#I haven’t been clinging onto this show since it was on Netflix and before the movie versions were released of the seasons

[smol-ruby]

rocking back and forth going through the RVB tag

[the32ndbeat]

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣.𝐲𝐧 - [ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟛 ]

pairing: stalker!jaehyun x fem!reader ( ft twice’s tzuyu, loona’s haseul )

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual harassment, mature themes, mentions of drugs, smoking, extreme views, misogyny, yandere themes

a/n: unedited! it’s been forever since I updated this but also considering if I should turn this into a tbz series at my tbz writing blog so we’ll see how this goes.

taglist: I don’t have one yet and I’m seeing how this does since I’m thinking whether I should convert it into a tbz series. Please do lemme know if you guys want to see this continued!

disclaimer: everything written here is FICTIONAL and I am in no way saying that the mentioned characters act like that irl!

masterlist  

(inspired by netflix’s you and the book of the same name by caroline kepnes)

The first thing that registers in my mind is how fucking loud this place is. Seriously, what is it with college parties and their inherent need to blast music loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood within a five mile radius? Before I even step within the premises or even make it to the front yard, the whole fraternity house seemed to shake from the loudness of the bass-boosted music when viewed from a distance away. I even had to squint as I approach, the strings of fluorescent party lights draped all over the place glowing so brightly it almost hurt to look straight.

A few drunk college frat boys stumble past me, their hair sticky and messy with sweat and their breaths reeking of cheap alcohol. Their steps are wobbly and I can even see drool and remnants of vomit hanging at the corner of their mouths. My heart clenches with pure disgust and I grit my teeth as I watch them laugh out loud over nothing, their brains a pink, unintelligent mush in their skulls, probably rotted by endless drinking and fucking. All part of the college frat experience.

I wonder if they enjoy being a complete waste of space while wasting mummy and daddy’s money to put them through college.

I look away and ignore the growing irritation in me. This is the sort of party your friends wanted you to go with them to? I thought your friends were bad influences but scratch that, they’re fucking horrible. They taint you, taint your innocence and put you at risk around such dangerous men who do not deserve to be even a mile within your presence. As I walk closer, the house looks even more hideous up close.

It’s decorated in the worst way I’ve seen a house decorated. It’s as if someone threw a bunch of random fairy lights bought in the brightest, blinding neon colours that simply do not go together over a sloppy looking house and the front yard is littered with empty, red plastic cups and is that a discarded bra I see over there?

I tiptoe over the trash laying around on the grass and try to avoid the gyrating bodies of college students who clearly have no sense of rhythm. My skin feels grimy within just a few minutes of being here and I can’t wait to leave but there is no way I’m leaving when I know that you will be here. The thought of you being surrounded by such vermins makes me sick to the stomach and I want to get you out of here. The only place you should rightfully be, is at my place where there are no revolting men who only love to drink cheap alcohol, party till sunrise, get high off smoking a blunt, yell ‘turn up!’ every few minutes as if it’s muscle memory in their tiny, almost non-existent brains and do anything but be a productive member of society.

As I push through the double doors, the nauseating smell containing a mixture of intoxicating alcohol, smoke and cheap cologne almost knocks me backwards. My hand grips tighter to the wooden door and I force myself in. Inside, the house is dim but bright at the same time with disco and laser lights. A massive boombox and a pair of equally large loudspeakers sit at the corner of the room and some hip hop tune is being played while people dance and drink and smoke to their hearts’ delight. You’d never believe these kids were supposed to be the future.

Oh, how disappointed their parents must be.

A girl in skimpy shorts and a tube top looks at me with unadulterated want and beckoning in her eyes while staring at the varsity jacket I’m wearing, no doubt replaying fantasies of fucking a college athlete in her mind and trying to guess which sport I supposedly play. I gaze blankly at them before turning away and I can see her shift from the corner of my eye, obviously bothered by the lack of attention. It’s like I can almost see the gears whirring in her brain. Did she not show enough cleavage? Is more skin needed to get my attention? Sometimes people are so predictable and readable that it’s almost pathetic.

Other times, I might have lowered my standards and settled for a casual fuck with someone like that but not today. Today, I’m a man on a mission. A mission to look out for you.

My eyes scan the room but it’s too dim to see anything within four feet in any direction. The flashing lights threaten to overwhelm me along with the stink of the place and booming music and I can feel my annoyance evolving into anger. I repress the urge to slap the shit out of a guy in a red bandana who screams ‘turn up’ all of sudden, practically effectively bursting my eardrums.

I almost bump into a couple eating each other’s faces out when someone yells out at me.

“Hey, you!”

The music is so loud that I almost don’t hear it. I whip around and sure enough, it’s tube top girl making her way over to me. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Not only do I have to find and save you from this sleazy place and have to squeeze in with a crowd of sweaty, brainless college kids who know nothing but party in a tiny, dirty, smelly frat house but now I also have tube top girl hot on my heels?

The things I do for you, y/n and we haven’t even properly gotten to know each other yet.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Tube top girl smiles and up close, I can see that her mascara is smudged and her hair is slicked back with an unholy amount of gel into a tight little bun which only makes her face look wider and her forehead exposed with a sheen of sweat covering it. Her lipstick is reapplied and I know for a fact that she has done it to impress me. Her top is also inched a little lower, as if that makes her anymore appealing.

I smile in a dismissive way, in a way that showed that I cared, but not really.

“Hey,” I reply flippantly.

“Crazy party huh?” She grins, satisfied that she’s got my attention now. Women.

I let my eyes drift to her breasts and look back up at her expectant, puppy dog eyes that are so eager to please it’s actually embarrassing.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your name? I’m Meg.”

“I’m Jaehyun.”

“You part of any sports team in school?” And just like that I know that tube top girl must have had fantasies of fucking a college athlete.

So predictable.

“Yeah, I’m on the swim team.” I say and her smile widens, a playfulness in her eyes as she leans her chest in closer in what was meant to be a sexy gesture.

“Oh, is that so? I’ve never really talked to a competitive swimmer before,” she replies in a sultry voice and I smirk.

“Well, here I am. Am I every bit of the guy you imagined a college swimmer to be?” I whisper in an equally sultry voice. Let her think she has me wrapped around her finger. It’s easier that way. Better for her to think I’m enthralled with her and her breasts than let her cling onto me the entire night.

“Mhm,” she says, “of course.”

I’m about to reply when something catches my eye. From the window, I see you and your friends stumbling and swaying down the sidewalk, away from the party. Internally, I feel my rage simmering again but not at anyone. At myself.

How was I so late that I didn’t manage to stop this from happening? How are you already drunk? How did this happen?

A million questions are racing through my mind and my vision almost blurs with white hot anger as I imagine a slimy frat guy placing his greasy hands on you while you sit there, drunk and uninhibited in that dress that seemed to accentuate your every single curve. You look simply gorgeous in that dress and I fucking hate to think that other guys in this whole house may have made a pass at you. Why was I so late? Would I have been just a little bit earlier if tube top Meg didn’t stop me? I should have left the moment she decided to strike up conversation. This is my karma for letting other temptations get in the way. I vow to myself that this will never happen again as I extricate myself away from Meg’s clutches (“Hey! Where are you going?” She calls out and I ignore her).

I shove people out of the way and do not care for their protests and yelps. Fuck them and fuck this entire shithole of a house. I scramble through the door and maintain my distance as I follow you and your friends down the pavement and past the buildings within the campus. I watch and cringe as you seem to crumple under the weight of your friends’ arm and quickly realise that you aren’t drunk. Your friends are. Stupidly drunk.

I feel my heart relax and my stomach unclench. Of course, you wouldn’t be. You are good. And smart. Too smart to get drunk in a place like that. You know what are the risks and you are above such parties. Your friends though, I couldn’t say the same. Which brings me back to why you need better friends but that’s besides the point. I can see a few guys hanging at the other side of the street who leer at the group of you, clearly getting their dick hard at the thought of a group of vulnerable girls roaming these empty streets at night.

It’s dangerous. But that’s what I’m here for. They see me next and they look away.

I will do what I can to protect you, y/n. Even if that means protecting your good for nothing friends in the process.

All of a sudden, I see you trip and it’s like everything is in slow motion. You fall forward and I take long strides over, my legs stretching out and rushing to help you. Before your knees can hit the rough ground, I have you in my arms, encircled around your waist as I hold you up. I have your other friend, Haseul upright with my other hand tugging at the collar of her jacket. Your friend Tzuyu is not so fortunate and falls flat but she barely notices it, smiling tipsily to herself instead.

You glance up at me with those large eyes and I could get lost in them right there and then. But as quickly as we have our moment, you move away and I see a hint of suspicion in your eyes. We separate and the moment you extract yourself from my arms, I already want you back. Your touch feels addictive already. What have you done to me?

“Thanks.” You say curtly and I admire the fact that you have boundaries, not like Meg. You are hard to get and that’s what makes you so appealing. You are to be earned and respected.

You help Tzuyu to her feet and as you turn to leave with your friends, I call out, “is there any way I can help?”

You regard me with caution and open your mouth to reject me but then suddenly, the tenseness in your eyes relax.

“Do I know you?”

You remember me. Halle-fucking-lujah! I want to wrap you in my arms again but I play it cool.

“I… don’t…?”

Your eyes grow wide and the recognition seeps in.

“Wait! You’re from that hardware store right? Jaehyun?”

I pretend to be surprised when I’m actually fucking overjoyed.

“Yeah, wait… You’re that girl with the rope right?”

You laugh and it’s the most melodious thing I’ve ever heard in forever.

“Yup, that’s me. Kind of mortified that’s how you remember me but sure,” you say and your eyes twinkle but then you continue with a more subdued tone, “what are you doing here?”

I pat my chest good-naturedly.

“Friend of mine is a student here. I just came over to visit and he gave me his varsity jacket so I could try feeling like a college student for once. Never been to college so… yeah. I thought I’d like to try it out for fun.” I reply and shoot you an awkward smile, the kind you do when you try to get someone to favour you and think of you as ‘adorable’.

It works and you smile gently.

“That’s pretty cool, you’ve got a good friend.”

And you haven’t, I think but don’t say.

I gesture towards you and your friends.

“Need any help?”

You look at your drunken friends and back at me and I sense you thinking. Finally, you decide that you do need my help and chuckle, “We live right at that block over there and I think I might die halfway there. I’m not fit enough to hold 2 people.”

That’s so like you. So compassionate over friends who clearly didn’t give a shit that you didn’t want to go to some god forsaken party, so caring over friends who get drunk and don’t take responsibility, so helpful to take care of friends who literally do not give a fuck about you. You are not beautiful on the outside but on the inside too and as I loop Tzuyu’s arm over my neck and hold her, I wish I was holding you instead.

We amble over to the front of your block and we part, you thank me and we say our goodbyes and it’s all too soon. I want to be with you for longer, I want us to talk and I want you to invite me to your room but reality is often much less exciting and more boring.

“I’ll see you!” You call out, smiling as I walk away and I wave back, my heart soaring.

Today is a good day, I think and as I round the corner to the next street, I slip the keycard out of my pocket and feel the hard plastic under my finger.

Wasn’t difficult honestly. Your friends should really learn to keep their valuables in safe places, not the back pocket of their jeans.

[queenshelby]

A New Life

Part Four: A Day at the Zoo

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,790

Warning: Fluff, Self-Esteem Issues, Body Image Issues

The following morning, Cillian picked you and Max up from your house at 8 o’clock after having borrowed a car seat from Cian.

‘Thank you for taking us to the Zoo, Cillian’ Max said excitedly as Cillian helped him into his seat.

