for you." He says softly as he strokes your hair.

Your heart soars as you look up at his face. Without saying a word, you lean up and press a gentle kiss to his lips, pouring all the emotions you're feeling into that one gesture. You pull back and give him a soft smile, the message in your eyes clear. You don't need to speak, the kiss was all the answer he needed.

"Go to sleep, darling. I can see how tired you are."

You bury your face into Sebastian's chest, feeling the familiar comfort of his warmth and scent surrounding you. Your body is still buzzing from the intense pleasure earlier, but the exhaustion is starting to set in. You can feel Sebastian's heartbeat against your cheek, the steady rhythm soothing you. You can feel yourself starting to doze off, your eyes heavy and your body relaxing into his embrace.

'gentleman' sebastian was not being very gentlemanly...

this is my first smut, so it's not the greatest! hope you guys like it so far:) there will be a part 3 coming soon!!!

feedback is appreciated :)

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Five

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of drugs (weed) word count: 3.3k a/n: the italics are a flashback to allie and layla in their gym class btw! love you guys <3

pov: layla

I decided to stay home from school for the rest of the week, I just didn't have the energy to endure the looks people would give me. The whispering during my last two subjects after Matt and I came back at lunch was already too much and it was worse in gym when Allie stuck to her word and paired up with me.

She seemed nice, much nicer than Mia was to me. She talked my ear off the whole lesson but I didn't mind because then I didn't have to talk.

"Don't worry about Mia, by the way. She can be really bitchy at times but she just doesn't like change. I promise she is usually a lot nicer," Allie rambled as we walked around the gym as a warm-up, "It was kinda funny though. No one ever really stands up to her when she gets bitchy because everyone's scared that her dad will arrest them."

Oh, I've met her dad.

"Matt also stood up for you after you left. I trust Matt's opinion on people, he's kinda my scapegoat when it comes to talking to people. I told him to start talking to you like three weeks ago so I could ask you to hang out. I just get nervous talking to people I don't know sometimes."

You don't seem nervous now, motor mouth.

"Sorry if I'm rambling a lot. I'm just really glad you decided to pair up with me because I've been paired with Mia for like the past 2 years. It's nice to have a new friend. It's not like I don't like my friends but Mia is my only girl friend and the guys are such guys sometimes it drives me mad. You get your nails done?"

I shook my head no before she continued, "We should go get our nails done sometime. My shout of course, I'm not gonna force you to get your nails done as well as make you pay."

She was a ray of sunshine and I was sure people were confused as someone as sweet as her was talking to someone like me who looked like they had a constant rain cloud over their head. I found myself amused by her rambling and I decided that it wouldn't be the worst thing to talk to her every now and then.

I spent the rest of my week smoking weed when my father wasn't home and drawing on the last few pages of my sketchbook. The time passed quickly considering I slept for most of the days. Suddenly it was Friday afternoon and I heard a knock at my front door.

I paused my music, frowning when I looked at the clock to see it was 3:30. It was far too early for my dad to be home so I grabbed the metal bat that was lying on the bottom of my underwear drawer, sneaking towards the door silently. Another round of light knocks were placed on the door and I crept up to it before looking through the peephole.

My tense shoulders slumped as I looked at two people with the same face and their familiar brown hair. I unlocked the deadbolt on the door as well as the regular lock before I swung the door open.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, leaning my left hand on the handle of the bat now that the other end was placed on the floor.

"Hi to you too," Chris mumbled as he looked side to side, clearly tense to be in South End as Matt smiled at me.

"I figured you would forget about the game. Decided to come earlier in case you were ready which..." he looked down at my outfit which was my small sleep shorts and an old ratty t-shirt, "I don't think you are?"

"You didn't say it was this Friday!" I frowned and Chris looked down at the bat I was leaning on before shaking his head.

"Good thing I came early then," Matt smirked at me and I chewed at my lip. I tapped the bat on the ground as I thought making Chris look at me again.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna use it on you," I deadpanned to Chris and he just shrugged, looking back out at the street. I felt a nervousness in my chest because they were at my house but I knew if they stayed on the porch or in their car, someone would try something. So I reluctantly said, "Come in."

"We can wait in the ca-"

I cut off Matt quickly, "Get inside now." They looked at each other in surprise before shuffling past me and I closed the door behind them before saying, "Do you have anything valuable in your car? Phone, wallet, laptop?"

They both shook their heads and I locked both of the locks on the door before I spun around to face them again.

"Why?" Chris asked and I tilted my head, giving him an unimpressed look.

"I'll just say you're lucky you drive a fucking soccer mom car or it would be broken into within 15 minutes," I answered blandly and they seemed somewhat shocked but didn't talk, "Come on."

I walked down the hall towards my room, slipping inside and they followed shortly behind me.

"We could've waited on the couch," Matt said as I closed the door of my bedroom and raised my eyebrows.

"If my dad came home and you were sitting on the couch, say goodbye to hockey for the rest of your life," I replied dryly and he pursed his lips, "If he comes home, you will just have to go out my window and jump the fence around the side of the house."

"You don't know when he's coming home?" Chris asked as he leaned against the wall beside my mattress and I shook my head. I was suddenly very conscious that I had the two most loved boys in our school standing in my dirty bedroom. I looked around my room, realising that I looked like I lived in a trap house with my mattress on the floor, empty beer bottles in the corner of my room with cigarettes stuck in them and clothes all over the floor.

"Sorry about the mess. No one ever comes over," I mumbled as I moved a couple clothes off of my mattress, "Sit wherever. Just don't look over here because I'm gonna get changed."

I travelled to the corner of my room where my chest of drawers sat and I saw them both turn to face away from me quickly. After placing the bat beside the drawers, I pulled out black baggy jeans, took off my shorts quickly and slid them on. I then took off my old T-shirt and slid on a baby blue hoodie. I didn't bother putting on a shirt since it would be cold at the game and I wouldn't have to take my hoodie off at any point.

"I'm dressed," I let them know as I grabbed my boots off of the floor, sitting down next to my dresser so I could slide them on easily. I looked up to see both of them sitting on my mattress, looking around my room. Their expressions were unreadable as they looked around my room.

"I like your posters," Chris spoke up and I looked to the wall above my mattress where my Bob Marley, Frank Ocean and Kurt Cobain posters were hung.

"Thanks," I answered, a half-hearted smile being sent his way which he reciprocated, "When do we have to leave by?"

"Four," Matt answered and I nodded, checking the time to see it was 3:40. I hopped off of the floor, walked over to my desk and sat down on the old desk chair.

I scribbled some eyeliner on my eyes before smudging it with my finger and then putting mascara on. I grabbed my lip balm, placing it on my lips before I ran a hand through my curly hair. I grabbed the white beanie that was thrown onto the floor, sliding it onto my head. I jumped up from the seat, grabbed my leather jacket that was hanging over the back of the chair and slid it on.

"Do I need to bring anything?" I asked, having no clue what else to bring to a hockey game.

"Just your team spirit," Chris cheered sarcastically and I tilted my head with an amused look on my face.

"I'm not a cheerleader for a reason," I answered and he shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't cheer when we win," he retorted and I nodded in agreement.

"I'm good as long as I'm not expected to start screaming 'Go Bats go!' like an idiot," I did a small jump when I said the slogan that I heard all the cheerleaders say proudly and Matt laughed in response as Chris shook his head with a smile.

"You wanna get food on the way?" Matt asked and I shook my head in response.

"I'm good, I just ate," I explained and he nodded, quickly checking his phone.

"We should probably go," he said, turning his phone to me to see that it was 3:55. I couldn't believe another 15 minutes had passed so quickly but I nodded. Making sure I had my phone, cigarettes, lighter and keys in my pocket, I swung the bedroom door open as Matt and Chris followed behind me. I unlocked the front door swinging it open and motioning for Chris and Matt to go outside.

They walked past me and walked to their car as I turned around to lock the door with my keys. After triple-checking the door, I wandered down the driveway to the minivan. I noticed that Matt was always the one to drive and Chris was seated in the passenger seat, phone already plugged into the aux.

I slid the back door open, jumping inside before I closed the door behind me. As I buckled myself in, Matt started the car and Chris played a song by Lil Skies.

"We good?" Matt asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror and I nodded before he spun around to look at me, "I didn't even have to remind you about your seatbelt, so proud."

"Start driving before I change my mind and go back to the comfort of my bed," I smiled slightly and he beamed back at me before he spun around and we took off down the street.

Within 5 minutes, we were in the parking lot and Chris was wriggling his body along to the beat of the next Lil Skies song. I could take a wild guess as to who his favourite artist is.

Matt turned the music down, earning a glare from Chris but he turned around to look at me ignoring his brother for a moment, "You waiting in the car or coming in?"

"I'm gonna have a smoke first then I'll come in," I explained and he nodded before turning off the car.

"You head in. I'll be there in a sec," Matt told Chris who was clicking away on his phone. With a nod, he jumped out of the car and walked around to the back of the car.

"You want me to take your shit inside?" Chris called from the trunk as I turned around to see Chris lugging his huge duffle bag full of hockey shit.

"Nah I got it," Matt called back to him and Chris raised his eyebrows as he leaned into the trunk again.

"Don't start fuckin in the car or I swear to god," he deadpanned before slamming the trunk closed and I saw him start walking towards the building.

"Sorry about him," Matt mumbled apologetically and I shrugged as I turned to face him.

"It's fine. Wouldn't expect anything less," I told him with an amused smirk making him shake his head, a smile creeping onto his lips, "Are you gonna go inside?"

"I'll wait for you to finish and then I'll show you where to sit inside," he explained and I nodded before hopping out of the car. I closed the door behind me before leaning against the car, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between my lips before lighting it. I heard Matt's door open and close before he rounded the car to get to the trunk.

As I began smoking my cigarette, a car pulled into the space next to Matt's and a few moments passed before Nate and Allie appeared out of the car.

"Hey! Matt told me you were coming," Allie beamed at me and I observed her outfit, feeling strange to see her out of her usual cheer or gym attire. Instead, she had blue jeans, a black puffer jacket with a blue beanie on and black and white vans.

"He failed to mention the game was this Friday," I told her and she rolled her eyes as Nate waved at me. I sent him a wave back with the hand that held my cigarette before I took another puff.

"Is Nick coming?" Nate asked and Matt appeared beside me, duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Nah. He said something about doing homework tonight. Chris is already inside," Matt explained with a shrug as Nate rounded the back of his car and popped the trunk open, grabbing a duffle bag of his own hockey gear.

"You coming in?" Allie asked me and I held the cigarette up.

"When I finish this," I told her, a smile tugging at my lips at her beaming personality.

"See you guys in there!" Nate called as he started walking towards the building with Allie following behind him.

"Is Miss Cheer herself coming?" I asked Matt once Allie and Nate were out of earshot and he shrugged, moving to stand in front of me as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

"No clue. She usually shows up late if she comes though," he told me honestly and I nodded, noticing my cigarette almost being done. I quickly finished it before dropping it onto the ground and squishing it underneath my foot. I went to push away from the car but Matt stopped me by saying, "Hold up."

"What?" I asked, confusion written on my face. He held his hand up before he dropped his duffle bag to the ground and squatted down to rummage through one of the smaller pockets.

He pulled out a small pot of black face paint and a brush before standing back up, "Move your hair."

"What are you doing?" I squinted at him as he opened the pot of black face paint and he smiled at me.

"Just trust me," he shrugged and I squinted my eyes at him for a moment before I tucked my hair behind my ears. I tilted my head back as I peered up at him and he dipped the brush into the pot before he started painting my right cheek.

"If you're drawing a dick on my face I'll kill you with my bare hands, Matthew," I mumbled, trying not to move my mouth much as his tongue poked out between his lips in concentration.

"If I was gonna do that..." he trailed off before leaning back with a smile, "I'd use a sharpie."

"What did you do?" I asked and he just shrugged as he closed the pot again, sliding it back into his bag before swinging it over his shoulder again. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, opening the front camera to see he had painted the number 81 on my cheek, "What does this mean?"

"You'll see," he shrugged with a smirk and I frowned as he started to walk backwards before he tilted his head towards the building, "Come on. I gotta warm up."

I pushed away from the car, trailing behind him as we walked towards the entrance. He swung the door open, standing behind it as he let me walk in first. We walked through the front area, some of his teammates being gathered around to grab snacks or energy drinks.

"Matty B!" one of the guys called who I recognised as Daniel and he jogged over to us as Matt paused, dapping him up quickly, "Who's this?"

"Layla, Daniel. Daniel, Layla," Matt introduced us and I just nodded at Daniel, not surprised that he didn't know my name.

"No Mia?" he asked Matt and Matt just shrugged in response.

"She's being weird. I don't know dude," Matt answered before he looked towards the rest of their team, "You guys gotta hurry up. We have 45 to warm up."

"Sir, yes, sir," Daniel sent Matt a salute before he started walking backwards and looked at me, "Nice to meet you, princess."

I sent him another nod before Matt started walking towards the doors of the rink, "Ignore Dan. He'll try to fuck anything with legs."

"Don't worry, Captain. I don't do goalies," I smirked and he chuckled in response, holding the door open to the rink for me to enter first again. I walked in, the cold air hitting my cheeks making me shiver.

"Layla!" I heard Allie's chirpy voice call out from the bleachers and I looked to my left to see her sitting front and centre, I sent her a small wave as I started to walk over to her with Matt following behind me.

"I gotta go get ready but are you good to sit with Allie?" Matt asked me and I turned my head to look at him now that he was on my right and I nodded.

"Yeah. Go make sure your hair is nice before you play," I joked as he rolled his eyes, pushing my shoulder slightly before spinning around to walk backwards while I paused at the steps that led up to where Allie was seated, "Break a leg, pretty boy."

"Thanks, pretty girl," he smirked at me and I bit my lip to hide my smile as he spun back around and walked into the locker room at the end of the rink. I shook my head to get rid of my smile as I walked up a few steps before sitting down next to Allie.

She smirked at me and I gave her a confused expression, "What?"

"Nothing," she hummed, her smirk turning into a smile as she looked out onto the ice. She pulled a packet of Sour Patch Kids out from her small handbag that I hadn't even noticed before she pulled open the packet, "You want one?"

"Sure," I shrugged, picking out a couple before throwing them into my mouth and her actions followed mine.

"So you and Matt..." she trailed off and I looked back at her as she smiled at me.

"Me and Matt?" I questioned, waiting for her to continue.

"You guys are cute," she shrugged, a genuine joy spread across her face and I let my mouth fall open.

"Uh... I don't even know if we're friends let alone anything else," I told her honestly and she rolled her eyes playfully before she hummed.

"Matt doesn't talk to just anyone. If he's asking you to come to his games clearly he wants you around," she told me as if it were obvious and I shrugged as I chewed on my lip. A few players from the other team skated onto the ice with their full gear, doing laps around the ice lazily.

"I don't think Chris and Nick like me though. His brothers' opinions probably mean a lot to him," I answered, looking at the players skating in circles. A couple players from Matt's team slid onto the ice as they started doing the same as the opposition.

"Chris is just focused on other shit. Nick tends to stick to himself a lot so just give them both time," she tried to reassure me and I looked back to her before she continued, "Besides, I like you so they're not getting rid of you that easily while I'm around."

"What about Mia?" I asked, genuinely curious as to how heavily Mia's opinion influenced her friends.

Allie sighed as she looked out at the rink, "Mia will figure it out. I don't know why she's being so weird about it. I think it's because she's protective over us."

"Matt's the one that came to me. I don't know why she was acting like I'm tryna break up your entire friend group," I mumbled as I looked out onto the ice to see a couple more players.

Only then did I realise that number 81 with a small C on the chest of his blue and white jersey was skating around the rink and it was none other than Matthew Sturniolo.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐IF WALLS COULD TALK | CL16

summary — in which pillow talk leads to wondering if the growing feelings charles has for his best friend’s sister is worth bringing up

pairings — charles leclerc x fem!unnamed!verstappen!oc

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1276

note — i'll eventually learn to write in second person or smth some day. im so used to third person that anything else makes me feel so cringe but im working on it! hope you dont mind the unnamed ocs for now <3

WALLS HOLD SECRETS, MEMORIES, dreams and nightmares in the intricate confines of the gyprock and paint, locking themselves into the framework inside like the padlocks once on the pont des arts in paris. they hold conversations and phrases and sounds as if caught in a spider web, and the longer charles stared at the wall across the room, the more he reflected on the past. 

the past two years where he’d been trying not to cross the line, and the past year he had finally given into the insatiable need clawing in his stomach. he was finding it easier to breathe again, to sleep again, especially when the spot beside him in his bed was no longer cold and lifeless. 

she was the warmth taking up space on the left side of his bed, tucked up under all the blankets even though it was hardly cold. she wore just his shirts to bed, and the only time she would be able to sport ferrari was in the confines of his place in monaco, hidden away from the world so it was just them and their little puppy, leo. leo, who was thankfully still snoring in the other room so that they could enjoy the peace for just a little bit longer.

if the walls could talk, they would scream. they knew things others didn’t, secrets strung together and tangling to form unbreakable bonds, and if it were to get out there . . . neither of them wanted to find out. the thought was frightening enough.

she had her brother to worry about, and charles also shared that worry. max verstappen was one of the loveliest people in the world, but he had one rule: and that was that his baby sister wasn’t to get involved with his friends and coworkers. charles had thought nothing of the rule at first, always remembering her to be this little bubbly girl with her head in a book whenever he caught sight of her when they were kids. with the two years between them and the fact that he was always busy battling max for championships in karting, charles never had time to think about her until she’d started showing up to max’s races in 2021. 

“you’re thinking about it again,” she hummed softly, and charles’ trance was broken. her accent never seemed to thin out like her brother’s had, with her whole life still set in the netherlands, not too far from her mother’s place. he liked the thickness of her accent, especially when she was tired, no matter how much she claimed it wasn’t as pretty as his was. little things. “you think too much, charles.”

“it always surprises me how casual you are about all of this,” he sighed quietly. he tightened the arm he had thrown over her side, pulling her into him so that she was a little bit closer than she was before. 

“i just do not care much for it anymore,” she responded in her usual buttery tone, more words for the walls to catch in their wake. “i don’t want to care what max thinks anymore . . . i just want to enjoy the time i have with you before you go away again.”

the summer break was almost over, it was almost time to come out of hibernation again. they’d spent this last week of the break cooped up in his home, basking in the calamity of closed doors and hushed secrets, away from prying eyes and tabloids. as far as anyone else knew, she was back home in rotterdam, and her sister victoria had been covering for her because she was the only one to truly know what was going on. 

“mhm . . .” charles hummed in reply, eyelids fluttering shut to ignore the strips of sunshine starting to peek through the curtains. he felt her turn in his arms, her hushed breaths tingling the bare skin of his chest with the closeness. “i could stay here forever,” he whispered like anything louder would shatter their walls, airing them out for the world to see. “would you like that?”

“more than anything,” she lifted her head slightly to take him in. with his eyes closed, he didn’t even flinch as her gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, lingering longer to trace his cheekbone down to the smile lines painted delicately into his skin. “then you would have to give up your career for me . . . would you do that?” and charles swore his heart stopped, she watched his lips part but no words could form in his throat to spill. she giggled softly, kissing his jaw before settling back down until her head was back on the silk pillowcase. “please, charles, i’m joking, you should say no to that. i wouldn’t give my career up for you, so . . .”

sighing, charles let amused chuckles escape him. his eyes flickered open, adjusting to the lightening room for a moment before resting back down on her. “you had me scared, ma chérie,” his voice rumbled over the nickname, the hours of not talking prior to waking up strumming at his vocal cords and producing a honeyed rasp. “i wouldn’t give up racing, but i would make more opportunities to see you whenever possible,” he said honestly, and the intensity of the gravity his seriousness held had her wide awake. “it is hard because it’s so,” he felt blindly for her hand, lacing their fingers together, “secretive, but i would do it. i would fly you out to me or i’d travel back home to you . . . i’d do anything.”

there was a moment of silence between the two, broken only by the streets below starting to come to life and the birds flying past the balcony in song. “but i would start by telling max about us.” it took courage to say. keeping this secret from one of his best friends was eating at him, gnawing through everything in its path until it reached his heart. he was running out of time until it stopped beating, but what did time care? time takes you, drills you, drives through bone and vein until you are rendered useless and devoid of what once was. the clock was ticking; not telling max was going to tear him apart, and it would break him further if it damaged the relationship between a brother and sister. “i think i should be the one to.”

she understood why – chances are, if she were to, max would immediately be upset and go straight to finding charles rather than hearing her out. at least if it came from charles in the first place, he had more reason to listen before deciding if he wanted to knock the monegasque out or not. “you are very sweet,” she wanted to cry, just pure tears of happiness. the most kindness she had ever been shown had been at the hands of charles leclerc, and him only. he just kept one-upping himself, forever his own competition, and each knew thing made her heart melt until it was nothing but a puddle. “so very sweet. i adore you so much, charles. so, so much.” “aw,” charles cupped her face for a moment, eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. “i adore you. now,” he let go quickly, rushing to kick the blankets off him. it was in such a hurry that all she could do was sit there and laugh, quite confused. “i’ll be right back!” he was into the adjoining bathroom, undoubtedly to quickly brush his teeth so he could return to pepper her face with minty kisses until they both forgot about the world, just for another day.

[curioushabitforarivergod]

dark(ish) academia books that I don't see recommended enough

I read a lot, both fiction and non-fiction, and a lot of the stuff I've read over the past 2-3 years has had underlying academic tones. I've tried to include books I've at least enjoyed, although there are a few 3 star ratings. All of these books are ones I haven't really seen mentioned in compiled dark academia lists (mainly because some of them fall outside the general scope and are more ✨vibes✨). Feel free to add more less well-known books. I've included my own blurbs of the books but I've got shit memory and some I read like 2 years ago so yeah

Fiction

"Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world." Voltaire

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Takes place over 10 years and explores family and the destruction left behind after WWI. It discusses the feminine vs. masculine in art and while it can be a little slow to read (took me close to 3 weeks!) theres some really beautiful passages and also some funny ones as well — the characters spend several chapters at a dinner party convinced everyone hates them and constantly hating other people too.

The Dark is Rising (series) by Susan Cooper

Okay, yes this is a kids book series from the 70s/80s but it explores English, Cornish and Welsh mythology and has really good characters and world-building. Even though chronologically the series goes: Over Sea, Under Stone; The Dark is Rising; Greenwitch; The Grey King; Silver on the Tree, it's best to read The Dark is Rising first and return back to Over Sea, Under Stone. Anyway, I love this series and I read The Dark is Rising every Christmas because it corresponds pretty much with the days and is easy to place and that's kind of what makes it feel very cozy and academic. Also, theres some brief moments of time travel to the past.

The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova

This is a beautiful written masterpiece set across the 20th century featuring plenty of train rides across Europe and vampires. It explores some of the history of Walachia and Dracula, as well as the Ottoman Empire and European politics of the time. It's a hefty read but I loved it because it combines history, dark academia, fantasy and vampires.

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

My favourite of Shakespeare that I've seen so far and honestly murder is so dark academia I don't need to talk any further. Strangely, I don't see this recommended enough.

Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell

This was quite popular a year or two ago, and honestly for good reason. I think it's only really academic because it's linked to Shakespeare and explores the less well-known lives of Shakespeare's family, but it's very good and I thought I'd include it anyway.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

This one feels really light academia to me, but I think it's mainly because of setting. It's set in this fantastical old and crumbling mansion that goes on forever. It's filled with statues and it floods and only two people live in the world. The story is told entirely through diary entries, but it's so well-written because it defamiliarises the reader entirely. It was a light and easy read for me, which is probably why I'm associating it with light academia rather than dark academia.