‘That’s alright buddy’ Cillian said and you couldn’t help but be a little bit excited. Whilst you never liked going to the Zoo, you liked the fact that you and Max got to spend the day with Cillian.

He had a fantastic sense of humour and Max really seemed to like him which put you at ease quite significantly.

After Max and you sat down in the car, Cillian opened two of the windows slightly and told you that he had put some sickie bags and wet wipes into the glove box for Max just in case you needed them. Another thing he remembered was that Max often got car sick and he certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by it. In fact, he was quite well prepared.

To your surprise, Max did well in the car and was fascinated with some of the gadgets, including the TV screens in the back.

‘Made it without Max getting sick. That’s new. Thank you for taking it easy around the corners’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian said before helping Max out of the car and picking up his plush bunny toy which had fallen to the floor.

‘That’s one well loved rabbit’ Cillian observed as he looked at the rather old and half destroyed fluffy toy and you explained to him that Max had this bunny since he’s been a baby. In fact, Cian had bought it for him when you were still pregnant with Max.

***

After twenty minutes, two cinnamon donuts and a take away coffee, you finally arrived at the tiger enclosure.

‘I can’t see, I can’t see’ Max said somewhat disappointed as the tiger was roaming around from the left to the right and he was simply too small to look over the larger children in front of him.

‘Sweetie, you are too heavy for me to pick up’ you said as Max pulled on your t-shirt and began to pout.

‘I can put him up on my shoulders if you want’ Cillian suggested, ensuring that you would be okay with it before saying anything to Max.

Of course, you had no objections and Max was quick to climb onto Cillian’s shoulders so that he could see the tiger, still walking from the left to the right and roaming around his enclosure.

‘Max, careful!’ you said worryingly as he was clinging onto Cillian’s hair but Cillian didn’t seem to mind.

Taking you by the hand for a brief second to pull through the crowds, Cillian moved over to the left slightly to give Max a better view and you followed him while watching Max smile with excitement.

‘Have you counted how many stripes he’s got?’ Cillian then asked your son.

‘Too many for me to count Cillian’ Max laughed before Cillian told him about the tiger, reading from the sign in front of him and asking Max questions in order to keep him engaged.

You were truly surprised how well Cillian and Max were getting on and how patient and engaging Cillian was with him.

‘Elephants next?’ Cillian asked as, eventually, the tiger went into his little cave for a rest and Max nodded.

Without Max getting down from Cillian’s shoulders, you both walked towards the Elephant enclosure.

‘Can you tell me what sounds an elephant makes?’ Cillian asked and, when Max and Cillian both pretended to be elephants, you couldn’t help but laugh.

The entire day was a blast and, for the first time in a long while, you and Max both felt comfortable being around someone new. It felt like you both had known Cillian for a long time and you were quite impressed by his character.

‘What a lovely family’ you then heard all of a sudden as one elderly women in the crowd walked past you and, whilst Cillian wanted to correct her, you simply said ‘thanks’ and laughed.

***

After your day at the zoo, Max fell asleep in the car fairly quickly and whilst you were keen to take up Cillian’s offer to have dinner in town, you didn’t think that Max would be up for it. He had a big day.

‘I am not sure if Max is up for dinner in town. He’s tuckered out completely’ you said, looking back towards him.

‘I figured that he would be tired after all this walking around’ Cillian chuckled ‘But, if you want to, I can cook something at your house instead and we can watch a movie with Max’ Cillian offered.

‘You can cook?’ you asked since no man had ever cooked for you before.

‘You seem surprised’ Cillian observed, causing you to laugh and nod before accepting his offer.

‘I suppose spaghetti would be winner, right?’ Cillian then asked and you nodded again before asking a question which you have been pondering on about for the entire day.

‘You are so good with Max. How come you never had children?’ you asked before telling Cillian that he didn’t have to answer this question if he didn’t want to.

‘My ex-wife never wanted children and I had to accept that I suppose’ Cillian explained.

‘How long were you married for?’ you then asked.

‘Ten years. But we were together for fifteen. I had one relationship after that, but it was a disaster’ Cillian chuckled and you talked about his marriage and why it ended before Cillian carefully and quietly asked about Max’s father.

You told Cillian that he had died in a car accident when Max was only two years old and that Max didn’t remember much about him.

‘We had our differences but were determined to make it work for Max. We were high school sweethearts and met when we were 16’ you explained, thinking back to all the irrational choices you made in the past.

***

An hour later, you arrived at your apartment following a small detour to the local supermarket.

‘Cillian is making us spaghetti’ you said to Max while you helped unpack the grocery bags.

‘It’s my favourite. Can I have lots of cheese please?’ Max then asked and, of course, you nodded before telling him to play in his room while you were going to help with the food.

Cillian pre-prepared the food for later with your help before you all sat down together and watched a cartoon movie which almost sent Cillian to sleep. His eyes kept shutting closed as he leaned against the large cushion on the L-shaped lounge and you had to give him a nudge now and then to make him stay awake.

Luckily, Max lost interest in the movie after thirty minutes and asked Cillian whether he wanted to see his dinosaur collection.

Sure enough, Cillian was very interested in dinosaurs and, after they managed to give each of the toys a name, you played two games of UNO before serving dinner.

‘This is much better than mum’s spaghetti’ Max observed, causing you to pout and Cillian to apologise.

‘It is pretty good’ you observed before thanking Cillian for cooking and taking you both to the zoo.

‘We had a fantastic day, didn’t we Max?’ you said and Max nodded and yawned at the same time.

***

‘I probably should drive home soon’ Cillian said after you cleaned up the dishes and Max had changed himself into his pyjamas.

‘Do you want to stay for a wine and watch a more interesting movie after I put Max to bed?’ you then quickly asked, hoping that you wouldn’t sound too desperate.

‘I suppose I could leave the car here and pick it up tomorrow’ Cillian then said, not intending to drink and drive and you nodded in agreement.

Cillian’s house was only 20 minutes by foot from your apartment and he could easily call a taxi or sleep on your lounge if he didn’t want to walk.

‘Can Cillian read me a bedtime story then?’ Max asked, clearly having overheard your conversation.

‘If that’s alright with your mum, I sure can’ Cillian offered which prompted Max to quickly find a book and his favourite bunny toy.

Listening to Cillian read a bedtime story to Max made your heart melt once again. Not only did you think that Cillian was an incredibly kind person who was good with children, but also was he rather attractive.

Quite to your surprise, you adored the small wrinkles around his eyes and the few grey hairs on his head as his hair was growing out on the sides.

Then, of course, there were those deep blue eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones and you wondered what your mind was doing to you, feeling some sort of attraction towards a man who was clearly much older than you.

***

‘Thank you for reading to him’ you said when Cillian came back into the living and you tugged Max into bed and gave him a goodnight kiss.

‘That’s perfectly fine Y/N’ Cillian assured you before sitting down while you poured two glasses of red wine.

‘So what are we watching?’ he asked and you suggested to put something on which has him in it after Cian told you that one of Cillian’s shows was on Netflix.

You had only just signed up to Netflix when you came to Ireland as, frankly, working on TV made you less interested in watching it during your spare time but, now that you were taking some time off after having resigned as a host from one of Australia’s design shows after your ex’s constant publicly stunts, this has changed.

You hadn’t seen any of Cillian’s work yet and you certainly didn’t know much about him. Unlike he did with you, you haven’t resorted to Google yet to find out more, wanting to paint your own picture about him and not being influenced by media.

‘Absolutely not. I hate watching myself’ Cillian chuckled before suggesting a different movie on Netflix. His comment made you laugh.

‘I get that. I hate watching myself too’ you chuckled and, after he turned on the movie, it didn’t take you long to get comfortable together on your small sofa and you quite enjoyed sitting so closely next to him.

As you were sitting next to him, you couldn’t help but notice the scent of his aftershave which was musky but yet fresh and sporty. Glancing over towards him without him noticing, you quickly got mesmerised with his freckled skin and you couldn’t help your eyes from wandering further down, observing his neck and the small area of exposed skin above the neckline of his t-shirt.

Clearly, he had a little bit of chest hair. Or was it a lot? You were curious as you thought that, the way it extended above the neckline of his t-shirt looked quite sexy.

Your fixation on Cillian’s skin and scent, however, soon came to an end when you received a text message from one of your closest friends in Australia.

In her text message, she linked an article from an Australian tabloid and, whilst you knew that you should probably ignore it, you couldn’t help but click on the link.

When you opened the link you couldn’t believe your eyes. Clearly, your ex-partner had shared your last holiday pictures to a water theme park in Australia’s Northern Territory and they were far from flattering.

Cillian immediately noticed that something was wrong and paused the movie before asking you whether you were alright as tears had built up in your eyes.

‘My ex is making my life miserable’ you huffed out before telling Cillian about the unflattering pictures and comments from the tabloids.

According to the online magazine you should have chosen your outfit better to hide your scars and the publisher criticised that you were hosting a design show while, according to him, you obviously didn’t care much about your own appearances.

‘Can I see?’ Cillian asked and, whilst you were almost ashamed to show him, you did, knowing that it was on the world wide web anyway.

You saw Cillian’s eyebrows rise as he read through the article before, suddenly, he started laughing.

‘What an eejit’ he chuckled and you looked at him somewhat confused.

‘Irish for idiot’ Cillian clarified before carrying on. ‘Look, these people obviously have nothing better to do than to criticise humans for being human. You wore a bikini on a water slide. Seems logical to me. I mean what else would you wear when you visit a water park in a country where it’s so fucking hot?’ Cillian said, handing you back your phone.

‘That’s not the point Cillian. My ex knows how self-conscious I am. He continuously used to put me down and, ever since my emergency c-section when I had Max, I have been trying very hard to hide my body. Obviously, I was right to do so. I mean look at this shit now’ you said rather upset.

‘Y/N, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. You are a very attractive woman and any man out there would be lucky to have you. Despite, from what I just saw, there is nothing wrong with your body. You are stunning. You’ve got a few scars, so what?’ Cillian said reassuringly while taking your hands into his.

‘And a little baby weight I never managed to get rid of’ you chuckled and, whilst you knew it wasn’t really a big deal, you felt as though, being in the public eye required you to look perfect at all times.

‘You are perfect Y/N. You really cannot let this stuff get to you and you should tell your friend not to bother sending these things to you either’ Cillian said, knowing very well what reading bad press feels like.

‘So, you actually don’t care when you read something bad about yourself?’ you asked, not realising how much press Cillian had to deal with in comparison to you.

‘I gave up caring about twenty years ago’ Cillian chuckled. ‘You should too. It feels better that way’ he then said and you couldn’t agree more. You knew you had to care less but, the truth was, you had realised that this life wasn’t for you.

‘That’s why I gave up TV and advertising. I just want to concentrate on writing and the other things I’ve been working on’ you explained before changing the topic to something more pleasant which was your upcoming theatre date and trip to Kerry.

When you mentioned your upcoming trip to Kerry, Cillian told you that Cian invited him and Laura as well and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘So, Laura…do you like her?’ you asked.

‘She is nice I guess. But, I honestly am not interested in a relationship or dating right now’ Cillian told you before advising you that he would have to head home soon. He had an early start.

***

By the time Cillian had left it was already 9 o ‘clock and you decided to have a bath and then head into bed as well.

For a minute or two, you pondered on about the article that had been published in Australia but, then, you remembered Cillian’s words. You had to ignore them.