The Book of Goose by Yiyun Li

This book kinda mixes chaotic academia and cottagecore academia and is a reflection of girlhood and youth spent in the French countryside in the 50s. There's a toxic relationship between two friends who write a book together before one of them attends prestigious girls' school in England. Also the opening lines are amazing: "You cannot cut an apple with an apple. You cannot cut an orange with an orange. You can, if you have a knife, cut an apple or an orange. Or slice open the underbelly of a fish. Or, if your hands are steady enough and the blade is sharp enough, sever an umbilical cord."

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Another classic! I love Waugh, and Brideshead revisited is amazing and my favourite of what I've read of his. The book is quite homoerotic — explicitly so at times, which is fascinating for something published in 1945 — and deals with romanticisation. It nestles quite snugly between Picture of Dorian Grey and Secret History in terms of a dark academic literary canon.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

This is more gothic than dark academia, but it's also a satire of the gothic genre so I feel like it counts. It's definetly not as well known as some of Austen's other works and feels much more raw, particularly because its her first work (although not published until after her death). It's not my favourite Austen, but I love it all the same, especially because of its commentary on warning the romanticisation of other peoples lives and the gothic/dark academia. Although dark academia wasn't a thing in Austen's day!

Possession by A. S. Byatt

I love the main story but because its so metafictive and explores the relationship between two made-up poets (one of whom is bi and cheats on her gf with the second) from the perspective of modern academics, it can get quite hard to read sometimes. It's also really long, but definitely worth reading.

Non-Fiction

I feel like non-fiction is pretty over-looked when it comes to the academia aesthetic which really says something, given that its… kinda the whole point of academia?? Anyway, I read a lot of history books, but I only put down the ones which I found interesting or easy to read, so they're more popular histories than academic histories. Also; essays.

The Year 1000: What Life Was Like At the Turn of the First Millennium by Robert Lacey

This explores early medieval life in England based on the Julius Work Calendar, an Anglo-Saxon manuscript believed to date to 1020BCE. It's honestly a really light and interesting read and it talks about what everyday life was like, which I think is important in history. It's in a narrative style so it's quite easy to read even if you don't consume history often.

Oh, to Be a Painter! by Virginia Woolf

This is actually a short, published collection of Virginia Woolf essays on art. I read the essays all in one sitting because they're quite short, but if you're into art and art academia, I'd highly recommend. There's also an essay on the cinema which provides some interesting insights into todays world particularly as Woolf was writing at the time when cinema was only just becoming widespread and an industry in its own right.

A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift

This is a satirical essay on attitudes towards the poor and it suggests that poor people might sell their children as food for the rich, highlighting the callousness of the upper classes. It's available free online and very much relevant today, despite being written close to 300 years ago.

The Time Traveller's Guide to Elizabethan England by Ian Mortimer

Very useful if you ever find yourself stuck in the Elizabethan period! It's read as a sort of travel guide but includes plenty on history as well, providing a picture of what England looked like in the late-Tudor period. Also people will think you're a time-traveller if you carry it around, which adds to your intrigue and mystery.

A Memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen-Leigh

If you like Jane Austen and haven't read this memoir, you should. It's written by her nephew, so it's quite biased and it's not amazing in any way, but it provides a lot of context to her life and is a good light-read or coffee table book. Also my copy was pale pink so win.

Thats it folks. Feel free to include your own less well-known book recs that follow dark/light/chaotic, etc. aesthetics! I'd love to compile a huge list and read more outside my comfort zone.

[sariahsue]

Wherefore Art Thou (My)stery Lady

When a failed attempt to let Chat Noir down easy ends with Ladybug learning his name, she does what any lovesick teenager would do: teases him mercilessly. Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

Chapter Four

“She really hasn't given you any more hints?” Nino asked. “It's been five days!”

Adrien loved group projects. It meant that there was a chance that he could visit with friends outside of school hours. And given how lucky he had been over the past few days, it didn't even surprise him when Ms. Bustier partnered him with Nino on their history project. 

They sat on his floor together, taking a much-deserved break. Adrien was rereading his texts from Ladybug again, looking for any clues he might have missed. 

Nino was right. It had been five days. Five long days of torture. He hadn’t seen her since their rendezvous on top of Montparnasse Tower, but she had seen him. She’d sent three pictures she’d taken of him when he wasn’t looking. He had his back turned in each one, and he’d been in large crowds as he walked in the hallway in between classes or at the end of the day. Times where there were so many people around that he couldn’t narrow down who she could be, which was deliberate on her part, he was certain. 

They were so close, and he still couldn’t find her.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message.

My Lady – I accidentally called you Kitten in front of my best friend this morning. So embarrassing!  My Lady – I told her I chose that nickname because of all the stupid cat emojis you send me. Adrien – Is that permission to keep sending them to you? My Lady – No.  Adrien – Too bad. Adrien –  😻😽😸

Nino shuffled over, and Adrien scanned the message quickly. Nothing that would arouse suspicion if read. 

“‘My Lady’?” Nino said, reading the contact name at the top. “Getting a little possessive already, huh?”

“No!” Adrien flipped his phone over to hide the messages. “Uh, ‘My’... is short... for ‘mystery.’ She's a mystery lady, but that was too long to fit. So, My Lady.”

“I don't believe you at all, dude, but I'll give you full points for that excuse.” Nino returned to his spot on the floor and started scrolling through his own phone, which he kept hidden from Adrien's view. “You like her already, huh?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. He and Nino hadn't talked much about it, aside from that first day. Adrien had been too busy trying to piece together who Ladybug was, and he was getting frustrated. All he'd done so far was eliminate everyone in the school. Realizing he missed her on his first pass, he tried again. He looked at the yearbook, made a list of everything he knew about her, spent almost all his time in class puzzling over her, and he'd still come up empty. 

“You should ask her out,” Nino said. “I've known her for a long time, and I think you two would be good for each other.”

Adrien nodded. He'd always thought so. “I asked already.”

“You did? Why didn't you tell me?”

“She said yes, assuming I could figure out who I'm asking!” Adrien flipped onto his back and stared at the high ceiling above him. “You’re not allowed to give me any hints, but what is she like?”

“How's that not a hint?”

“Because I already know what she's like.” He raised the phone, implying that he’d gotten to know her through texting and not midnight rooftop strolls. “I just want a different perspective. Maybe I just need the same information from a new angle.”

“If she gets mad at me, I'm blaming you.”

“But she wants to go out with me, right? So you're really trying to help her.”

“How about this,” Nino said. “I won't tell her if you won't.”

“Deal.”

Nino had been typing away on his screen, cap hiding his eyes, through the whole conversation and finally lifted his head. 

Adrien listened intently as Nino started listing Ladybug's familiar traits.

“She's very creative and sweet, but still tough when she wants to be.” 

Adrien knew both of those well from fighting alongside her. She could come up with the most ridiculous plans and execute them flawlessly. She'd stare down a monster and then turn around and help someone who'd been trying to kill her moments before. 

“She's good at video games.” Another one that he knew, but had forgotten. He'd have to write that down on the list.

“And she can be pretty shy and nervous sometimes. It took her forever to tell you that she likes you.” 

Adrien hadn't thought about it like that. She'd admitted to being anxious and awkwardly obvious about her crush (not that he'd been able to figure out that clue either), but he hadn't mentally added that trait to his image of her. She always seemed so confident and self-assured, and he loved that about her. He'd only ever seen her truly nervous on that first day. 

“That's all you're getting.”

“None of it was really new information,” he said. “But thanks for reminding me of some things.”

“Sure, dude.”

Adrien's phone alerted him to another message. 

My Lady – So... Mystery Lady, huh?

Adrien turned to Nino. “You texted her about that? Since when have you had her number?” 

“Since the day she got her phone.”

My Lady – That was smooth. Plus, now you can use my favorite nickname! Adrien – I could just break into Nino's phone and check his messages, you know. My Lady – That would be cheating! Don't you dare!

“Am I going to do this project by myself?” Nino asked. “Or should I call your girlfriend and ask if I can borrow some of your attention?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” And he was, until the next text from her came in. Nino sighed but didn’t complain as Adrien reflexively reached for his phone.  

My Lady – Kitten, my homework is boring, and I don't want to do it. Talk to me.  Adrien – What do you want me to say? My Lady – I don't know. Anything. Adrien – Okay... 

He searched the room for inspiration but found none. The first thing that caught his attention on his phone was his name for her.

Adrien – What did you name my contact? My Lady – Uh...  My Lady – …  My Lady – Nothing...  Adrien – Nothing as in just a blank space, or nothing as in something that you don't want to say? My Lady – NOTHING Adrien – Uh huh. So what is it? Adrien – Hm? Adrien – Aren't you going to tell me? My Lady – No.  Adrien – Why not? My Lady – I'm going to delete your number if you don't stop asking! Adrien – That won't do anything. I'll just text you again, and then you'll have it again. My Lady – Please unsubscribe me from your mailing list.  Adrien – Is it just a string of hearts or something? My Lady – The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Adrien – Or maybe it's “Hot Stuff”? My Lady – New phone. Who dis? Adrien – Wow. It must be reeealllly embarrassing if you don't want to tell me this badly.  My Lady – FINE! My Lady – When I found out who you were, I changed your contact to “Future Husband.” OKAY?!?!?!

If Plagg could see his face right now, Adrien was sure the kwami would gag. He was probably smiling like an idiot. She really thought that it was a possibility?

“You good, dude?”

Adrien only nodded because how was he supposed to explain? Ladybug - LADYBUG - really had decided that she wanted to marry him?!

She was also still waiting for his response. Probably anxiously. Should he gush about how much he loved her or continue with his teasing?

Teasing won out.

Adrien – Oh, Bugaboo, you didn't even buy me a ring yet! My Lady – SHUT UP I'M GOING TO CHANGE IT Adrien – Please don't. Adrien – My ring size is 29, in case you were wondering.  My Lady – That's not even a real size. Adrien – Oh.  Adrien – Father doesn't sell jewelry, so I don't know anything about it. Haha. My Lady – Average sizes are usually between 5 and like 10 or 11. My Lady – In case you were wondering... My Lady – Mine’s 4 and a half.

---

Adrien walked into school the next morning (on time, thankfully! The photographer had been 10 minutes late to the shoot and traffic was horrible all morning) ready to watch the front door for any stragglers who showed up late. He still didn't have any ideas about who Ladybug could be, and he was starting to think he was missing the obvious. So he stood in the middle of the courtyard and scanned faces as they trickled in, but no one in particular stood out to him. No girl was the same height, looked just right, sounded like her, or moved the same way. Over several minutes, the courtyard started filling up. Starting from the doors, he slowly rotated until he’d done a full circle, double checking if someone had slipped past him. Nino was the only one in the crowd who caught his attention.

“Hey, bro!” Nino said, waving as he approached. “You look distracted, which means you haven't figured it out yet.”

“No! And she still won't give me another hint!”

“That's because you have enough to figure it out with, man. You're trying too hard.” He swung an arm over Adrien's shoulders. “Just look at your contact list and find the hole. Should be obvious, my dude.” It was easy for Nino to give advice. He had found out who she was the easy way ages ago.

But Ladybug kept telling him that, too. Plagg, when he didn't avoid the subject entirely, said much the same thing. 

Adrien reached for his phone, but his scroll through his contact list was interrupted by an incoming text image. 

There he and Nino were, in the middle of the crowded courtyard, looking at his phone. Adrien's head snapped up. The photographer had been directly in front of him on the upper level, but that area was now deserted. 

“Come on,” Adrien said. “Maybe we can catch her.” 

He took the stairs two at a time while Nino hollered for him to slow down. Adrien had no plan to do anything of the sort. His Lady had been there just a few seconds ago. She couldn't have gotten far. 

Reaching the top step, he took another look around. There were a few corners that she could be hiding behind, or she could have ducked into a classroom. He debated for only a second. What would Ladybug do if she was trying to trip him up? Probably go where the most people were so she could hide in plain sight. He poked his head into the nearest classroom. A few people waved to him, but no one he knew well enough to have traded phone numbers with. 

He tried a few more, then doubled back and checked the alcoves. There were a lot of people that he knew, and because he was in such a hurry, all of them seemed to want to say hello to him. He stayed only long enough each time to give a very hurried explanation that he was looking for someone in order to excuse himself before running off again. 

“Hey!” Nino said, finally catching up with him. “Will you slow down?”

“Did you see her anywhere? Please tell me that much. Did I overlook her again?”

“I haven't seen her,” Nino said, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. “What did you eat for breakfast, man? Rocket fuel? I haven't seen you run like that since the last akuma. Or…” Nino put his hat back on and smiled, “do you really just want to find her that bad?”

Two minutes after running out of the courtyard, Adrien found himself up at the top of the stairs overlooking it. He walked to the railing, where Ladybug had been standing when she took her picture of him. She'd been so close, and she'd slipped through his fingers again. He needed to figure her identity out soon, or she’d be the death of him (in the best way possible). 

The courtyard was emptier than it had been a few minutes prior. The flow of students through the front doors had been reduced to a trickle. Only a few stragglers remained at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to go to class until the very last second.

“I think the bell's about to ring,” Nino said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We should go.”

Adrien sighed. Another attempt to find her had ended in failure. 

They trudged back down the stairs to their first class. A few of their friends were ahead of them in the hallway, including Alya and Marinette, who were whispering together. He heard Alya congratulating Marinette about something. He heard only a few words, “likes you a lot!” and “interested.” What were they talking about? He picked up his pace, hoping to get close enough to catch more of the conversation, but Nino called out to them over the crowd to get their attention before he reached them.

Alya cut off her next sentence abruptly and spun around, eyes going to Adrien first before landing on Nino.

“Good morning!” Marinette said, eyes shining. Was he imagining it, or was her gaze lingering on him longer than it usually did? “What have you two been up to this morning? Looking for that mystery lady of yours again?”

“You know about that?” Adrien groaned. “How many people know?” 

A few people shoved past him to get to their classrooms. He hadn't realized they were blocking the traffic.

“Nino told me about it,” Marinette said, starting to walk forward again. “He said you were having some trouble figuring out who she was. Do you want some help?” Behind her back, Nino and Alya exchanged deadpan looks.

“Yeah,” he said. “That would be great. I've tried everything I can think of.” 

Marinette thought about it for a few seconds, tapping her finger to her lips in a slow, exaggerated movement. He glanced down at the finger briefly before turning his attention back to her eyes. 

“Have you tried tricking her into giving you more information? Like ask her about something that happens at school today that only some people know about. Then, if she sees it, you have fewer people to guess from. Maybe you could cat-ch her that way?” She put more emphasis on the first half of the word “catch,” but he wasn't sure why. “What about the assembly today?”

“That's a great idea, Marinette! Thanks!” That was a fantastic idea. The assembly was only for their grade, and if she saw it too, that would really narrow down the pool of candidates. And even if she didn’t, he could exclude an entire grade from his search. He would have to word his questions just right, so she wouldn’t think he was asking for another hint. If she knew he was looking for a way around the rules of her challenge, she might not answer. Or worse, be unhelpful on purpose.

“You're welcome,” she said. “I really hope you find her soon.”

Adrien blinked, surprised to find himself and Marinette alone in the hallway in front of their first period class. His mind was still thinking up exactly how he would pose his questions to seem the most innocent. 

“Really, Marinette. Thank you. I really want to find her.” 

She beamed at him as the bell rang, and they both ran for the classroom door. 

With Marinette’s help, and a little bit of his Lady’s luck, he might know was behind the mask by the end of the day. And he couldn’t wait.

Chapter Five

---

Tag list: @eclipsesmoonshine14, @alittlewolf2, @mlbigbang

[baby-yongbok]

Poetry

Chapter Six - Mr.H

Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff with a swirl of angst

Summary: The night that you see Hyunjin again after your date is full of surprises. You can keep your cool but can he?

Word Count: 5,407

A/N: Things are happening, ya'll. I'm so excited to be back in Fan Fiction land <3 + If you haven't already, I highly recommend reading the previous parts before this one so that you get the ✨full experience✨. See you next Thursday at 6 💕

Part Five

✧Poetry Series Masterlist✧

✧Main Masterlist✧

There wasn’t a moment of silence after Hyunjin left, you spent the entirety of your breakfast answering questions while giving Changbin and Serena as many details as you could before you had to leave for work. You will admit that you appreciate how involved your friends are, especially Changbin. You were almost afraid that he was going to go full big brother mode and quiz Hyunjin the moment that he met him but he actually kept his cool, let’s see how it goes next time. 

Speaking of next time, you haven’t seen Hyunjin since your date. The two of you have been texting nonstop and you even spoke on the phone two days ago but neither of you have brought up a plan to meet. He canceled your meetup this week because he had to help his roommate Felix with something upstate. You weren’t mad about it though, you took the free time as an opportunity to look into a new hobby. 

You have a bit of a tradition that you started during your second year of university, every autumn you look into building a new skill or taking up a new hobby. You weren’t sure what to get into this year until you saw a flier on your way to work yesterday. Apparently your local community center has a photography club that meets on Fridays where you’re taught everything that you need to know by a professional. There’s no way that you could turn a blind eye to such a wonderful free opportunity. So here you are, walking through the large glass doors and into the quiet lobby. Your brand new Canon camera is placed safely in its case hanging from your shoulder and your tote bag is hanging from the other. You looked up at the digital board by the reception desk to look for the room number for your class. Once you found it you made your way down the hall, humming a smooth tune to try and calm your nerves. You were more than excited but you were almost positive that the club would be filled with experienced photographers looking for community and you are far from experienced.

The door to the room is already open when you reach the room and there are a few people in there talking amongst themselves and fiddling with their cameras. You enter quietly, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself but that fails once you get half way into the room. The group swiftly looks up at you, each one of them studying your frame with furrowed brows and that’s when you notice the elephant in the room… they’re all teenagers.

“Hi, you must be new.” One of the girls breaks the silence. “I’m Mia.”

“Hi, I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you.” You move to sit by the window, right in the middle of the row. You never liked being too far from the instructor but you also hate being in the front. 

“I’m James and this is Olivia, she’s a bit shy.” One of the boys sitting against the wall introduces himself and the girl sitting on his lap. Olivia offers a timid wave before looking back down at her camera. You smile, waving back at her. 

“Leo, stop being rude. Say hi to the new girl.” Mia pushes the boy sitting in front of her and he curses at her quietly before turning to you and waving passive aggressively. You wave back silently as you try to hold back a chuckle.

“Leo is an asshole, don’t mind him.” Mia explains before glancing down at her phone. 

“Two minutes until Mr.H gets here.” James nods his head, only half paying attention as he looks past Mia and over to you, clearly itching to ask you a question.

“Am I crazy or are you the oldest one here?”

“Oh my god, what the hell, James.” Mia’s exasperated voice echoes through the room followed by Oliva’s laugh. 

“It’s an observation, fucking shoot me.” You chuckle a bit, nodding your head. 

“You’re not crazy, I’m probably about seven years older than you guys.” 

“Oh you’re about the same age as Mr.H” You pinch your brows together softly, you didn’t expect the teacher to be around your age. “Maybe we can hook you two up, he desperately needs a girlfriend.”

“What are you going on about, James?” You shift your attention towards the person speaking, that voice sounds so familiar and you realize why as soon as your eyes land on his figure coming through the door. Hyunjin is the teacher?

“I’m just trying to get you a girlfriend, Mr.H” You watch as Hyunjin walks over to the desk at the front of the classroom, he hasn’t looked up from the packet in his hands since he came through the door. You take a moment to admire him, he doesn’t look as dressed up as he usually does, he looks relaxed and cozy. You could get used to this look. 

“Why don’t you worry about perfecting your depth of field instead. You’re not here to get me a girlfriend.” Hyunjin smiles to himself as he leans against the desk, still focused on the paper in front of him. The others in the room immediately start laughing and making fun of James. 

“That’s what you get.” Mia laughs as she moves from sitting on top of the desk.

“Whatever, Y/n is way too pretty for you anyway.” You cover your mouth as you try to stifle a laugh. Hyunjin immediately looks up at the sound of your name, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Excuse me?” Hyunjin asks before turning his head in your direction. He freezes for a second, his eyes glossing over your frame slowly to make sure that it’s really you. 

“Oh um you must be new.” He stands, pushing a hand into the pocket of his worn denim jeans and making his way over to you. 

“Yeah I am.” You grin, playing along with him. Once he reaches you he offers you his hand and you immediately take it into your own. 

“I’m the photography instructor for this program, you can call me Hyunjin.” He smirks down at you and you nod your head. 

“I’m Y/n.” He gives your hand a light squeeze before dropping it. 

“It’s a pleasure to have you in our club.” He winks at you before turning on his heels and stalking back over to his desk.

“Why can she call you Hyunjin but we can’t?” Mia whines, earning a dramatic eye roll from Hyunjin.

“Because I’m eight years older than you.” You chuckle lightly and Hyunjin smiles at the sound.

“How do you know that she’s your age?” James argues and Hyunjin shrugs. 

“Are you guys here to question me or to actually learn something?” The group of teens sigh as Hyunjin starts looking through his bag. “I made a project sheet for today but I suppose I can save that for next week now that we have a new member. Let’s focus on questions and practice for today.”

He pulls a thick folder out of his bag and places it on the desk right next to his massive Sony DSLR camera. You feel a bit intimidated by this side of Hyunjin, he seems to be very in his element here. Maybe he’s been doing this for a while.

“Can we do an object project?” Olivia asks in a soft voice, catching Hyunjin’s attention.

“I like that idea, what do you guys want to shoot today?” You can’t help but stare as Hyunjin talks to the kids, he seems to have a pretty solid relationship with them. You stare down at his Versace bracelet on your wrist as you listen to him talk to the kids. 

“Alright so that’s what it’ll be, four photo’s of your favorite place to be in this community center. It can be a place that you have a positive memory of or just a place where you feel the most comfortable. Today's object is a clock, if you don’t have a clock in the shot then it doesn’t count. Get creative, there are no limits. I want two black and white photos and two sepia.” The kids all stand from their seats, pulling their camera straps around their necks and talking about where to go.

“Be back here in forty-five minutes. I will set a timer, please don’t make me come find you.” The group mumbles a half hearted ‘okay’ before turning their attention back to their previous conversation. You take this time to unpack your own camera, turning it on and flipping through the settings. You made sure to watch a couple of videos before coming here but everything that you learned went right out the window once you saw Hyunjin. 

“I’ll be right with you, Y/n.” Hyunjin smiles over at you before turning his attention towards Leo. He’s been so quiet that you forgot that he was there. Hyunjin kneels in front of the boy's desk, leaning into his space a bit before whispering. You decided to look away to give them some privacy. Maybe you can manage to google some quick photography tips before he turns his attention to you.

You start looking up photography quick guides on your phone as you wait for him. You get so engulfed in the article that you’re reading that you don’t even notice Hyunjin making his way over to you until he’s sitting at the desk in front of yours. You jump a bit, locking your phone quickly.  

“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” He smiles as he leans back against the wall behind him. “You missed me so much that you tracked me down?” 

You chuckle, a light blush creeping up your neck. You look over towards where the kids were earlier and notice that they’re all gone. You must’ve been so distracted by your research that you didn’t hear them leave.

“What if I did?” You tease and now it was his turn to blush. “I didn’t know that you’re into photography.”

“Surprise.” You roll your eyes at him and he smiles towards you. “I may be a little into it. I’ve been doing it for about five years, nothing too major.”

“Clearly it is pretty major if you’re certified to teach people.”

“Are you impressed by that? Because if you are then I’ll agree.” You scoff, pushing his arm playfully. 

“No comment.” 

“That means that you are impressed.”