Instead of dwelling on about them, you felt as though you wanted to know a little more about Cillian. Until this point, you had refused to google him but you realised that you didn’t even know his surname nor did you know how old he was and you certainly didn’t want to sound weird, asking him or Cian those things.

You tried your luck putting the words ‘Cillian’, ‘Actor’ and ‘Irish’ into the search tab as, surely, there couldn’t be too many actors with his name out there.

To your surprise, his name and pictures of him popped up immediately. You didn’t have to do much investigation and you were quite shocked to see his extensive filmography.

Even more so, you were surprised by the fact that he had just recently turned 45.

‘How the fuck can this man be 45 already?’ you asked yourself silently and couldn’t help yourself flicking through the many pictures.

Going through them one by one, you realised again how handsome he was and whilst you were certainly attracted to him, the fact that he was rather famous turned you off and made it much easier for you to turn off your attraction towards him. At least so you thought.

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[wheelsup]

moreid as a cheesy high school teen movie romance | headcannon

(this really got away from me, it is incredibly cheesy. derek and spencer are the same age (but one year apart) in this au. tw: mentions of anxiety, mentions of homophobia. 1.4k words because like i said, it got away from me)

spencer, a sophomore, shows up on the first day of school in one of derek’s junior-level classes. derek remembers him from the summer, when he had to come to school for off-season practice and spencer was there for chess club tournaments, he passed him a few times in the hall. he’s gotten taller since then, and his cheekbones have come in. he looks good. not like the awkward freshman he remembers.

spencer’s always getting called on in class, and derek can see him panicking every time he has to speak up.

each time spencer’s anxiety kicks up after he talks in class, derek leans over and tells him he did a good job. that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

spencer starts speaking up more in class, not just because derek’s reassuring him and easing his anxiety, but because he knows it will get the boy will talk to him. even if for just a moment.

after class one day, derek stops spencer as he’s walking home and asks for his phone number. he says it’s so they can talk about homework, but derek knows that it’s the only thing he won’t be texting reid for. spencer has to pretend his hands aren’t violently shaking when he types his number into derek’s phone, he’s afraid he’s going to drop it with how sweaty his palms feel.

spencer waits for derek to text him, but nothing comes through. two days go by without a message, and spencer’s stomach is turning inside out and he’s so sad. on the third day, derek finds him in the cafeteria at lunch and corners him, asking why he hasn’t been responding to his messages. 

“why haven’t you texted me back?”

“i never got a message?” 

“well i sent you like seven of them”

that’s when they figure out spencer gave him the wrong number. he was so nervous and shaky that he hit a zero where it should have been a one. both those boys spent three days thinking that their crush was unrequited. in reality, derek had sent him seven texts and spencer was crushing so hard he couldnt even type right. 

reid’s contact name is obviously pretty boy

spencer hates phones but he turns his notifications on just so he never misses a text

dereks mature and texts back normally, spencer is insecure and tries to wait to reply so he doesn’t look like he was waiting for a text

even though the mutual crush is so obvious, they still pretend like their texts are nothing to speak of. they’re nervous.

them staying up past midnight texting is just because they’re “buds”. derek telling spencer what his favorite movies are, which spencer saved onto his netflix list, and spencer sending derek song recommendations that he saves into a playlist, is definitely just “buddy” stuff. 

it’s the day before the big homecoming game, and derek’s going to start. he wore his letterman jacket around all week to show his pride, like football players are supposed to do the week leading up to the game.

it also rains really hard that day, and spencer shows up to class looking like a drowned puppy with his sweater completely soaked. he had to walk across the entire campus to make it to class, and he couldn’t avoid getting caught in the rain.

derek sees him, shivering and pale, and slips him his letterman jacket to wear in class. he does it so casually, like it wasn’t even a question for him to give it up, but, he’s nervous that spencer’s not gonna wanna wear it, even if he is fighting hypothermia. he has to actively try not to smile when spencer accepts the jacket.

it’s so much bigger than spencer is, and so, so warm. 

after class, spencer hands it back to him and thanks him for letting him wear it. derek tells him to hold on to it for now.

“aren’t you supposed to wear it for the game tomorrow?”

“how about you wear it. give it back to me after i win.”

he blushes so hard and he’s so in love with derek, but spencer’s scared to wear it to school the next day.

nobody would say anything to derek, but the homophobic assholes could easily pick on spencer. they already ragged on him enough, he didn’t want to give them any more reasons. he tries it on and takes it off a hundred and one times in the mirror before going to school.

he ultimately doesn’t wear it to class.

it would just make him too easy of a target, and he wanted to so badly, but he’s scared of the bullies.

he’s also scared to face derek. he avoids him all day, hoping he doesn’t see that spencer didn’t wear it to class that day like he was supposed to. he avoids him in the hall. he hides in a seat in the back of the classroom.

it doesn’t work. derek turns around in the front row, eyes scanning for spencer. he’s absolutely crestfallen when he sees him, sans jacket. and spencer’s clearly been avoiding him today, and so he gets the message. spencer doesn’t like him like that.

the sun was out that day, and the wet grass field was gonna dry up in time for the big game, but derek’s whole world felt dark.

spencer tries to talk to him after class, but derek’s nowhere to be found. he texts him as he walks home alone and doesn’t get any response. spencer tries to convince himself derek’s just at practice, and he doesn’t have his phone on him, but he knows that practice doesn’t run that long.

it’s 7pm now. derek’s big game is about to start, and spencer’s sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping he didn’t just ruin his chance. derek looks over the bleachers before the coin toss and he doesn’t see the only face he’s looking for.

bullies have taken so much from spencer, and he was letting them take his first (potential) boyfriend away from him too. spencer wants to stay in bed and cry, and he does for a bit, but if ever spencer was going to take a stance, he decided it should be now.

he shows up to the game five minutes before half time, just enough to see derek in action. he’s never seen anything so impressive. as the team is huddled up and the marching band is playing, derek by chance glances over the bleachers and sees reid. front row with that big jacket over his shoulders.

derek’s heart has left his body, ascended into the sky. he plays even better that second half, but he feels like he’s floating on air, even when he’s getting tackled and rammed.

reid, who has never seen a game of football in his life, is learning everything he can as it unfolds before him.

he’s clinging onto every play, cheering when derek does something good (really, the whole team did it, but to reid derek IS the whole team) and booing when the other team was up.

sometimes he doesn’t know what happened and why the crowd is cheering, but he cheers anyways.

the game is over and people are leaving but spencer is glued in place. the team lost and everyone’s disappointed, but spencer is the proudest he could ever be.

because the first derek does is walk off the field and towards the bleachers. to him.

they don’t kiss. not here. in front of all these prying eyes and bright lights, not in a place where they couldn’t savor it.

derek does hold spencer’s hand, though. it means everything that he came. it means more that he wore the jacket.

and he’s scared, too. he might be the school’s beloved football star, but this is the first boy he’s ever liked and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

they leave the game together. derek’s team is wondering where he went because he was supposed to come get drunk with them to forget the loss. but derek won tonight.

derek and spencer tell each other they might not know how to do this, but they wanna figure it out. it’s worth enduring a bit of pain for this much joy. the bullies couldn’t possibly kill off the butterflies in spencer’s stomach every time he even thought about derek.

they kiss at spencer’s front door, under his dimmed porch light. the world falls away around them, all that exists is derek’s hands caressing spencer’s face, and spencer’s arms wrapping around derek’s waist.

spencer keeps the letterman jacket. he’s going to wear it to class on monday.

taglist: @ellesgreenaway @suburban--gothic @sturmmhond @ssa-sarahsunshine @mediocre-writer @hotchgans @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @makaylajadewrites

[bts-reveries]

expect the unexpected | 18

You sat on the toilet (with the lid closed) waiting for the results. 

Can this really be happening?

You just got back from the store and are now in your parent’s house. You told your parent’s that you were just going to get medicine, which you did, but you really went for one other thing. 

*Dit. Dit. Dit.*

The three minutes were up and you were nervous to check.

What if…

No it’s not likely.

Who are you kidding? You took a deep breath, grabbing the pregnancy test from the sink next to you. 

Two lines. 

“Oh boy..”

-

The following evening…

“I already finished all of my homework,” Minseok says, jumping onto Jin’s bed. 

“Me too!” Soojin says, following her brother. 

“Me too me too!” Haneul says, climbing up the bed.

“You don’t go to school,” Soojin tells him, pushing him off of the bed. 

“Soojin don’t push him,” Minseok says, hopping down to help Haneul up the bed. “That’s mean.”

Jin sighs as he walks out of the bathroom that you two have in your room, seeing all three kids hopping on the bed. 

“Hey, what are you three doing in here? I thought I already tucked you all in bed?” he says, wearing a bathrobe and rubbing a towel on his head as he just got out of the shower.

“We wanted to hangout with you,” Minseok says, sitting down and pulling Soojin with him. 

“You have school tomorrow morning and daddy’s tired,” Jin says, walking over to his closet to change into some pajamas. It was a long day. Again, the kids spent their time with Jin in his office after school. Haneul and his siblings had fun running around and Jin was having a hard time focusing. He was glad that he was able to do some work as Haneul was finally not crying and clinging onto him, but that was just replaced with three loud kids running around. 

“Can we stay with you here until we fall asleep then,” Soojin asks with her puppy eyes, looking up at her dad when he walks to his bed, now in his pajamas. Soojin knows her dad can’t say no to her puppy eyes. He sighs.

“Fine, only for tonight,” Jin says, climbing onto his bed. “Scoot over,” he says to Haneul, who crawls to the other side of the bed. 

“Your hair is still wet daddy, you need to dry it or you’ll get sick,” Minseok says, pointing to Jin’s head. You told them that every time you’d dry their hair after their nightly showers. You’d be glad to know that your words stick to them.

“It’s dry enough, I’ll be okay,” Jin says, laying his head onto his pillow, facing the kids. “Now come on, lay down so you can fall asleep and I can carry you to your bed when you do,” Jin says, smiling at them with that ‘please just cooperate I’m tired’ smile.

-

Meanwhile...

You laid in bed, just thinking.

*Flashback to the day you left for Jeju*

“Uhh..vitamins,” you say to yourself, grabbing the vitamins. “What else? Oh yeah!” You say, reaching out for your case of birth control pills. It was placed right next to Jin’s allergy medication. “Shoot, I ran out.” You shake your head, holding the empty case. “We’ll just get more later.” 

>>fast forward to that evening after all the unexpected turn of events>>

“A long night in bed sounds great after today’s ‘festivities’,” you tell Jin. Your first night away from the kids, it was a stressful day… 

“If that’s what you want,” Jin says with a small laugh, leaning in to give you a kiss. “I’m up for whatever you want to do.”

“I think it’s the only way we should be spending our first night away from the kids.”

You didn’t need to say the word for Jin to know exactly what you meant. 

-

You and Jin cleaned up after finishing all of your food. You two were cuddled up on the couch when you called Jin’s mom to facetime the kids to say your good nights and sweet dreams.

“Alright my babies, good night~” You tell the kids, waving at the camera. 

“Aww I wanna talk still,” Soojin pouts, grabbing the phone out of her brother’s hold.

“It’s mommy and I’s anniversary,” Jin tells her. “We still have to go celebrate.”

“But it’s time for bed!” Minseok says, peeking in from the side. “How are you going to celebrate?” You turn your head to look at Jin, wondering what he was going to say.

“Mommy and I are going to watch Netflix. We need to relax,” Jin says. “So bye, love you.” Jin waves and waits for the kids to say it back before hanging up.

“Love you,” Minseok says, nudging his sister to say it back. She sighs, clearly upset that you two are going to hang up soon.

“Love you too..”