“Are you going to flirt with me or are you going to teach me how to work this thing?” You ask, holding your camera up in front of you while smiling towards Hyunjin. He surrenders, shaking his head and taking your camera from you.

“You’re right.” He turns your camera on, studying the settings and adjusting things the way that he sees fit. You can’t help but blush a bit as his fingers press the buttons. His gaze turned from playful to focused and serious as soon as you placed the device in his hands. The way that he operates the camera is actually pretty attractive. 

Your eyes widen a bit as you realize the nature of your thoughts. This is not the time to think about all of the things that you find attractive about your boyfriend,wait, he’s not your boyfriend. Not really, not officially, he hasn’t even asked you out for a second date yet. 

“Alright, so, this camera is actually pretty simple. I’ve adjusted some settings, I’ll show you what they all do and we can get you started on practicing the rule of thirds, sound good?” Hyunjins voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you sit up straighter in your seat. You clear your throat and look up at him as he watches you, his eyes wandering over the exposed skin of your neck for a second before looking up at you. 

“Sounds good, Mr.H.” 

“How’s this one?” You ask while looking down at your camera screen to study the photo you just took. Hyunjin steps closer to you from behind, looking over your shoulder to get a look at the photo too. 

“Perfect, I think that you should be fine without the grid now. Maybe practice eyeing it yourself throughout the week and I can check it for you when we meet next Friday.” You chuckle, turning your head to face Hyunjin and he furrows his brows in confusion. “What?”

“Couldn’t you just check it when I see you next Thursday?” He grins at you, shaking his head and tonguing his cheek.

“Nope, I’m gonna treat you just like everyone else in the club.” You narrow your eyes at him, glancing down at the tiny space between the two of you. 

“Like you are right now?” Hyunjin looks down at his hand on the small of your back and pulls his lips into a thin line.

“You’re right, Y/n this is highly unprofessional. I really need you to keep your hands to yourself.” Hyunjins eyes morph into cresents as you push him away from you, scoffing playfully.

“I hate you.” You make your way back over to your desk and Hyunjin walks over to his at the front of the room.

“Are you sure about that?” He pulls himself up onto the desk, sitting and leaning back on his palms. A deep blush runs over your cheeks as he stares over at you with an equanimous smirk adorning his lips. You look down, avoiding his piercing eye contact and now it was his turn to chuckle. “The kids should be back in a second.”

Just as he looks down at his phone the timer that he set earlier goes off. You look over at the door expecting to see them walk through but no one is there. Hyunjin closes his eyes, tilting his head back towards the ceiling and humming softly. Your eyes pinch together in confusion, is he not going to go get them? 

“Are you sure they’re coming back?” Hyunjin hums in response, a small smile pulling at his lips before he starts counting.

“5, 4, 3, 2” He points towards the open door and you can hear the loud pitter patter of the group racing down the hallway. “They’re always two minutes late.” 

“We’re here!” Olivia makes it into the room first, panting as she makes her way over to her seat. The rest of the group follows behind her, trying to catch their breath as they sit. 

“Once you all remember how to breathe we’ll get started.” Hyunjin teases, lifting his head to look at the group. You can’t help but smile, something about seeing him interact with them makes you feel warm. He's a natural leader, in the way that he carries himself, the way he talks to them. He radiates a sense of comfort and confidence in this space and it’s almost rewarding to see. 

“Can I go first?” Mia asks as she stares down at her camera.

“Nope.” Hyunjin quips quickly.

“Why not.” She whines and Hyunjin offers an exaggerated sigh in response. “I want to get it over with, Mr.H”

“And that’s why you’ll be going last.” Mia groans, putting her head down on the desk and stomping her feet. Hyunjin immediately imitates her, kicking his feet against his desk and whining. The rest of the group laughs, you even hear a faint chuckle coming from Mia. 

“Always remember that I'm ten times more dramatic than you.” Hyunjin teases before sitting up completely. “Alright, let’s do this. Show me what you got James.”

“I think that Olivia wants to go before me.” James sinks down into his seat as he tries to dodge a hit from the girl behind him.

“You threw your own girlfriend under the bus? That’s cold.”

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t impressed. Each of the kids in this club are amazing at photography, if you saw any of the pictures that they took online you’d think that a twenty year professional was responsible for the art. You’re equally impressed by Hyunjin’s teaching skills, he answered all of their questions flawlessly and made sure that you were still engaged even though you didn’t participate in the activity. 

Once class ended Hyunjin texted you offering to walk you home, of course you said yes, you actually did miss him so you couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Your house was only four blocks from the community center but it seemed a lot longer since the city blocks are massive. Usually this would bother you, you’d put some music on and try your best to get the walk over with but you found yourself settling into a comfortable stroll with Hyunjin. You weren’t in a rush to get anywhere, you were grounded, living in the moment.

“How did you start teaching photography?” You asked as the two of you waited to cross the street. 

“My mentor set it up for me, he thought that it would be a good way to redirect my emotions.” He chuckles softly, taking a step forward to guide you across the street. “I told you that I was a bad kid but I didn’t really stop getting into trouble until I turned twenty. I met my mentor's son, Chan, a couple of weeks after my birthday when I was taking pictures of Felix for his portfolio. His dad is a photographer and he took interest in me almost instantly, he taught me some stuff and basically became a father to me. He started the club on my birthday last year when he retired from the community center.” 

“So you replaced him?” You look over at Hyunjin who seems to be deep in thought.

“Something like that, I’m one of the youth counselors but he was in charge of it all. People treat me like I’m in charge for some reason. It’s probably because I’m so smart and handsome.” He sighs dramatically, pushing his hands into his pockets and shaking his head. “It just isn’t fair, it’s so hard being me.”

“Oh yeah, it’s super hard being a model for luxury brands.” You laugh, rolling your eyes at him and bumping him with your shoulder. “I would hate being a role model for the youth.”

“Hey, this is hard work.” He defends as the two of you stop at the next corner. “But, on a serious note, I do enjoy working with them. I teach two more classes throughout the week and it’s probably what saved my life. Now, I get to help save theirs. Every kid that I teach has gotten into some kind of trouble. I like offering them a space to be themselves and learn something new, I like creating the space that I wish that I had when I was their age.” 

You stare over at the crossing light as Hyunjin opens up a bit. It’s so hard for you to imagine the sweet, soft guy standing next to you as an angry teenager fighting everything that looked in his direction. You can’t help but to feel proud of him, he seemed to have really turned himself around for the better. It takes a lot of discipline to correct bad habits. 

You keep your eyes trained on the light in front of you, waiting for it to change. Just as it turns green you reach your hand over towards Hyunjins, interlocking your fingers and offering a reassuring squeeze. He keeps his gaze forward as you two cross the street silently but the smile on his face and the blush on his cheeks speak a thousand words. He squeezes your hand back, running his thumb along the back of your hand as you reach the next block. He doesn’t need you to say anything back, your actions speak louder than any sentence you could possibly speak. 

“On a different note…” He looks over at you with a grin. “What did you tell your friends about me?”

“I am not answering that.” You start to pull away from him but he pulls you into his side, letting go of your hand and putting his arm around your shoulder.

“Let me guess, you told them that I’m the best kisser in the entire world and that I’m so amazing and funny and that you can’t get enough of me.” A goofy smile adorns his lips and you sigh, covering your face to hide your blush. “Aw, she’s shy.”

Before you can protest, your phone starts ringing in your bag and you take this opportunity to escape Hyunjins teasing. Thank god for Changbin.

“Hey, what’s up.” You laugh a bit as Hyunjin presses you into his side more. 

“Hey, are you with someone?” You can hear the smile in Changbin’s voice.

“Yup, coming home now.”

“Ah, good, could you do me a favor? I forgot to grab popcorn on the way home. Serena is coming over to watch a movie and that’s the only thing that I don’t have.” You nod, looking up the block and spotting a store on the corner. 

“I’ll grab it for you, I’m walking up to a store now.”

“You’re a lifesaver. I’ll see you soon. Oh, and tell Hyunjin that I said hi.” He sings the last part of his sentence before you say bye and hang up. He’s definitely going to question you as soon as you walk through the door. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yup, I just need to go into this store.” You lock your phone and slip it back into your bag as you walk up to the store. “And Changbin says hi.”

There’s a group of guys outside of the store but you don’t pay them any mind, Hyunjin follows you closely as you pull away from him to enter the store, you’ve been to this shop a million times so you know where everything is. You make a beeline to the popcorn and make your way over to the counter. The cashier smiles at you as you approach, making small talk as he checks you out. Once you’re done you turn to Hyunjin who’s waiting for you at the door but his demeanor seems to have changed. His arms are crossed over his chest and he has a mean look on his face. You smile over at him as you start to leave the store but he doesn’t smile back, that’s odd. He opens the door for you and you take the lead exiting first and tucking the popcorn into your tote bag. 

“Excuse me, you’re looking really good tonight.” One of the guys standing outside of the store steps over to you and you flash him a small smile.

“Thanks.” You start to walk away but he speaks up again, stepping a bit closer to you.

“Can I have your number? I could take you out.” You shake your head, replying with a firm ‘No’ before starting to walk away again. Hyunjin places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the group. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” 

“She said no.” Hyunjin speaks up, his voice is loud and flat. You’ve never heard him use this tone before. It’s almost scary. The two of you start walking away again, Hyunjin makes sure to keep you in front of him as the two of you make your way towards the corner.

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you.” The guy follows the two of you. Picking up the pace as the two of you get further from him. “Come on, let me take you out sometime.”

“Keep walking.” Hyunjin whispers to you, pushing you forward a bit. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to face the guy following you. You can’t help but to look back as you walk away slowly, you can’t just leave him there by himself. Neither of you know what that guy is capable of. 

“Do we have a problem?”

~ Hyunjin’s POV ~

I’m using every ounce of my self control to keep my temper in check right now. If this guy decided to mess with me while I was alone that would be a different story but he’s messing with someone that I care about and I don’t like that. This has always been a trigger for me, Felix always says that I get scary when I get mad protecting someone else. I really don’t want that to happen right now, I don’t want her to see that side of me but this guy is making it very hard to hold back. 

“How about you mind your business.” He yells in my face, his breath reeks heavy of alcohol, that’s not even fair. If I hit him he’s going to be knocked out almost instantly, drunk people can never take a hit. 

“She is my business.” I cross my arms over my chest and clench my jaw. I have to remember that she’s here. I have to keep my cool. “She said no, leave her alone.”

“Ah, I see, she’s yours. Is that it? That’s your bitch?” I bite my bottom lip between my teeth as his last question rings through my ears. Don’t react, not while she’s here. “She likes pretty boys, huh?”

I look back at Y/n, she’s stopped at the corner watching me. I take a deep breath and uncross my arms, turning back around to the idiot in front of me.

“Leave her alone, alright?” I turn to walk away, trying my best to distance myself from him.

“Is this your boyfriend?” He yells over at Y/n but that’s not the only thing that makes me snap. He touched me, he pushed my shoulder as I was turning away and I felt my blood boil instantly. I don’t even remember what I did, my body went into autopilot. I can hear Y/n’s heavy footsteps as I stand over the disoriented stranger. My hand in a fist at my side, I’m shaking, why am I shaking? I haven’t felt this mad in years, I haven’t hit somebody in years, this isn’t how that was supposed to happen. I was supposed to keep my cool, why did he have to fuck it up? The more that reality sinks in, the more angry I get. 

“What did I just fucking tell you?” I don’t raise my voice, I never raise my voice, there’s no need to. I bend down, making sure to keep eye contact with him as I grab his shirt, and pull him towards me. “Leave her alone.”

I can hear myself, I can hear the hiss in my tone. I can feel the anger getting to my head, I can feel myself losing to it. That’s my problem, I don’t know when to stop, once I get started it’s hell getting out of it. 

“You should’ve listened.” I don’t want to hit him again but I feel like I need to, I need to get this feeling to go away and the only way that I know how is to keep going. 