Haneul was already knocked out according to grandma and grandpa. 

Jin and you send them a kiss before hanging up and Jin sighs, throwing his phone on the couch.

“Let’s go,” he says, pushing you off of him just so he can stand up and stretch. You were about to get up when he suddenly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, walking to the bedroom.

And I shouldn’t have to tell you what happens after that.

*end of flashback*

“I guess this is a late ten year anniversary present for both me and Jin,” you say, rubbing your belly. You couldn’t believe it. Another one. You and Jin have always planned for a big family. Three to be exact. But maybe four is what’s meant to be for you two. 

It was definitely a surprise. Definitely unexpected. And definitely unplanned.

But were you happy? Excited even?

Heck yeah.

-

*ring ring*

“Hello?” You say, leaning over to turn your lamp on. Jin suddenly called you on Facetime. 

“Mommy!” Soojin says in a loud whisper. 

“Soojin? It’s so late, why are you calling me? Is everything okay? Where’s daddy?” You say, rubbing your eyes. You had just fallen asleep not too long ago.

“He’s here,” Soojin says, flipping the camera and showing you Jin’s sleeping face. His mouth was wide open and you could see drool on the side of his lip. He was only like that when he’s really tired. It must’ve been a long day for him.

“We wanted to hang out with him tonight,” Minseok says, popping his head into the camera in front of Jin’s face. “But daddy was too tired and said we can stay here until we fall asleep and he’ll take us to our room, but he fell asleep first.”

“Oh poor daddy, you three weren’t too much on him today, were you?” 

Soojin flips the camera back to herself. She shrugs.

“Well let daddy get his sleep. You three could stay there. Wait, where’s Haneul anyways?” You ask, only seeing your two oldest on the screen. Soojin moves the phone to the side to show Haneul sleeping on the edge of the bed.

“Oh my gosh, Minseok, move your brother to the middle. He moves a lot in his sleep, he’s going to fall,” you say quickly. Minseok gets up and carries his brother, putting him next to Jin.

“I’ll sleep on the edge mommy,” Minseok says. “So don’t worry.”

“Thank you baby. It’s already getting late and you two still have school tomorrow. Make sure you sleep soon okay?”

“We will,” Minseok says.

“But I’m not sleepy yet,” Soojin whispers to him. 

“Well if you lay down and close your eyes you’ll get sleepy,” her older brother says. You laugh upon hearing their conversation.

“Alright you two, go to sleep. Mommy’s sleepy too.”

“Wait mommy,” Soojin says.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“Why didn’t you answer our call yesterday? We missed you,” Soojin says, pouting. 

“I was asleep sweetheart, I’m sorry. I had a… very surprising day yesterday. Mommy got some news that she had to process and she ended up falling asleep,” you tell her. 

“You and daddy like to nap a lot,” Soojin says, half smiling. You laugh at her comment.

“Well a lot of things happen that make us tired,” you tell them. “Speaking of being tired. Let’s sleep now okay? We can talk again tomorrow.”

“Okay, night night mommy! We love you~” Soojin whispers, pressing her nose to the screen. Minseok waves from the side, sending you a flying kiss.

“I love you too.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

expect the unexpected

♡ part eighteen: oh boy ♡ 

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader

a/n: a short update to explain the previous one aha... it literally took me three different times to make this i- but yes, most of you guessed it from the last update (well it was pretty obvious~) but only a couple of you were suspicious of it before! told you to expect the unexpected ;) also i know i haven’t answered some asks! some of you have asked things that will be explained in further updates 👀👀 if i answer it’ll just spoil everything ahead ahhhhhh so i will answer them later on~ but omg, it’s already part 18??? did i count wrong?? lol there should only be 10 parts left since i always do 28 parts (for some odd reason). there’s literally so much to unpack after this larfhkjreh

taglist: @silentlyimpractical @jillianmarie @waddlebby @cecedrake2217 @ddofa @samros95 @sope-and-shine @joonjoonsmiles @codeinebelle @aianloveseven @Chamchamcham @princessjazzyjazz @notvantaes @casspirit0705 @ramyagovindraj @brinnalaine @ephyra1230 @betysotelo18 @thoughtfultaledreamer @salty-for-suga @cosmicdaylight @dreamcatcherjiah @kookoo-kachoo @justinetingball  @josierosie @jayhope88 @butterflylion @hobiismyhopeu @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @ygbubs @catspancake  @somewhereofftheglobe @strawberryforever25 @rjsmochii @prdshobi @beeeb05 @eatjeanjin @taekookcaneatme @Cheeely14 @kookietsukkie @anpanman-sonyeondan @glitteringcoffeefreak @chocobetterknot @alpaca1612 @ohmy-fandoms @liljooniecutie @Jikachoo @preciouschimine @fan-ati--c @Joondala @httpmuffin @dammit-jjk @jikooksgirl19

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

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[negasonicimagines]

Closer (NSFW)

synopsis: Ellie’s a beta. You’re...not.

notes & warnings: this is a/b/o smut with an alpha!reader, that means you have a retractable dick. don’t like = don’t read. also: genital repulsion is 100% valid, but genitals ≠ gender, and Ellie was using dick/penis/etc in place of the word boys/men/etc which is addressed and corrected! overstimulation kink aplenty! and, for the first time on negasonicteenageimagines, wing kink! implied babypool!reader, which I will probably address in a part 2 one day! I'm sorry I've been gone so long, had a really demanding job that sucked the life out of me and I'm just living on savings while I try to recuperate.

Ellie loves the feeling of your hands on her; running down her sides, nervously feeling her chest or ass through her clothes, but she hates when you grab onto her hips and stop her.

“Y/N…” She sighs, stroking your flushed face. She’s straddling your lap, you’ve been trading kisses and teasing touches for the past little while.

“I just- Just need a sec, to cool down,” you tell her. Like it’s wrong that you want her; that she wants you.

“Why?” Ellie asks, and you look up at her with a bit of a hurt expression. She knows why. You don’t think she can handle you. You haven’t said it, but it’s pretty clear. “W- Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t owe me an explanation. If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to, okay?”

“I mean, I do, you’re so…” Your hands tighten around her hips and she throbs, she wishes she could just melt into the touch. “I do. But…”

“I know,” Ellie sighs again.

“Can I hold you?” you request.

“Let me. You don’t have to be all-alpha, all the time. You should let me take care of you, y’know?”

“Mmkay,” you agree, letting her guide you so that you’re on top of her. You sink into her— not in the way that either of you would prefer —and let her tend to you, petting your hair and humming some old emo song. She strokes your wings next, and you shudder when she gets closer to the downy feathers between them. “E- El, we’re stopping, remember?”

“Right, sorry. Those softer feathers just feel so nice.”

“Thanks…” you mumble sleepily, and she smiles, though you can’t see it. You’ve always been self-conscious about your wings, but Ellie’s seen the beauty in them from the moment she first saw you. She’s seen the beauty in you since then, too.

Being with you is a dream, even if you’re not ready to take the next step. She just wishes she could reassure you; make everything better. It’s what you deserve.

“Dinner soon,” she softly warns, and you whine, closing your eyes tighter. “Babe, seriously, it’s too late for a nap.”

“Then what are you doing being such a good pillow, hm?” you argue.

She stammers before scoffing.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you murmur.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Ellie teases.

“I know,” you hum, nuzzling. She’s probably covered in your scent at this point.

“You know, I get a lot of glares from your fan club when you do that,” Ellie grumbles, but she doesn’t really mind. She’s proud that everyone knows that she’s yours, and the other way around.

“My huh-what-now?”

“You know, that little group of omegas that…” Ellie trails off. She’s not sure whether she’s annoyed or grateful that you haven’t noticed. “They just really like you, that’s all.”

You’re not sure what it is. Betas have scents so light that emotion isn’t detectable, but maybe you can subconsciously smell the variation. Maybe it’s her tone, the way it slips from genuine nonchalance to something… Tense.

Whatever you’ve picked up on, it snaps you to attention. You sit up.

“What’s wrong?”

Ellie blinks at you. Out of respect to her, you do your best to suppress your overprotective tendencies. Clearly, you’re not making an exception for her this time. Your wings are all puffed up.

“Eleanor.” You only say her full first name when you’re serious. Usually it’s anger. “What’s wrong? Did they say something to you? Did they do something?”

“I- They just think you deserve a proper mate, or whatever. It’s not like you disagree, there’s a reason we haven’t done that.”

“Yeah, there is, but it isn’t something as superficial as that. You’re joking, right?”

“What? No, they really-“

“Fuck them, I don’t care what they think. I care what you think. Do you really think I’ve been holding back because you’re not an omega?”

“Well… Yeah.”

“Wow, um… Wow. Thanks for that, El. Didn’t know you thought that little of me, but… Cool.”

“Then what is it? Because I can’t think of any other reason!” Ellie snaps.

“Are you fucking serious?! Are you that fucking idiotic?!” You snap harder, you get up from the bed, and Ellie blinks in shock again.

“What?!”

“Ellie, you have said about a million times that you don’t like dick.”

Ellie’s furious expression immediately drops into one of regret, thinking of all the times she’s expressed utter repulsion towards your genitalia without even thinking.

“Yeah, I am that fucking idiotic,” she realizes. ”Oh, fuck, I really should’ve adjusted my language. I don’t like men! Fake dicks and ones otherwise attached to girls are fine,” Ellie explains. “Oh, jeez, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Hugs okay?”

You nod tearfully, she gets up, and she wraps her arms around your waist. You hug her neck, pressing her into your chest while your wings also wrap around her.

“I’m really sorry,” Ellie apologizes a third time. “I can’t believe I was such a freaking jerk. Those omegas are right, I really don’t deserve you.”

“El, it’s okay. We’re all learning. I should’ve told you what you were saying was bothering me.”

“But, I mean, what I was saying wasn’t just insensitive to alpha women, it was transphobic. I mean, it’d be one thing if I was genuinely repulsed, but... I’m definitely not. I was so thoughtless,” she insists.

“Like I said, we’re all learning. You acknowledged what you were saying was wrong, and how, and now you're growing from it. That’s all anyone can expect,” you reassure her.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” you reply, holding her tighter. “I’m really sorry for getting mad at you. I should’ve known you’d feel self-conscious, and that other people would see a problem with us. I just… I guess I’m so happy to finally be with you, that… I don’t know. I forget that everything else still sucks.”

“Babe…” Ellie coos, looking up at you. You look into her eyes, and your frown is turned upside down. She grins back. “You’re so beautiful.”

Instead of embracing her, you now cup her cheeks with your hands, pulling her in for a kiss that gets deeper and deeper until Ellie’s under you with one of your thighs between her legs.

You two have never gone as far as to stimulate those areas, but it’s about time. You continue to devour each other, you fondle her chest before literally starting to tear her shirt off, not wanting to part from the kiss but wanting her to be wearing way less clothing.

She gives a surprised gasp, lips leaving yours.

You whine.

“You were literally ripping my shirt off.”

“It’s a plain black one. You have, like, five,” you grumble, bitter that you’re having to take a pause. She looks at you with frustration, but notices just how clenched your jaw is, the way your hands shake.

You’re starving for her. For anything, probably, hardwired to spend at least a week straight every month fucking. How long have you two been together now? Loyalty may be the bare minimum, but she feels the need to reward you for it somehow. You had plenty of opportunity to fulfill your needs elsewhere.

Ellie takes her shirt off, chuckling to herself at the realization that it’s now a v-neck instead of the ring-neck it was. She unbuttons your shirt, helping your slip your wings out of the window in the back.