“I’m sorry, man.” He pleads, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to take the hit but that just makes it easier for me. I push him back onto the sidewalk, letting go of his shirt and raise my fist almost by instinct. Before I can lower it I feel a hand wrap around my wrist, I stop for just a second as I remember who this is about. Y/n is with me, she saw everything. 

“Hyunjin, get up.” Her voice is firm but somehow soft, I wish that I could just listen to her. I want to listen to her, maybe I can?

 Despite my desire to stop, I don't move. My brain and my body are doing two different things and for a moment I feel guilty. This is going to be how it ends isn’t it? She’s going to think that I’m a horrible person, she’s going to hate me for putting her through this. My jaw clenches at the thought of losing her, glancing back down at the man in front of me I feel anger climbing up my spine again. Why couldn’t he just walk away?

“I told him to leave you alone.” I meant for my words to come out softer than they did but I can still hear the hiss in my voice, it’s muffled by the sound of my heart beating in my ears but I can hear it. She steps in between us, trying her best to pull me back, her grip tight and her voice stern. 

“Hyunjin, please get up.” In all of the years that I got into fights there has never been a person who could calm me down. I don’t know why it’s different with her, I don’t know why but I don't resist. I allow her to lower my fist, I allow her to stand between us and guide me to my feet. 

“Hey, look at me.” I listen, taking a deep breath and turning my attention towards her. I expected her to look angry, I expected her to have tears in her eyes or maybe even look scared. My mom would always be angry, Felix would always look scared but she looks calm. How could she look at me like that after this? I don’t deserve that.

“Good, you’re fine. Everything is fine, come on.” Her hands run over my forearms, as she tries her best to ground me and by some miracle it’s working. 

She takes both of my hands and starts to lead me away from him, I keep my eyes on her as we walk over to the corner. I try my best to calm myself down, taking deep breaths through my nose and going through every grounding exercise that I was ever taught. For some reason those techniques aren’t what help me the most, it’s the look in her eyes that's calming me down. It’s the relaxed tone of her voice and the way that she’s guiding me. No one’s ever done this before. I can feel the anger in my body being replaced, it’s that feeling of electricity. That feeling that I only get when I’m with her. 

I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking but when I finally come out of my thoughts and look back I don’t see the guy anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure that we passed her block. We come up on a busier street, nothing too serious just a couple of people going about their night. She guides me over to a bench at the bus stop and we both sit in silence. I close my eyes, running my hands through my hair and sighing heavily. 

“Let me see your hand.” Her tone is sweet like she isn’t about to check me for bruises. She reaches for my hand, running her thumb across the back of it and I hiss in pain. That’s definitely going to be a different color tomorrow. “You’re gonna need to ice that.”

“I know the drill.” I reply in a flat whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“He deserved it.” I shake my head, turning to look at her and this time I really looked at her. I let her see the worry in my gaze, I let her see the fear that has bloomed in my stomach. 

“I’m not sorry for hitting him. I’m sorry that I almost didn’t stop, I didn’t want to stop and if you weren’t there I wouldn’t have. I would have done everything that I could to make sure that he ended up in the hospital.” I allow my gaze to drift down to my hands and it’s only then that I realize that I’m shaking. I’m still shaking, it must be the fear, not the anger.

“But you didn’t.” Her hand rests over my trembling one, petting my skin softly with the pads of her fingers. I let out a shaky exhale at the feeling of her skin against mine. “I told you that I’d be there to calm you down. I told you that it would be alright if I saw you like that and I meant it.”

“You don’t hate me?” My words leave my mouth in a whisper as I bite my bottom lip. Reluctantly, I look up at her, her expression is still so soft and calm. 

“Not one bit.”

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[reki-of-the-valley]

Summer Time (Family) Madness

lmao it's been like 6 months since the last time the last revision. And like 2 and a half years since the end of this fic. But alas. At least I'm still working on the revisions. So here's an updated chapter 6!

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AO3 | Original Chapter 1  | Original Chapter 2 | Original Chapter 3 | Original Chapter 4 | Original Chapter 5 | Original Chapter 6

It wasn’t uncommon to find Langa hidden under the counter at DopeSketch. Normally, it was to avoid having to interact with any of the customers; Reki was just naturally so much better at the whole customer service part of their shared retail job. Now, however, Langa found himself more often than not with a book on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Now, he spent his shifts groaning about the homework that was assigned on summer break of all times. 

Thankfully though, DopeSketch really wasn’t the busiest shop in town. Langa could get away with his time wasted watching videos instead of reading his novel, or all his lost minutes staring at the same math equation. Barely anyone entered the little shop, and those who did never stuck around for more than a few minutes, browsing the few shelves of skateboarding equipment. So, during the shifts where Langa remained cooped up in the small shop, watching the sun beat down on the smiling people in the streets, he got to do homework. If he had to explain to someone what he was being paid to do, the most honest answer he could muster was that his paycheck covered the cost of someone playing the role of a babysitter for a store that most definitely would not up and run away. Or maybe he was being paid to keep his grades up since he had nothing better to do than work on his assignments.

It was a miracle Oka still gave him shared shifts with Reki. It didn’t take a genius to know that employing two best friends was not the ideal recipe for productivity, but maybe the man knew how lonely it could get in the shop. Maybe that was why he let the boys keep each other company during their long shifts. And that was what they did; even if they silently did their own separate thing, at least they had each other. As long as they were together, everything would be okay. As long as they had one another, the day wouldn’t feel eternal. And sometimes, a calm and silent afternoon was exactly what they needed. 

Langa groaned as he leaned back against the counter, tipping his head back in annoyance. He had tried, he had really tried to get a head start on his summer schoolwork. He had really tried to power through his assigned readings as fast of possible. He had tried to get it over with as soon as possible, but that determination was too good to be true. When it came to actually doing it, it proved itself much harder than anticipated. And Langa hadn’t been proud to admit that his reading skills could almost rival his handwriting. 

“I don’t get it.” His eyes fell shut as another sign fell from his lips. “Why do we need literature? What’s the use of old books no one cares about? Even in English, I sucked at it. I just…” The world reappeared before him, brighter than he remembered it to be just a few seconds ago. “I don’t get it! And I just don’t care!” 

A pen was clicked a few times as Reki hummed to himself. He must have been sketching in the margins of his notebook instead of doing the math problems he had said he would be doing. He had to have been; the pen strokes were far too methodical and repetitive to be that of writing. 

“I don’t know, man. Something about culture and it’s important we know about our past.” A smile broke across Langa’s face as he peeked out from under the counter just as Reki surrounded the last part of his statement with air quotes. “But I can help you if you want. But in exchange,” red hair fell to the side as Reki leaned over to get a better view of Langa, “you gotta explain to me our next English project. ‘Cause like, that man talks way too fast for me to catch a single thing he says. I’m pretty sure I understand those American sitcoms better than him, and I never know what’s happening in those.” 

Langa chuckled as he agreed on their deal. Reki would be helped with some English homework and Langa wouldn’t fail yet another written assignment; this friendship definitely had its perks beyond the whole having a friend thing. And it wasn’t even like Reki was exaggerating about their English teacher; the man really did speak way too fast. It also did not help that he had the heaviest accent Langa had ever come across, occasionally slurring his words and making it hard for even Langa to perfectly understand what was being said. But at least he had the advantage of being completely fluent, even if his grades didn’t always reflect that, which meant he could rely on the instruction sheet rather than the verbal expectations. 

Silence reigned once more in the little shop, both boys having returned to their individual activities. Quiet, methodical pen strokes echoed against the walls; the sound of rustling pages made its place in the song being composed in the little skateboard shop. It was quiet and relaxing, peaceful even. 

Langa had come to appreciate watching Reki work his crafts, be it doodling in the margins of his notebooks or his repetitive shaving of a board. Whether he knew it or not, he made the funniest faces as he concentrated on his work. Sometimes he would furrow his brow, leaning closer to the paper before straightening out to continue adding endless details to his drawing. Other times, he would stick his tongue out as if that was what helped keep focus on his work. And once he completed something he was particularly proud of, his eyes would glow with pride as he held his piece up to the light. That was the face Langa liked the most; it was the face of someone who was proud of themselves, and Reki deserved most of all to be proud of himself. He deserved to be proud of himself, to see himself the way Langa saw him. None of that frustration that would often overcome him as he would huff and rip the page out of his sketchbook or notebook. No more crumpling and tossing of masterpieces he simply could not see. If it were up to Langa, none of that would ever happen again, but for now, he would content himself in collecting Reki’s trashed art. Even if they weren’t up to Reki’s standards, they would always be works of art to Langa. 

Langa loved watching Reki draw. It was quiet and tranquil, a moment where Reki wasn’t bouncing around, talking with his hands, words stumbling over themselves as he went on and on. And as much as Langa loved Reki’s endless energy, he also deeply appreciated the calm moments they would share. But as with everything else, good moments must come to an end, the door chiming as a customer walked in. 

“Welcome to Dope— Oh, hey Emily!”

Langa perked up at the name. Emily? Why was she here of all places? Langa had purposely avoided telling her where he worked in hopes of getting away from her. Dope Sketch had been the only place Langa could go to escape the teasing remarks and those eyes that stared straight into his soul. It was the one place where he felt safe from her badgering questions about his oh-so-obvious crush on Reki. Work had somehow become his little slice of quiet heaven, and now that bubble had burst. Now, she had found him and his hiding spot. 

Reluctantly, Langa pushed himself off the ground only to smash his head against the counter and crash back down. He held the top of his head as she let out a whiney cry of pain. 

“Dude! Langa!” Amber eyes fell onto him, eyes filled with worry and shock. “What’s up with you and hitting your head lately?”

If Langa had known the answer, he would have told Reki. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it was all those distractions, distractions disguised as the people hovering around him. Maybe it was Reki and just how absolutely distracting he was, be it while he would sketch, his face will with concentration, or when he would kneel next to Langa, his beautiful eyes still wide and filled with worry.

Between Reki and Langa, there was no doubt that Reki was the more accident-prone one. He was the one constantly sporting bandages for his sprained ankles and wrists. He was the one scraping his knees after wiping out from trying another new trick he had found on the Internet. He was always the one laughing as he fell on his ass, his board flying from under his feet. Reki was so much more the accident-prone one, at least when it came to skating. When it came to their daily lives, Langa was starting to believe he was the clumsy one, if the last two weeks were any indication. He was the one tripping over his untied shoelaces, eating pavement as Reki choked on his laughter. He was the one splitting his eyebrow open on a window frame in the dead of the night. He was the one smashing his head against the counter instead of greeting his cousin.

“Is he… Is he alright?”

Emily’s head poked from above the counter, her hair a curtain for the nook under the counter. She must have climbed onto the counter to see what mishap was happening away from her prying eyes. And given the frown that pulled at the corners of her mouth, she mustn’t have been proud of clumsy Langa.

A flood of memories washed through Langa at the sight. It wasn’t the first time she had looked down at him like this. Somewhere, somewhere long lost to the fog of memory, this exact situation had happened. But somewhere in those memories, there had also been smiles. A flash of a faceless childish grin. A flash of a girl hanging above his head. A flash of blond hair blocking the sun. Some distant chatter. A storybook. A treehouse. Grass. Laughter. Summer.

Reki pulled Langa from the floor, pulling him out of his impromptus trip down memory lane. He looped his arm around Langa’s waist, holding him tightly as if he were afraid that Langa would drop back down to the ground as soon as he would let go of him. Or maybe Reki feared that Langa had concussed himself; thankfully, that had yet to happen. A miracle, really. 

Langa let himself be guided towards the stool Reki had been using earlier. He let his body crash against the wood as soon as he felt it brush against his thighs. If Reki was asking him to sit, then Langa could not refuse. He could never refuse Reki, no matter what it was he was asking. He had learned that the hard way, and there was no way he was going through those torturous days without Reki ever again. No way, especially not when Reki was this close, squeezing his way between Langa’s knees, his rough yet soft fingers holding onto Langa’s burning cheeks. Especially not when he was letting Langa hold on to his waist as he steadied himself onto the stool. Because obviously he needed something to steady himself; otherwise, he would have risked falling again. And he couldn’t fall again. Or was it too late for that? 