Your eyes rake over her body, but you don’t touch, not without permission. Ellie’s always loved observing you, photography has made her a bit of a voyeur. Watching someone as beautiful as you hold back such primal urges is downright delicious.

She can’t help but resume kissing you, lips and teeth and tongue mashing together. It’s animalistic.

“Can I please touch-“ Ellie’s cut off with a moan, the seam of her skinny jeans and the pressure of your thigh hitting just right. “Mm, wings?”

You hesitate.

“I’ll be gentle,” Ellie pleads.

“Okay,” you consent, resuming your kissing.

You’ll never forget the first time she touched your wings like this.

You two hadn’t just started dating, but you hadn’t been together for long. You were snuggling on the couch watching some movie or show on Netflix.

At first, she was just stroking your back, right above where you’re most sensitive, if it wouldn’t mat your feathers, you’d cover it up completely.

You’d tensed up a little at how close she was to the soft, more tender feathers, but she hadn’t noticed. She danced her fingertips further down and continued to stroke.

You choked on air, scrambling away from her quickly and blushing like crazy.

“What?” Ellie asked incredulously.

“I- Um- How do I put this?” You were still panting. “It’s gradual, like, um, for the most part it’s not very sensitive, but when you get closer to, um, the center of my wings, um…”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it hurt,” Ellie apologized, and though her tone didn’t betray it, you could see in her eyes that she felt awful.

You quickly shook your head.

“Wait, then… Oh. Oh!” Now she was blushing. “Sorry.”

This time, she’s skipped over the less sensitive parts again, not even building up to where she’s touching now, right in the center. You moan into her neck, clinging to her as she toys with the raven feathers between your shoulder blades.

She chuckles, and you growl.

“That’s cute,” Ellie murmurs, and you start to rut against her thigh again, feeling your member start to harden, and therefore extend from your body. “Big bad alpha, but I bet if I asked you’d let me put a collar on you, wouldn’t you?”

“Holy fuck, yes,” you moan. No girl has ever made you feel this way before. Of course, you’ve had sex before, but... It’s always been about the other person. Knot me, choke me, tie me up, Alpha, please, you remember the whines of past partners, whether they were omegas or simply curious alphas, and you appreciate Ellie’s independence, her borderline dominance. Maybe this time will be a little more vanilla, but the thought of...

“Kiss me again.”

You obey, and this continues for a bit longer, her mumbling sweet, disgusting nothings while you get bigger and harder and closer.

“El, I- I’m so-“

“Huge?” Ellie attempts to fill in the blank, intimidated by your size. It’s bigger than her strap by a long shot.

You just whine.

“Can I- Can I see?” she requests. Your cock is straining against your bottoms, so you’re happy to take them off as she removes her own. She urges you to prop yourself against some pillows and allow her to be on top. Her already doe-like eyes are even wider. “I- Uh- May I?” She has a hand outstretched.

You stutter before settling on nodding. Her hand carefully wraps around you, she slides her fist up and down so slowly. You give a trembling sigh.

“This okay?” you ask, still nervous.

“Mhm,” Ellie quickly responds, cheeks turning redder. She runs her thumb over the head— well, more like a face, since it’s your clitoris and some of the skin that surrounds it —and you squeal. “Alright, I think I kind of get it,” she mumbles.

“You think?” you choke out as she continues to stimulate the bundle of nerves; she bites her lip to hold back a smirk. You’re careful not to buck your hips, wanting her to go at her own pace. You instead roll your shoulders, wings feeling cramped with the way you’re sitting.

She notices.

“Here.” Ellie takes a pillow from beside you and has you lean forward. When you recline again, it’s thick enough to keep you off the headboard and it’s right between your wings, so every time you move…

“C-Clever,” you stammer, and she reaches out to stroke your cheek. You don’t know why, but you flinch.

“Shh… It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, babe.”

You nod. You know.

“You alright?” she asks.

You nod again.

“Can you use your words?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you reassure her, letting go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Do you wanna keep going?” She’s so beautiful; so perfect. She likes to pretend she doesn’t care, about anything, but she lets you have the truth. She does, often too much. And she loves you.

“Please.”

Your enthusiasm hasn’t waned even a bit, Ellie notices, and she starts to stimulate you with both hands now, thumb sweeping over your clit while she strokes up and down your cock.

Your knot starts to swell, just a little.

“Hng, El, wait,” you tell her, and she tears her hands away immediately, looking concerned again. “Nothing bad, I just… Can I please finish you off at least once, before I do?”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Really?” She sounded… Hesitant.

“Yeah,” she says with a relieved smile. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

You’re trying not to give into your instincts, to not throw her down onto the bed and just take, but it must be obvious with the way you hesitate to even touch her as you try to readjust your positions.

“Babe, you know I want this, right? You don’t have to be careful.”

You look down at your dick, and then skeptically at her. She follows your gaze.

“You’re as small as an omega but with none of the evolutionary traits to keep me from breaking you.”

Ellie’s cheeks flush. You always know when she wants to tell you something— or if she has some sort of request —but she’s too embarrassed or nervous, her lips curl inwards, pressed into a thin line. Her eyebrows pop up, just a little, and the puppy eyes just barely start to form, though they avoid yours.

You look to her expectantly.

“What if I want to be broken?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” you argue, and it’s shaky. You want her, you want to do this for her, you want to give her everything.

“I’m asking for you. All of you,” she insists. “Please.”

You nod, before taking her face in your hands once more and pressing your lips to hers. The gentle kissing devolves into practically devouring her lips with yours.

You mouth at her neck, at all of her, nibbling and licking and sucking until you reach what you’ve been aching for and tug her boxers off, burying your face in her and finally getting to eat.

“H-holy fucking…” Ellie’s grateful that you’re too focused on the task at hand to look up at her.

You slide one finger in, then another, curling as you use the tip of your tongue to stimulate her clit. You continue to prep her, she realizes with a smile, as she gets closer and closer.

“Could I…?” Her fingers tangle in your hair, but she doesn’t dare to pull. You growl. She’ll take that as a no.

She doesn’t tighten her grip, instead moving her hands to the sheets, but she still rocks against your mouth, begging for more, for release. This certainly isn’t what she’s used to.

“I- Ah- Y/N, fuck, don’t stop, please,” she pants, Eventually, despite her impatience, her moans turn into nonsense until she’s finally over the edge. You work her through it, or, at least, that’s what she assumes you’re doing, until she’s clearly overstimulated and you don’t stop.

She did just ask for all of you, including the sex drive, the insatiable urge to please your partner, and everything else that comes with being an alpha.

The feeling just keeps building and she continues to twitch under you, whimpering and clutching the sheets until a gasp is torn from her lungs and she’s finished once more.

You don’t stop.

The third one comes out of nowhere, she doesn’t feel close at all until suddenly it’s there and she’s crashing over like a waterfall, drowning in pleasure.

“I- That’s- That’s enough, please,” Ellie insists. You lick a slow, wide stripe from her entrance to her clit before sitting up. “Could I, um… Return the favor?”

“You want to?” Your head tilts in confusion. You’re still self-conscious, she realizes.

“I do.” She gets out of the way so that you can lay back down, pillow between your wings and cock still hard and exposed between your spread legs. She tentatively starts to give you a handy again, still unsure of where to start. “I, uh… I don’t think I can fit all that. Is that okay?”

“Of course. You really don’t have to do it at all, I don’t mind.”

“I want to,” she insists, before starting to suckle on the tip, smoothing her tongue over your clit again and again. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, hard, toes curling. She slowly inches down before gagging and pulling off with a rather cliche pop.

She looks gorgeous with tears in her eyes. She tries again, now knowing her limits but still pushing them every now and then. She uses her hands to make up for what she can’t fit in her mouth, rather skillfully.

“Wait, I- Hng, Ellie, stop,” you moan.

She pulls off, looking worried.

“I- I don’t wanna finish until I’m inside you,” you quietly explain, now you’re avoiding her eyes. She smiles softly, before opening the drawer on her bedside table and grabbing a box of alpha condoms.

“Will these work?”

You nod.

“And would you like to fuck me now?”

“Don’t say it like that!” you protest, before clamping a hand over your mouth, surprised at how bratty you sound.

“Rather whiny for an alpha,” she taunts. “How would you like for me to say it, then?”

Her eyebrow arches and you swear you could finish if she just kept looking at you like that, with that challenge in her eyes that no one else would dare to look at you with. You start leaking precum, and she bites back a smirk once again, waiting for your answer.

“I- Uh… I don’t know. Just, not so vulgar. You’re- You’re special. This is special. Not just…”

It clicks. You’re not sure how it does for her, but it almost always does. She’s intuitive, at least, when it comes to you. Her expression softens. This time, at least, she knows when to stop.

“I get it. Please, I’m ready for you to- I mean, I’ve practiced with my strap, but other than that, no one’s ever- No one's ever done that for me. I want you to.”

You rearrange yourselves once more, letting her rest on the bed and putting a spare pillow under her hips.

You kiss her lips like you’re starting all over, slowly kissing every inch of her. She’s delicious, soft and smooth and tender. You want to sink your teeth in.

You don’t, instead opting to rise up and sink a couple fingers into her, adding a third once you think she can take it.

Ellie tightens around your curling fingers, desperate for more. She rocks downwards, she wants to be filled.

“Okay, love, I get it,” you reassure her in a near whisper.

You take one of the alpha condoms and roll it on before carefully lining up with her entrance.

“Ha, don’t tease,” she whines. This is a little closer to what you’re used to. You slide right in, well, as much of you as you can actually fit, which is just over half your length. You’re not quite sure if you’ve bottomed out or if she’s not relaxed enough.

“Is it okay to move?” you wonder.

“Please,” she says, and so you do, starting with a slow, gentle pace before taking it up a notch. You’re fucking her wide open, but you’re still being careful as she turns into a mess of moans under you.

Eventually, though, you just can’t help yourself. You’re practically drilling into her, and now you know you’ve bottomed out because she’s taking all of you, flawlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-“ Ellie continues to pant, calves propped on your shoulders. “You’re so- I- Y/N, fuck- You- I-“

“Sh-sh-sh, it’s okay. I know. I know.” You can barely string together words yourself, you two fit like you’re made for each other, she squeezes around you so perfectly while you abuse that spot deep inside of her that makes her eyes roll back and her flushed, swollen lips fall wide open. “You’re so perfect.”

“You, too, I- I love you,” she manages, and it’s the best thing she could’ve said. It always is. You kiss her forehead and her knees are now hooked over your shoulders, bringing you even closer. You keep taking her, eventually it’s just too much and she reaches between the two of you, stroking her clit so she can come undone again.

And when she does, her walls flutter around you, getting you right back on the edge. She reaches behind you, running her fingertips over that sensitive spot between your wings so teasingly, so fleetingly, and yet it finishes you; whimpering and moaning and groaning into the pillow, right next to her head.

You knot her without even thinking as you unravel together, and the two of you soak in your euphoria for a few moments before speaking.

“Thank you,” you quietly say.

“I think I should be thanking you,” she scoffs. “What do you have to thank me for?”

“For letting me have you like this. For trusting me. For loving me and understanding me. Everything, I have everything to thank you for,” you explain.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Ellie grumbles. But she holds your hands in hers like she did almost the entire time you were fucking her into the mattress. “I… I wanna be on top.”

“Um… With proper prep that could definitely work, but we’re a bit stuck at the moment,” you explain.

“Good to know, but... I meant that I want to ride you,” Ellie reiterates.

“Oh. Uh, sure.” You two carefully readjust yourselves.