Reki was so close. So fucking close. Langa could practically count the freckles scattered across his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears… He could almost count every short lash of Reki’s. And he was talking so softly to Langa. His voice was just so mesmerizing, so magical. 

“How’s your vision? Do things look blurry?”

“Not more than usual.” A frown pulled at the corners of Reki’s mouth; so much for cracking a joke to lighten the mood. “My vision is fine if that’s what you’re asking. I see just fine. It was an accident; didn’t think I was that far under the counter.” 

 “And your head? Does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel like—!”

Now, had this been some teen summer romance blockbuster, then maybe Langa would have quieted Reki with a spontaneous kiss. And maybe that would have been the beginning of the best summer of Langa’s life. But Langa was no movie protagonist and, while he was gutsy, he wasn’t that impulsive. So instead, he simply tightened his grip on Reki’s waist, interrupting the boy’s panicked questions. 

“I’m fine, Reki. I barely bumped my head against the counter. I’ve dealt with far worse in the past and I’ve survived every one of those blows.” 

“You smashed your head against my window frame the other day! I don’t know dude, but that’s kinda worrying! You could be concussed or something! Like, it’s not normal or good for you to constantly be hitting your head! You’re,” Reki’s voice dropped, his eyes finding Langa’s, “you’re not lying to me, are you?”

Reki had never made it easier to smile. “I’m fine, I swear. And I’m not lying to you, I promise.”

Reki huffed as Langa held up his pinkie finger. A light chuckle fell from his lips as his hold on Langa fell away before returning, his own finger curled around Langa’s. A promise had been formed and sealed, a promise that could no longer be broken, at least according to the rules of pinkie promises. But that touch didn’t linger, Reki finally backing away from between Langa’s legs. 

“I’m getting you some water and you better not have moved when I get back, you hear me?” 

Langa scoffed but still gave Reki a curt nod. There was no point in arguing with Reki; if he had to tape Langa down to the chair to keep him from getting up and wandering around, then he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. So Langa knew better than to try to argue. He simply watched the boy dash to the backroom where their bags were stashed. 

It never took much for Langa to look absolutely smitten. All he needed was a door swinging shut behind Reki, leaving Langa hidden from judgement. All it took was that adorably serious expression on Reki’s face as he ran off. All it required was for Reki to be, well, Reki. Everything about Reki was enough to leave Langa floating, because Reki was adorable. Seriously, absolutely adorable. 

“He sure it touchy with you.” 

Langa jumped at the sound of the voice, having forgotten about the girl standing by him. She had since gotten off the counter, but still, she leaned over it, eyes also glued to the door. The English almost sounded strange, like a foreign dialect taking over a safe space. Emily’s presence felt wrong, as if she had no business being here, next to him. Her presence left Langa annoyed once more, the feeling tugging on his insides. Work had always been one of the places where it truly was just him and Reki. Sure, sometimes Manager Oka would pop in, but most of the time, it was just Reki and Langa. Most of the time, it was a space for just them, somewhere where no one could burst their little bubble.

Dope Sketch was one of the few places where Langa didn’t feel self-conscious every time he snuck a glance at Reki. It was the only place where he knew he wouldn’t be caught by anyone. It was the only place where he felt he could be so unapologetically himself, knee-deep in his feelings without the fear that someone would bring it up, tease him about, or worst of all, call him out on his dumb crush. Here, at work, it was a land that belongs to only Reki and Langa. 

“He’s just treating me the same way he treats his sisters when they get hurt.” Langa’s tone was sharp and dry, leaving little room for a retort from the queen of annoying. “Probably just his brotherly instincts kicking in or whatever. It comes naturally to him to be caring, y’know?” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Emily clicked her tongue as she climbed back onto the counter to sit cross-legged on top of it. “You keep telling yourself that, Lover Boy.” 

Langa had gotten his fair share of nicknames over the course of his life. He had gotten used to being called a variety of names by the people surrounding him. Reki often teased him by calling him Prince Langa, a name which made no sense to Langa given that he was the furthest thing from a prince. His mother still called him her little man or her baby, which, the more Langa thought about it, were hilarious things to be called. And Emily had gotten into the habit of calling him whatever passed through that thick skull of hers, though she did tend to favor the twig insult. There had been so many names that had shaped Langa, but Lover Boy had never been one of them. Lover Boy was… it wasn’t Langa. It was a name for someone with confidence, someone who was a smooth talker, things that were definitely not Langa when it came to people. Those were things that left Langa’s inside squirming with discomfort. It was a name he wanted to run from, and the best way to do that was by completely changing the subject before Emily could ever bring it up again. 

“Hey, Emmy? Did we have a treehouse as kids?” 

Emily scrunched her nose as she turned towards Langa. Her brow was pinched, looking strangely at her cousin. “Yeah? Grandpa built it when I was 10, but had to take it down that same summer for some unknown reason, don’t you remember?” 

Langa shook his head with a shrug. 

“We spent nearly the entire summer in that tree. But why bring that up now? That’s so random.” 

Langa shrugged once more. He wanted to change subjects and had had a flashback right after hitting his head. It was random, but that was the thing with foggy memories: they reappeared at the strangest of moments. 

“Seeing you looking down on me reminded me of that summer, but I wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or just my brain making things up. It’s just… It’s all a little haze, like every summer memory overlaps. I can’t really tell what happened and when, except the really big events that often got us in shit. Like that one time everyone thought I broke my arm after I fell from a tree? The first time we were allowed to go to the park alone and got home like an hour after the set time? Or that time we accidentally splashed paint on Grandma’s carpet?” 

“Oh man! She was so pissed at us! The stain is still there, you know? Almost faded, but you can still see it if you know where to look. And like, I was so sure she was going to rip our heads off that day.” 

“Yeah, she was not happy about that one. But the treehouse…” Langa leaned back on the stool, careful to not tip over and crash once again. “The memory feels fake. It’s like I had made it up to give myself some resemblance of a real childhood.”

“But you did have a real childhood, Langa. Sure, it was maybe a little unconventional with all your snowboarding training and competitions, maybe a bit of a gifted kid childhood, but you did still have a childhood. Your parents still took you out to the park when you were a kid and weren’t such an antisocial mess.” Emily stuck her tongue out at Langa’s pointed glare, grinning at the low blow. “But for real though, you had a pretty normal childhood otherwise. Like your parents used to push you on the swings for hours on end when you were a baby. Apparently, you like those things so damn much that the only time you would cry was when someone took you out of your swing.”

Langa slumped down on his stool, ducking his head in embarrassment. The swings were one of those vague baby memories he still had. He had forgotten the whole of it, but he did remember the wind in his face and how much liked it. Still likes it, actually. That had maybe played a big part in why he had gotten into snowboarding in the first place. Maybe that was why he still loved skateboarding so much. All Langa wanted was to be able to fly.

“We spent summer after summer together, playing in the basement and outside and all around the grandparents’ house. And you even throw the biggest temper tantrum ever in the supermarket because your mom didn’t get you the cookies you wanted.” 

“I did not do that.”

Emily snorted at Langa’s defensiveness. “Uh, yes you did. Auntie Nanako even has the pictures to prove it and she showed them tome. Something about despite not being pleased with her yelling child, she needed physical proof of you being a total brat out in public so that if ever you have kids and want to kill them for screaming in a public place, then she’d show you that you were no better despite being the quietest, shyest kid ever. Something about every kid throwing a temper tantrum at the most inconvenient of times. And then you’d just have to deal with it and understand your kid’s point of view of some shit like that?” 

Langa bit the insides of his cheeks, not quite wanting to believe the story. His mother had always insisted that he had been an exceptionally easy child, though a little worryingly emotionless. He would rarely argue or cry, so the possibility that he had been an absolute monster in the middle of a supermarket because of a box of cookies, it felt wrong. It felt impossible. Out of character. Fabricated, especially since Langa didn’t like cookies that much. 

“But it’s not because you weren’t part of the popular group at school or that you didn’t hang out with the other kids at the park after class that you lack a childhood. Childhood is… It’s a lot of things. Like trying to teach you how to do ballet. Or watching movies during lunchtime. Or playing video games in a basement.” 

“I think you mean repeatedly hitting me with a Wii remote because I somehow managed to beat your high score on Just Dance.”

“You weren’t even trying!” 

Langa chuckled at the girl’s outburst. “Just have to learn the mechanics of the game to win. You don’t actually have to be good at dancing. Or dance at all.” 

“You…”

Emily huffed, but it wasn’t long before her frown broke into a grin. Laughter spilled from her lips as Langa swatted her hand away, dodging her attempt at a hair ruffle. Because even if they were going down memory lane, Langa sure as hell was not letting her treat him like he was 5 years old again. 

“I know you feel like you’re a big weirdo and you didn’t have a childhood since your past doesn’t look like some American Walmart Thanksgiving commercial, but I can guarantee you had one. And a damn good one, for that matter! And you also definitely made mine a whole lot more memorable and fun. Like, I don’t know what I would have done without my little baby cousin to play with all summer long. Most probably would have turned out a whole lot worse than I have had you not been there to entertain me and keep me in check.”

Despite Emily’s teasing tone, it was her sentimentality that really stood out to Langa. And he never knew what to do with that. He didn’t know how to respond to the girl who always seemed so energetic, always so ready for the future. She wasn’t one to reminisce, tripping over memories from the past. Or at least, that was how Langa had always perceived her; that wasn’t the Emily he knew. To him, she was someone who lived to tease and annoy him, wholeheartedly. She wasn’t one to smile as softly as she was now, a light mist covering her eyes as the ancient years rolled by like a silent film. Those brown eyes, they were made to shine from mischief and scheming, not from the threat of tears. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Langa felt something in his chest. His heart? Was it beating? If it was, it sure wasn’t the same heartbeat as when he was around Reki. It also wasn’t the same heartbeat that would race as he would slide through the world on a board. No, this time, it was going slower, feeling calmer. It beat with such a different feeling that Langa could not name it. It wasn’t excitement; it wasn’t anticipation. Was it perhaps nostalgia? Safety? Was it remembering what it was like to be a little kid, scrapping his knee as they played soccer against the garage door? Was it finding his first best friend, the person who had once been so important to him? It wasn’t anything like being with Reki, exciting and energetic and new, but still, it was nice. It felt like forgetting the distance that had estranged him from the girl who had been his only friend for so many years.

“Em,” Langa felt himself choke up, but he had to say something. He couldn’t remain silent. He couldn’t let the moment die. He couldn’t leave things unsaid, things he’d later have to bury deep within himself because it would be too late. He couldn’t let this moment pass, let the words fester until there would be no one to say them to anymore. “You also—!”

“Sorry it took so long! I just couldn’t find my water bottle anywhere, but I finally found it!”

Reki’s head poked out from behind the door as he held the bottle in the air. Almost like magic, all signs of tears vanished from Emily’s face. She perked up, a grin lighting up her face. And with such a grin came the dawning realization that all hell was about to break loose, the girl leaning dangerously close to Reki. 

“You should feed it to him.” 

Never had Langa felt so mortified in his life. He didn’t even dare look at Reki; his eyes remained on Emily who was now giggling hysterically to herself as she kicked her feet in the air like a child. For the first time since landing in Japan, she didn’t stumble on her Japanese words. They came as naturally as if they had been English. There had been no hesitancy whatsoever, which only made it worse for Langa and his stupidly burning cheeks. No need for a mirror to guess the color of his face; the blossoming heat was the only indicator he needed. 

“You feeling sick, man? If you need anything else, you’d tell me, right? If you’re not feeling well, you can go home. I’ll tell Oka what happened, don’t worry about it! I promise he’ll understand and I’m totally capable to working alone! You don’t have to worry about me at all!” 

Emily may not have hesitated, but bless her word for word translation passing over Reki’s head. And bless his not asking what she meant; explaining would have been far too awkward. Otherwise, there would have been more hesitancy in Langa’s grabbing of the water bottle before chugging down half of its contents. 