“I’ve always wondered what it felt like to be knotted,” she admits.

“Is it alright? I- I didn’t consciously do it, I’m sorry for not asking.”

“It’s not a big deal, you’re wearing an alpha condom, plus I’m on birth control so…” She looks at you for a few beats of silence before smiling. “It feels great. It’s… It’s nice, being connected like this.”

It’s a bit awkward, all of it, but it’s... New. Different. Perfect. It’s her.

Ellie rocks back and forth a little, figuring out what works best for her and confirming that it’s comfortable for you before continuing.

Lower, drawn-out moans drip from her lips like syrup as she unintentionally edges you, working up to that perfect peak over and over before switching up the pace or pressure or angle and sending you right back to the start.

You grab Ellie’s hips and snarl. She did say she wanted to be broken, maybe she’s trying to urge you to do so.

She pauses, now fully noticing your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the need in your eyes. She nods.

You fuck up into her like she’s just your human fleshlight, hands grasping her hips bruisingly.

“So tight,” you groan through gritted teeth, thrusting up into her faster and harder until her needy whimpers, the way she moans your name, and the new, unique sensation of being inside a beta destroys and remakes you once again.

She’s shuddering too, you realize.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, looking spooked, and winded, of course.

“Are you sure?” you confirm.

She nods again.

“Just… I, um… I finished. Without touching my, um… My clit. Never had that happen before,” she reassures you, also stroking your ego.

“Glad to be of service,” you say with a smile, but your stomach growls. “I say I go get dinner after the knot deflates, ‘kay?”

“What about me?” Ellie wonders.

“I’m not just gonna let you walk after that, even if you could,” you argue. “I’ll bring it back here, to the d- To the ne- Here.”

“It can be our den. Our nest. Is that what you want?” Ellie offers. You nod, looking fretful.

“Just- Just right now, okay? I promise.”

“Babe, you know I want to be with you, right? I don’t just tolerate your instincts, they’re a part of you, I love them as much as I do the rest of you,” she insists, readjusting herself so that she’s laying on top of you instead of straddling you, knot still locked in.

“But you-“ She always teases you about them. Not just every now and then, every time you slip up like that until now, she’s made some remark.

“But what?” Ellie reaches up, stroking your cheek again. You don’t flinch this time, too blissed out.

“I just- Most jokes have a hint of truth to them… So when it feels like you constantly tease me for being an alpha, especially the inconvenience of it…”

“Oh, jeez, I’m- I’m sorry, I... I really am a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not. I shouldn’t have said that,” you disagree.

“I shouldn’t have been making you feel so bad about yourself,” she insists, giving you a kiss, and then another. You deepen it, your nails digging into her back. “Fuck, babe…”

“Thank you…” you drawl, giggling with pride shortly after. You sigh. “I think, uh, I think we can probably part ways now. If you want.”

“Not yet,” Ellie quickly says, pleasantly surprising you. You hold her tighter. “Hey, uh… So… I- Could we- I mean, you- I- We’ve been together a while, and I was just wondering, is it customary for… Ugh, never mind.”

“Sweetness?” you question, concerned.

There’s a decent bit of silence. You can’t see her face, but you can guess the expression: pressed lips, slightly raised eyebrows, the works.

“Would you ever… Want to bite me?”

“I just did, like, a lot,” you say.

“No, I mean-! I mean, like bite me,” she clarifies.

“Oh. Well, I mean, I guess. It wouldn’t have much use, ‘cause the only benefits are scent-related, and I already crave your scent when I’m stressed, and you don’t know what I smell like. We would just be… Clingier to each other than we already are,” you explain.

Her face falls.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind you being a little needier… And it sure would piss off those stupid omegas you were telling me about. Obviously, I want to claim you, you’re mine, but… I just want you to be aware of what it means, how it’ll affect you,” you add to what she probably received as rejection of the idea. “Do you still want this?”

“I do,” Ellie consents. You cradle the back of her head in one hand, tilting it to the side to better access her neck—and therefore her scent gland. You gently kiss the skin first, building up to the bite like you’re trying to create another hickey.

Eventually, though, you sink your teeth in. Ellie tenses up, clinging to you and giving a soft whine of pain before relaxing and just letting it happen. You lick up the blood just a little before realizing you’re just going to have to give up and let it bleed for a bit. You can tend to it later.

“Thank you,” she says, so quietly. “For everything.”

“You’re gonna make me cry,” you echo what she said earlier. You slip her off of you, letting your arousal fade and carefully tucking your member back in after tying off the condom and throwing it away.

“You know, I hadn’t really thought about what that might look like,” Ellie confesses, looking bewildered. You just laugh, and while she blushes, she laughs with you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell her. You truly feel like you have to touch her to prove that she’s real. She’s so perfect, you’re so perfect together.

The need for dinner feels a lot more…primal. Like an instinct to care for your mate, especially now that you can feel her hunger simmering in the edges of your mind. You don’t want to leave her, but you also desperately need to take care of her.

She can tell that you’re torn.

“What is it?”

“Food. I-“ You sigh, frustrated. “I wanna stay with you, but I need to get you some food.”

Her expression was already softened, at least compared to the expressions she makes outside of this room you share… This den, you think with glee. But, now it’s even gentler.

“Well, I am pretty hungry… So, why don’t you get us some food, and then we can eat it in here. I think they had pizza for dinner, just get me a couple slices of-“

“The vegan thin crust, I know,” you cut her off. You now have a mission. You give her a long smooch on the forehead before getting up and getting dressed, reapplying your deodorant and some perfume or cologne, if you desire. “Love you.”

“You too,” Ellie calls as you close the door, making your way to the kitchen.

The pizza’s been put up for a while, so you decide you’ll reheat it in the oven, instead of the microwave. You get two pans out, if your pizza choice isn’t vegan, and you go ahead and spray them with cooking spray while you wait for the oven to preheat. You carefully place the slices on each baking sheet.

You don’t want to leave the oven unattended, so you instead reflect on everything that just happened, pride bubbling up in your chest.

You love her so much it hurts.

The oven heats up quickly, so you set the pans inside and put a timer on your phone so can go check on Ellie. You make your way to the stairs, but when you get to the foyer, you realize Ellie’s there, along with a red-suited man.

You resist the urge to approach, knowing it’ll only embarrass and irritate her if you go all cuckoo alpha mode on her in front of someone. She gets a little closer to him, and he hands her a present that’s wrapped… Exquisitely, at least in comparison to your present-wrapping skills.

But his entire posture changes the second he sees you observing.

You decide then to waltz on over, curious about the strange character.

“Who’s this, babe?” you wonder, wrapping an arm around her.

“Oh, this is Deadpool. Just bringing by a horrifically late Hanukkah present.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Deadpool.”

“We’ve met before,” he says softly.

“We have? Shit, sorry, I’m better with faces than names, and yours is covered up, so…”

“It was a long time ago,” he nearly mumbles.

“Okay,” you chirp, not sure how else to respond. “You hungry? I’m reheating some leftover pizza. In case you couldn’t tell, we kind of missed dinner.”

“Y/N!” Ellie protests, turning completely red.

“You know he can smell it on you, right?” you chuckle, before whispering to her: “And I bet you’re walking funny.”

Ellie stammers. Apparently, she didn’t know.

“You two make an adorable couple,” he says, but he sounds sad. Maybe he’s missing his own lover, his scent radiates loss. “I, uh… I don’t think you’d be offering me pizza if you realized who I was.”

“Oh, please, murder isn’t a big deal, even if Ellie and the other hall monitors have a problem with it.”

“You’re gonna have to take Remedial Ethics again if anybody hears you say that,” Ellie chides you.

“They can’t make me, I’ve already graduated. Besides, taking that class so many times gave me a shit ton of extra credits and a sexy little 4.2 GPA,” you snicker. “Yo, DP, if they ever try and get you to take it, just pick the answers that seem like the least amount of fun. Easy peasy.”

“Wow,” Deadpool scoffs, before turning somber once more. “It was nice meeting you again, Y/N.”

“You, too,” you reply, and he’s on his not-so-merry way. “What’s up with him? Isn’t he supposed to be all goofy and vulgar?”

“I don’t know, he’s a pretty moody guy.”

“Huh.” The alarm on your phone goes off, and you help Ellie hobble along to the kitchen.

After letting it cool, you two decide to eat right there, rinsing off the pans before putting them in the empty dishwasher.

Despite her protests, you carry her up the stairs, plopping her in bed before ditching your pants and joining her. She loses her own.

“Round two?” you tease.

“My vagina hurts,” she grumbles.

“Really? I’m sorry, I tried to be careful.“

“No, not like that, you were good. Too good, gave me the pounding of my life,” she reiterates.

“Oh… Thanks.”

“Don’t pretend you’re surprised, those omegas don’t just like you for your wit. You have a reputation.”

“So, they do like me for my wit,” you remark.

“Shut up,” she scoffs at the double entendres. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. You were perfect. I mean, even if you weren’t, you would be, but… That was amazing.”

“You’re too much,” Ellie mumbles, blushing. You kiss her, but she’s the one to intensify it. “...Okay, maybe round two.”

“You gotta teach me how to do that.”

“Do what?” Ellie asks, and she does it again.

“That!” you emphasize.

“What?!”

“Raise one eyebrow!”

“Oh. I don’t do it consciously,” she says. Of course she doesn’t. She’s just perfect.

“Fuck you,” you tell her instead.

“Fuck you.” But she laughs.

“Like, now?” you retort.

“Shut up.” She snuggles you closer. “Can I hold you, now?”

“I guess…” you pretend to complain, and you quickly find your face buried in Ellie’s chest, one arm curled between your bodies and the other around her.

“Ah, my best friends,” you joke, nuzzling.

“You fucking bastard,” she chuckles.

“Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you should say it,” you sing-song. But the word doesn’t sting when she says it. It’s a term of endearment, now.

“We should probably go to sleep,” Ellie says, upon glancing at her phone.

“Probably,” you admit. “I love you so much.”

“You’re so fucking gay,” she huffs, grinning.

“Really? What clued you in? Is it the way I dress? Or maybe it’s the way I fucked you into the mattress an hour ago…” You play at pensivity, and Ellie, Ellie giggles, rolling her eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

*

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

[softyoongiionly]

Christmas in Mykonos🏝

It’s your first Christmas at your new home in Mykonos and, you decide to spoil your boyfriend with a gift you can both enjoy.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut, pwp

Word Count: 2.3k

Universe: Mama Mia!

Warnings: explicit smut (18+ only plz), language

Based on: this ask x

A/N: Hello and welcome to another installment of Merry Crizzmizz 2019! I’m so excited for the rest of the fics and, I wanna thank all of you for sending in your requests, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with. This can be read as a stand alone but, I highly recommend reading Mama Mia! as it’s based in that universe. Happy Holidays ladz!!!

***All bolded words indicate when characters are speaking Korean***

Back to the masterlist! (click here)

Christmas in Mykonos… 

Sounds like a dream right? 

Well, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary considering the fact that, ever since you moved into a villa fit for a honeymoon, you’ve spent most of your days wondering whether or not your life actually was a dream… 

You and Jungkook spent the morning exchanging gifts and eating your weight in chocolate chip pancakes whilst the ocean provided background music to your day.  

Everything had been perfect.  

You drank wine on the balcony, facetimed your families and, watched a few Christmas movies on Netflix. 

The two of you really wanted to eat dinner on the beach but, despite Greece being depicted as a beacon of sunshine, it has seasons like every other place.  

And todays’ season is: COLD. 