“I’m fine, Reki. Really. You have to stop worrying so much about me. And Emmy’s just being a bitch who thinks I can’t do anything on my own.” 

“Not my fault you were a mega crybaby back when you were a kid.” The shrug was just for show, but the twinkle in her eye was the real jab. “Took you forever to figure out chopsticks, I was convinced the grandmother was going to have to feed you until the day you die.” 

“Wait, but if I remember correctly, weren’t you the family’s crybaby? Because I’m pretty sure I saw you sobbed uncontrollably that time your pink spoon was dirty and you were forced to eat with a purple one.”

“I—!"

“I can’t imagine either one of you crying.” Reki’s voice cut through the argument, both turning towards the boy. He was glancing away, refusing to meet either of their gazes. “You guys are both just so… not like me.” 

The forced, bitter laughter that fell from Reki’s mouth broke Langa’s heart. Crying had always been a sensitive topic for Reki. He had never liked how easily his emotions could get the best of him. He hated how easily tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Just the idea of crying left him insecure, feeling like less than those around him. And Langa, well, he hated how Reki felt obligated to bottle up his feelings, not wanting to let others see his sadness or distress out of fear of being seen as less.

Langa remembered the first time he had seen Reki cry. It had been a hard time for both of them. It had been hard on Reki who had been holding back his tears until the dam broke free, a flood of tears pouring from his usually bright amber eyes. All his sadness, all his stress, all his insecurities had been let out, a ticking timebomb that exploded at the worst possible moment. And it had been hard on Langa who hadn’t known what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort Reki. He didn’t know what to say to him either. He didn’t know how to deal with everything that was happening so quickly, all around him. 

Since then, Langa made sure to remind Reki that crying wasn’t a bad thing. There was no reason for him to be ashamed of the tears. They weren’t a weakness. They weren’t a character flaw. It didn’t matter what other said or did or how they looked at him. None of it mattered; all that mattered was that Reki knew that crying was natural. All that mattered was that he didn’t find himself hating himself more for letting it all out. 

“Someone willing to let others see them cry is the bravest and strongest kind of person out there,” Langa had once said when Reki looked like he was holding back tears. “Not only are they honest with themselves, but they’re also not afraid to let others know how they’re feeling. There’s no point in hiding when you’re hurt.” 

It wasn’t every day Langa knew what to say, but in that moment, he remembered his mother’s words. They had been said to him when he was at his lowest, but still, he hadn’t taken them to heart. Still, he hadn’t let himself cry. But thankfully, Reki had listened. Thankfully, Reki had let it all out, weeping into Langa’s shoulder, hiccupping muffled words into a soaked t-shirt until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Reki didn’t need to be like Langa. He didn’t have to put up some emotionless person. He didn’t need to be ice cold like Langa. He didn’t need to look like he was ready to fight whoever got in his way or brush off everything anyone said. He didn’t need tears to be foreign to him. 

Reki, he was allowed to be emotional. He was allowed to be messy with his feelings. He was allowed to care about everyone around him and he was allowed to feel something about what as being said about him. He was allowed to cry his frustrations out if that was what helped him because Langa would be there. Langa would always be there. He would always be a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold if Reki so wanted. 

Emily’s fingers curled around Reki’s forearm, leaning in closer than strictly necessary. “Don’t cry! I was kidding, you know! Langa is more than capable of taking care of himself! See? He can drink all on his own!” Her fingers dug into Reki’s skin, nearly breaking it as she gestured frantically at Langa with her other hand. “See? He’s a big boy! Totally capable of using his weird lanky body all on his own!”

Had it not been for the far more natural and pretty laughter that bubbled out of Reki, Langa would have hit his cousin upside the head. Or thrown the water bottle at her. Really, anything to shut her up. But Reki was rubbing at his nose, a grin slowly making its way across his face once more. There he was, smiling and bright, just the way Langa like it. Because while Reki was allowed to cry, it didn’t mean Langa liked it. If he could have it his way, he would have kept Reki happy for the rest of eternity. If he could keep Reki laughing, then there was nothing Langa wasn’t willing to do for that. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to see that pretty smile blossom across Reki’s face. 

“So,” Reki straightened himself out as he fell back into his more cheerful and professional voice, “can I help you with anything? Looking for anything in particular?” 

Emily slid down from the counter, her eyes scanning the environment as she hummed. It was obvious she hadn’t come here for anything at all; all she knew of skateboarding was that they had wheels and Langa could go fast on his board. Other than that, she had never shown interest in the sport. 

“Not really?” Langa rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “I mean, I was looking for something, but that was mostly company from you guys. I’m just so bored at the apartment with Auntie Nanako at work and Langa’s not there either and there’s just so much tv and doomscrolling a girl can do in a day.  So yeah, I was just bored and wanted to check out where you two spend your days.” 

Reki leaned against the counter, his eyes following Emily’s gaze and fingers. “That sucks. Can’t you visit around or something?” 

“Not fluent enough and definitely can’t read anything. I’d be lost in a matter of seconds.” 

Her fingers swept over rough boards and smooth helmets. The colors reflected against her skin, staining her momentarily as she moved across the little shop. She seemed so out of place here, surrounded by loud t-shirts and colors. but at the same time, Emily seemed at ease. She browsed as if she were in any other shop, her eyes flickering between the many pieces on display. There were no questions or disgust in her eyes; there was an understanding that this was just another sports shop.

“Well, you know how to skate?” 

Emily turned back to the boy and shook her head. So much was obvious; she didn’t have the scars that Langa had or the fearlessness. She was dainty and princess-like, the exact opposite of what a skateboarder should be. Or maybe she did have what it took to be a skateboarder. Maybe Langa was just afraid of the sudden direction of this conversation.

“I tried to do a bit of figure skating back in the day, but I highly doubt that’s the skating you’re referring to. I always had to be careful to keep my bones intact since, you know, dancing and all that.”

“I can teach you if you’d like. I promise I won’t let you get hurt. You got my hand to hold for as long as you need and want.”

Reki’s smile was… Emily’s laughter… Everything started to fade out. Everything but the ringing in Langa’s ears. Everything but the tightness in his chest. Everything but the twist in his gut. Everything but the choking sensation building up at the base of his throat. 

Everything was fading. Everything was buzzing. Everything was going to hell.

Oh no.

[koco-coko]

Ivy Vines, Poem Lines (a new normal) - Mayday! Heyday Gift Exchange

Well, this was a doozy! Sorry to everyone who had to deal with me lol but I hope this piece is nice! I got @queengiuliettafirstlady as my giftee and I really loved their OC for ikevamp! I hope they enjoy! <3 Thanks for letting me be apart of this event!!

Prompt: Ivy - Affection, Friendship, Fidelity

Jean had been feeling… odd, lately. So had she, of course, but she didn’t seem to mind it as much. In fact, Julia welcomed it with open arms. 

The first days of Julia’s arrival were odd for Jean. She was just so… new. Different. The soldier wasn’t too accustomed to change. Comte’s explanation about her appearance didn’t calm him much either (though, really, could anything Comte say comfort Jean?). It was as if she had no story, no past that he could define. All he knew was she had moved in to help around, and that was that. It didn’t help that Julia herself seemed a bit awkward at first, acting as if her own skin didn’t fit on her body.

At first, he avoided her. He didn’t even bother to try and talk to her, leaving the room as soon as possible. He spent far too much time fencing with Napoleon, and sometimes he locked himself in the library trying to figure out the letters of the alphabet.

It was only when Napoleon approached Julia that the schedule decided to change. 

The library was quiet, surprisingly. It was raining, occasional lightning flashing somewhere distant. Other than external noises, all that came from the library was the flipping of pages, scratching of a pen, and the few grunts of frustration. This cycle went on for a few hours. Well, until the door creaked open, that is.

Julia’s steps were light and cautious, as if one wrong move would cause the house to crash with the thunder. Jean looked up from his mess of children's book and quickly tried to hide them, to no success. “Pardonne moi, Jean,” she started, nervously fiddling with the dark hair laid on her shoulder, “I was just checking in on you. Mozart had told me you’d been in here all day.”

Jean looked at the pen he held incorrectly. “With the downpour, it'd be unwise to go out.” In reality, the soldier would rather not face the rain whatsoever. His desk had been tilted away from all the windows.

Julia nodded, huffing shyly as she looked away. Her eyes flashed over the pages of scribbles left about. Jean cringed. This was often the worst part about being in the library. Wretched people (vampires? He wasn’t sure about Julia yet) walked in and found the labors of his hard work. It was humiliating to watch their faces twist in all sorts of different ways. Vincent’s kind-hearted pity, Arthur’s mischievous glint as he prepared to tell Jean all sorts of undignified new words, Isaac’s bewildered stare, even Wolfgang’s dismissive shrug…

But this time, he watched as Julia’s face didn’t change. Still was the coy smile, the same intrigued gaze… she read over his papers with nothing but small fascination. “Is this the Ugly Duckling?” she said, pointing to the sketch of a little boy on one of his covers.

Jean nodded his head. “I suppose so.” Julia leaned down, inspecting a couple more sheets of his messy penmanship. “You’re getting really good at making this A, but it should be in two motions, not three,” she advised, quickly going to Jean’s side and tracing the letter to demonstrate her point. 

Jean was stiff when she came to him, but after her instructions… he calmed. Nobody had really offered to help before (Well, Dazai hsd once, but he wasn’t much of help. He tried to teach something, something… Kan-gee?) “Oh, and thisT is really good, too!” Julia smiled at him, before a sudden shyness reddened her cheeks and she turned away.

“Merci,” Jean whispered. Something about the way she spoke to him was… making him feel odd. Something strange and new and horrible. Horrible? It had to be. Anything that made him feel so alive must have been the worst thing to ever feel. Something… of that sort…

A moment of silence was shared between the two. “Um…” Julia hummed, pulling up a chair to the desk Jean worked at. A bolt of lightning struck again. “I could help you, if you want. Only if you want.” She offered. The thunder rolled over the mansion, slightly shaking the books and candles.

…

“Jean!” Julia cheered the next day. “I found us some new books to read!” she ran up to the desk once again. “I also managed to find some Mother Goose’s Nursery Rhymes! They might be a bit under your current reading level, but that’s a good thing!”

Ever since their first session, Julia had become much louder. For once, the soldier didn’t mind the noise. Each time her voice came into view, his chest seemed a bit less heavy. “I even brought you some Rouge! I thought you’d need it, since you were having a busy day today.”

…

And the next few times, too. Every day, Julia returned to the library with new books and pens and papers and bookmarks, her eyes shining with excitement. Despite everything, they had created a schedule together. After everything in their normally busy lives was over, they’d meet in the library. Whether it be at midnight, noon, or sometimes before the morning sun rose, they’d meet. Every day, Julia would come in with books she happened to ‘find’ (no thanks to Comte’s donations), new stories about how her day had been, fresh bottles of Rouge or Blanc, and sit beside him. 

Every day, Jean’s words became more legible. Every day, he reads more words than before. Every day, he could even start reading the books his fellow residents had written. Julia’s eyes lit up at every new word he could sound out. 

The schedule did change a few times. But the most important changes were quite simple ones. Before Julia would arrive, Jean would write a letter. Sometimes, they were just three neat words. Other times, they were unorganized and messily written paragraphs. All describing thanks to Julia and her kindness. How he never would’ve thought he could learn so well until she arrived. How… he felt… different around her. How much he wanted to smile, but was too embarrassed to do so, imagining how weird a smile coming from him of all vampires would look.

But… the real most important change came a bit later on.

Jean was nowhere to be found. Early, Julia thought. At first. When she scanned the desk for his letter, she found it crumpled up in the wastebin beside them. Tilting her head, she went to pick it up and read over the contents. There was a brief moment of hesitation before she let her eyes glaze over the words.

Three neat words, once again. So clean that there was no arguing over any letter.

“I love you.”

To Julia, it was better than any love poem she had ever read.