So, you settle for eating dinner in the dining room on ridiculously expensive Christmas china that Jungkook had imported from the Netherlands. 

Because, you know, what else is he going to spend his limitless fortune on? 

The night had settled slowly over the course of a few hours. You took a phone call with a friend while Jungkook popped into the wine cellar to check on his latest batches before heading up to bed.  

However, he was perplexed to find the room empty. He figured you would have finished up with your phone call but, he decided to leave you be, not wanting to interrupt you. 

He decides to get ready for bed, hoping that by the time he’s finished, you’ll be waiting for him. Jungkook never gets in bed without feeling clean so, he sheds himself of his holiday sweater and sweats and, jumps into the shower. The hot water feels good against his body and, the loofah does its job at scrubbing him clean although, he can’t help but wish you were there with him. Showering with you is amongst his favorite things; your hands are so gentle against his skin and, your shampoo always smells good but, it smells the best when it’s running down your back.  

As he washes over his hips he feels himself getting a little worked up at the memory of the last time you ended up in the shower together.  

You had been away on business for three weeks and, surprised Jungkook by catching an earlier flight and, slipping into the shower behind him. The sex was so rough and passionate that you ended up ripping off the shower curtain and, fucking onto the bathroom floor. 

It be like that sometimes.

Jungkook finishes up his shower, trying to hide his disappointment that you didn’t join him but, he stifles it cause he knows that your friendships are more important than his libido. He steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist and, pushing a hand through his damp hair. After a little bit of moisturizer and, some deodorant, he finds himself at the front of the walk-in closet you both share, wondering if he should even bother with pajamas. 

If he’s being honest, he’s hoping to get laid this Christmas but, he doesn’t know if showing up to bed naked will decrease or increase his chances. He opts for a white pair of linen boxers and, uses the towel around his waist to wipe the remaining water clinging to his back.  

He’s not even paying attention as he walks back into your bedroom but, the sudden change of lighting is enough to pull his gaze from the floor and, towards the center of the room.  

“Merry Christmas...” 

Jungkook feels his breath leave his chest as he takes in the sight of you. You're standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in the most sinful piece of lingerie he has ever seen. It’s a cherry-red baby doll made exclusively out of lace and chiffon par the silk that wraps underneath your breasts to neatly tie into a bow at the front of your body. Your hair looks so soft as it billows around you, your makeup is simple aside from the red lip stain and, Jungkook is certain he fell to his death in the shower and, is now in heaven. 

“Whoa jagi you look....” He gulps, his eyes raking over you greedily, “...yah...where did you get this?” 

At his sudden question, you giggle, sort of making your way over to him, “It’s from Agent Provacteur...do you like it?” 

He nods, his mouth hanging open a bit, the blood from his face rushing towards his cock. 

“You look...” He rakes a hand through his hair, unable to process what he’s seeing, “holy shit...”  

Your head falls back with laughter and, he laughs too, knowing that he sounds a little ridiculous but, he can’t help it. 

Not when you look this good and, he’s just supposed to accept it. 

“I’m hoping that’s a good thing, this was expensive.” You tease and, immediately, he laces his fingers with yours pulling you against him. 

“You look amazing.” He mumbles before leaning down to kiss you, letting out unstable breath as he does, “Am I supposed to behave tonight?” 

His voice is deeper now, rumbling in his chest whilst his hands squeeze against your hips.  

He’s asking because, you’re usually in charge. Jungkook likes it that way but, occasionally, he likes to have his way with you and, tonight, he doesn’t feel like behaving... 

“Hmmm...” You muse, taking his hand and, pulling him towards the bed, still kissing at his lips, “Are you gonna take care of me?” 

Something flashes in Jungkook’s eyes at the tone of your voice, its softer, more vulnerable and, a little submissive...not really your style but, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on.

As you hit the back of the bed, his hands slide up your shins, parting your legs so he can slot himself between them. 

He smirks, holding your gaze as he leans down to brush his lips over your inner thigh, “If you let me...I’ll take care of you all night.” 

His response goes straight to your core, which already aches in anticipation for him.  

“Then I’m all yours...” You whisper and, even though your words are submissive, Jungkook has the urge to drop to his knees for you.  

He knows his place but, god damn if he isn’t going to use this rare power shift to his advantage 

“You are all mine aren’t you?” He muses and, spreads your legs wider, groaning as he catches a glimpse of the matching panties underneath your babydoll, “Holy fuck...I’m gonna eat you alive...” 

All you can do is giggle, relishing in his attention, allowing your eyes to flutter shut at the feeling of Jungkook’s lips kissing up your thighs. 

“Do you think my pain is funny jagi?”  

“What’s Christmas without a little discomfort?” You quip but, immediately you gasp as Jungkook bites into the junction of your thigh. 

“Sorry.” He snickers, licking over the mark now adorning your thigh, “I can’t help it.” 

You jerk your thigh in response, knocking against his face playfully, causing him to laugh and, bite the skin there once again.

“Be nice...” Jungkook grins, pushing up the fabric of your babydoll, his accent peeking through his voice, “These are very pretty jagi...” He brushes his fingertips over the lacy material, smoothing his thumb up the length of your pussy, pressing a little harder as he nears your clit, “I kinda want rip them off though...” 

Whining in protest, you grab his face between your hands, “Don’t rip them, they were expensive!” 

He chuckles, his darkened eyes alight with amusement and arousal, “That word doesn’t mean anything to me...” With a tilt of his head, he secures his teeth around one of your fingers, nibbling on it playfully as he holds your gaze. 

You can feel your lips pouting, wiggling your finger in his mouth, “Please? I wanna wear them again for you...” 

Jungkook can’t really hide the affect you have on him, especially not when a shaky breath leaves his lips, and a low growl rumbles deep within his gut. 

He’s thankful he wore the linen boxers now; anything else would be uncomfortable against his hardened length.

You feel his tongue then, licking up the middle of your panties, his movements concluding against your right hip. His teeth dig into the red lace, catching your skin a bit as he bites down on the material before slowly dragging them down your legs.

It’s a cheesy move but, it’s kind of sexy, especially since Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time.

He tosses them to the side and places his lips against the inner part of your ankle and, begins his ascent back up towards you. He kisses your skin tenderly, dragging his nose up the length of your leg, suckling when he gets to your thigh.

“I love your thighs so much.” He mumbles, placing a few more heated kisses against them before his eyes light up, “Why are you so wet jagi?” The grin on his face is smug as his eyes shift up to your face, “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, giggling as he nips at your inner thigh again,

“Are you goiiiing to touch me?”

He licks his lips, cocking his head, as he narrows his eyes toward you, “No…” Jungkook smirks as his mouth gets closer to where you want him most, “Not exactly.”

Jungkook spends quite some time between your legs, licking you slowly, teasing you, toying with your orgasm before slipping two of his fingers inside of you to give you the relief you desperately need.

“Fu…Jungkook…” Your breathless moan fuels him to lick you into another orgasm; his eyes wide open to watch you fall apart. “You’re going to kill me…”

“Sorry jagiya, you just taste so good…” He sucks at your clit once, causing you to sit up, tugging at his hair, an exhausted giggle leaving your mouth, “Nooo, I’m not done yet.”

His protest is spoken against your lips, his expression pleased and drowsy with arousal. Jungkook loves kissing you and although he was set on eating you out until you couldn’t take it anymore, he is quickly distracted as you begin teasing his lips with your own. Your hands get to work on unravelling him, running over the taut muscles in his back that ripple underneath your touch before you move to palm at him through his boxers.

They’re wet with his arousal and, you’re filled with satisfaction at how worked up he seems to get just from pleasure.

As he shudders underneath your fingertips, you smirk, your teeth tugging at his bottom lip, “Why are so hard Jungkook? I haven’t even touched you yet…”

If you had a kink for Jungkook speaking his native language, Jungkook had a borderline obsession with you doing the same. Hearing you teasing him in his mother tongue causes desire to erupt inside of him and, he can’t take it slow anymore.

The next thing you know, he’s pushing you back towards the head of the bed, pulling off his boxers in the process before hastily tugging the babydoll off of your body.

“Why are such a brat huh?” He croons into your ear, his hand wrapping around his dick, “Is that what I get for being so good to you? You don’t wanna show your appreciation?”

A giggle leaves your lips as you place a kiss against the shell of his ear, nibbling on it before you respond, “How exactly should I show my appreciation?”

He pulls back, his hand still positioned around his length, to stare at you, his mouth curved up in a dark smile, “By wetting my dick…”

You don’t even have time to process his next move but, the next thing you know, Jungkook is inside of you, pumping into you with a slow but steady rhythm, his eyes locking with yours.

“Fuck…” You whimper, your hands frantically coming up to brace against Jungkook’s shoulders as he slowly increases his pace inside of you.

The smirk lingers on his mouth as his eyes widen in mock innocence, “I know that face…” A moan interrupts him and, he squeezes his eyes shut as a jolt of pleasure rocks through his body, “Does it feel good baby?”

“Mhm…” You’re pulling him down so, his body is close enough to kiss on because, while you know Jungkook definitely has the upper hand this time, you’re not content unless he feels the same amount of pleasure he’s giving you. “…your dick feels so good.”

“Shit…” He mutters, his hips stuttering as your words affect him. He drags his nose up the side of your face, nipping at the apple of your cheek, his saliva coating the skin there, “You sound so pretty with my dick inside of you.”

Your hand curves around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours, kissing him with everything you have as you begin pushing up against his dick.

“You’re gonna make me cum…” Jungkook’s voice is shaky and, its reminiscent of how he usually sounds.

You feel your own release coming on too and, watching him fall apart is enough to get you there…

“Cum for me then…” You coo, sucking on his bottom lip and, lets out a shaky whimper as his hips increase to a rapid rhythm.

With a desperate locking of your eyes, Jungkook lets go, muttering obscenities and words of admiration as when does.

“Gonna cum…gonna cum…fuck…fuck I love you…”

He manages to continue his rhythm through your orgasm before he finally caves in due to sensitivity, his upper body resting on yours.

The two of you lay there for quite some time, trailing your trembling hands over one another. When he finally rolls off of you, he pulls you into his side, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Best Christmas present ever…” Jungkook whispers as he pulls the soft throw blanket over your bodies.

“The sex or the lingerie?” You giggle, snuggling into him.

He grins to himself as he secures you closer, “You.”

[19mrs-barnes17]

Redamancy

Summary: Bucky Barnes to the rescue, much to your surprise.

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: stood up

Word count: 1,902

A/N: enjoy another match of dialogue prompts and character pairings given to @cantnkrusshedevil​ to match up. This is 3 of 9.

~

Dread begins to fill your gut as time slowly ticks by, tick by tick. The only thing keeping you there was denial and guilt, so desperately clinging to the benefit of the doubt. Your date was kind, intelligent, and fairly handsome. He had bumped into you at a cafe and thrown the line that he owed you a cup of coffee. It had been ages since someone had flirted with you, so you played along and let him buy you a new drink. He was funny and charming, completely sweeping you off your feet. 

Tonight was the night he had asked to see you again. This was the diner he had asked you to meet him in because it was close to his home and his favorite, a place he wanted to show to you. And the time? Well, it was 40 minutes past the time he had given to you, and 20 past the time that you had sent him a text asking if he was still going to make it. You were growing impatient.

The waitress had a sympathetic look as she placed a slice of pie in front of your coffee cup, whispering that it was on the house with a wink. Somehow the gesture made it all the worse, reminding you of the most likely truth. 

You take a bite and slide your phone from your jacket pocket.

This is bogus.

What is?

It's been 40 minutes and he’s a no show

You serious?

They gave me a free slice of pity pie

Ouch. I’ve got you, rescue is on the way.

You’re the best Nat

Duh.

Feeling a little better you slid your phone to the side and began working your way through the pie slice. Pity or not, it was delicious.

In the next ten minutes you sat scrolling through your phone and sipping coffee, doing your best to try and salvage the night. At least Nat would arrive soon and turn this into a girls night. She had done this a few times now, always able to turn the night around and make you forget. If not for her superpower you would have lost a lot of time to Netflix and your fridge. 

Your gaze snapped up when the bell chimed and the eyes you met surprised you greatly, their crystal clear color setting you at ease. He made his way to your booth with a sympathetic smile and you threw a sugar packet at his face. Perplexed, Bucky cocked his head and furrowed his brow with an incredulous smile tugging at his lips.

“If I get another sympathy smile or look of pity, I swear.” He shook his head and muttered an apology, before flagging down the waitress. “What are you doing?”

“You haven’t eaten right?” 

“Only a slice of pie, glad your date finally showed.” The waitress gave Bucky a look before turning to you for your order.

“Oh, he’s not my date.”

The waitress smiled apologetically, scribbling down the order as Bucky began to read it. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Nat sent me to be your date like she usually does." You arched a brow and shook your head. 

"We make it a girl's night, not a date you goof." He face palmed.

"She set us up." You laughed, shaking your head again. 

"Me and you? No way, if she wanted that she would have shoved us at one another a long time ago." Hell, she would have done it freshman year of college when you two met him. 

"Wait. Think about it, she was the one who introduced us. I had met her that morning." Your eyes widened as your mind began to run through all the scenarios in which the three of you always seemed to end with just you and Bucky. 

"She's the one who invited you to that camping trip, knowing full well I was the only single." 

"And whenever we drove anywhere she always had me drive-"

"And wanted me to sit up front!" Both of you looked like crazy conspiracy theorists the way you were pointing at one another bug eyed. "She must have hit her breaking point."

"What makes you say that?" You poke at at his face with a scrutinizing look on your face.

"I know there's a brain in there, it got me through Calculus." He grabs your hands as smile tugs at his lips, you feel a strange flutter from the combination.

"I mean it, what makes you think she's had one." Your hands are still in his grip and your brain is on the fritz. "Y/N?"

"I-uh, it's just a bit on the nose isn't it? She tells you it's a date and all she texts me is that my rescue is on the way?" The food arrives and it's in that moment Bucky realizes he still has your hands in his. "Its a blatant set up, she's usually more subtle."

"Well she was going out with a guy tonight, so maybe she had no choice but to go big or go home." 

"What a sneak, we'll have to retaliate." Bucky froze as he held up a fry, a mischievous smile stretching across his face. 

"Send her a text."

"Saying?"

"Here let me." Bucky maneuvers himself to your side of the booth and pulls up Nat's contact. 

Are you sure you sent the right diner?

Yes, why?

She's not here Nat

What do you mean? 

The place is empty, I asked the waitress if they saw her and they said she left not long before I got here

Don't fuck with me Barnes, is she seriously not there?

Nat the place is a ghost town

Your phone begins to ring but Bucky snags it and answers.

"Well this isn't a good sign." Bucky holds a finger over his lips, smirking at you while Nat's voice slips into a panic. "Oh there's no need to go to the police."

"What the hell do you mean? She's out there alone and without her phone!" Bucky sighs before handing the phone over to you.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have set her up right after she was stood up. " 

"Oh that's it, you're both dead when you bring her home." She hangs up and immediately the two of you are giggling like idiot's.

"Well, what should we do before death row?" Bucky wiggles his eyebrows which only prompt more laughter.

"Well if we're supposed be on a date… take me to your favorite place. This was his." You gesture to the diner vaguely before slumping back in your seat.

Wordlessly he slips some bills onto the table, taking your hand in his before leading you out the door. You silently allow him to drag you around before stopping at a pier.

"I can't take you to my favorite place because it's in Brooklyn and closed at this hour. But I can show you this place." 

He sat on the edge of the pier and you followed suit, watching as the sun finished setting. A golden light fell over the two of you, basking your skin in a glowing tone. Bucky's eyes fluttered shut as he took in the light, the curves of his jaw and the chestnut hues in his beard highlighted by the rays of sun. He looked ethereal.

He peeked out of one eye, glancing to the side where you sat watching him rather than the sunset. He smiled softly before closing his eye and tilting his head back. His hand rested atop of yours, a smile tugging at your lips as an idea popped into your head.

He was in the water so fast he had not time to react, other than a surprise grunt as he tumbled forward. You were quick to stand so he couldn't reach you to pull you in. Bucky held onto the dock with one arm, the other reaching out toward you.

"Not even gonna help me up? The water's freezing." You shake your head smiling down at him.

"Ouch doll, really hurting my feelings." He pulls himself from the water but you're already running. He's faster. 

It's seconds before he catches up, arms wrapping around your midsection and you squeal at the cold touch. Bucky picks you up bridal style and runs to the end of the pier before jumping as he tossed you.  You scream in delight before coming in contact with the icy water. 

"I guess that's what I get for having the habit of leaving phones on shore." Bucky shakes his head, his hair whipping water as it moves. You squeal as it hits you in the face, giggling as you send a wave that hits him. 

"Guess so. But you were right, this is cold as hell." Bucky pulls himself out and kneels down extending his arms to wrap around you. He yanks you from the water and falls onto his back, head smacking into the wood with a groan. 

"Are you okay?" You turn his head, parting his hair to check for injury. "Just a bump."

When he rolls his head over you notice the proximity between you, eyes stuck on his bright blue irises. Both leaning in at the same time, lips meeting halfway before moving together. Your hands cupped his cheeks while his hands held your dripping hair out of the way. 

"Guess Nat was onto something." Bucky smirks up at you.

"God she's never gonna let this go." You mumble against his lips, an excited spark igniting in your chest as you kissed him. 

It was beginning to get very dark out, Bucky growing tired of waiting to air dry and starting to walk you to the street. He pauses before glancing down at you and smiling softly.

“To make this an official date, I’ll walk you home.” You knit your brow and gave him an odd look.

“Was that not originally part of the plan? Because if so… rude.” He playfully shoved your shoulder before reaching for your hand and leading you home. “I guess I won’t be needing another rescue anytime soon.”

“I’ll try not to be offended if you do.” You smack his chest, leaning into his side while he wraps an arm around your shoulders and your head rests against him. 

“Wait a minute. Does this mean I finally get to ride on your motorcycle?” Bucky stops for a moment to look down at you with the most perplexed expression.

“You could have done that before…”

“What?!” You tilt your head back to look him in the eye. “James Buchanan Barnes, does this 

mean that I am the only one who hasn’t been on it?”

“Frankly, I’m not comfortable answering that question with us standing on a bridge. But, yes.” You gasp and detach from him, hand over your heart. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Nat told me you only let your girlfriends ride with you!” Bucky chuckles, leaning against the rail with his hands in his pockets. “You owe me a ride.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Something about the way he said that, his tone and demeanor, just sent a shiver down your spine. One that had your knees turn weak and your heart drumming.

Walking up to him you grabbed a hold of his jacket, pressing your body up against his with a wicked smile as your lips found his and your tongue slid inside. 

This was going to work out just fine...

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​

[fanficimagery]

After

Summary:  Imagine having your heart broken and none other than your best friend comes to the rescue. Old feelings emerge and you're stuck facing the fact that you were never really over Peter Parker.

Words: 6.1K Warnings: Spoilers for the movie 'After' on Netflix. If you plan on watching that movie, do not read this. Trust me. The big twist in the movie is what I'm using here to kick start things off.

He lied.

He lied and they all knew.

Your mind keeps playing over the last half hour, uncaring that you've been walking in the pouring rain for just as long. Your heart is completely shattered and your stomach is in knots over how stupid you'd been. And since your thoughts are all over the place, you don't second guess yourself when you plop down on a random bench in the middle of a park. A sob escapes your mouth, then another and you angle your face towards the sky to let the rain wash away your tears.

You don't know how long you've been sitting in the rain, all cried out, but eventually you start to shiver. You're completely soaked through and you're pretty sure the phone in your pocket is no good. And given that your roommate was one of the several who'd betrayed you and you pushed away all your own friends when you were in love, there's not exactly anywhere you can go.

The only thing you can do is hope to find a hotel room just for the night, but even then you're not sure how much money is in your bank account. So with your only plan crumbling before it could fully form, you pull yourself to your feet and make up your mind to find some sort of shelter for the night.

You haven't even taken seven steps when a familiar voice freezes you in your place. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

Hesitantly turning around, you self consciously cross your arms over your chest right before you spot Spiderman who's clinging to the side of a light pole. "Hey, Pet- uh, Spiderman. H-How are you?" Your shivering makes you stammer and you clamp your teeth to keep them from chattering.

"I'm good," he answers, his head tilting in curiosity. "What are you doing out in the rain, Y/N?"

"Oh. You know, just enjoying the-"

"Y/N."

You sigh, your arms dropping. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Go back to your dorm. Your immune system sucks. Always has."

"I.. I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't-"

"-wanna talk about it," Peter sighs. "I figured." He drops from the pole, water splashing beneath his feet as he closes the distance between the two of you. You tense, but he stops just shy of touching you and you refuse to look up and meet his gaze. "Climb on. It'll be like old times," he finally says. "We'll stay at May's and then I'll swing you by your dorm in the morning."

"I don't want to burden May with-"

"Y/N," Peter muses quietly. His hand reaches up to touch just beneath your chin and he angles your face so you're staring at his own mask covered face. "May loves you. She's always loved you," he tells you. "Now climb on. I can get us there quicker than you can run."

As he holds his arms out at his sides you stare at him in disbelief. For a moment your heartache disappears and you bark out a quick laugh. Memories from high school come flooding back- memories of Peter telling you about his superpowers and then he swinging you around the city when you needed to get out of your mind.

Peter continues to hold still, and with a fond eye roll you hook you right arm around his neck and slide your left arm under his own left arm to grasp onto your own hand behind his back. Then with a quick jump, Peter catches the back of your thighs as you hook your legs around his waist. "Yep. This is totally going to end well," you deadpan.

He chuckles. "Name one time that I've dropped you or I stumbled while carrying you?"

"Don't jinx it, Spiderman." You tuck your face into the side of his neck and when you feel Peter finally lift off the ground you tighten your hold on him.

Swinging through the city while soaking wet is possibly the dumbest idea you've ever had and the second you softly curse about the cold, Peter apologizes.

Then when the swinging stops you lift up your head and shakily unwind yourself from Peter. You see you're standing in front of his old apartment building and stare up at him in confusion. "I can't exactly be sneaky with a passenger going through a window," he says. "Walk up to May's and meet me there."

"O-Okay."

Entering the apartment building, you hesitate at the elevator before deciding to use the stairs. You glance at the door and see Peter waving at you before he's off, and then you make your way up to May's apartment- an apartment you spent nearly half your life visiting up until about a year ago.

When you get to the door, you've barely raised your hand to knock as it's being yanked open. Aunt May is as beautiful as you remember, round glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and long brown hair hanging passed her shoulders.

With a towel hanging off her shoulder, aunt May tugs you into her home. "Oh Y/N." She frowns as she pulls the towel off her shoulder to wrap around your own shoulders, attempting to soak up the water by furiously rubbing your arms up and down. "I have no idea what's going on, but I can see something clearly happened."

You smile sadly. "Peter warn you?"

"Hmm? Not really. He just threw a towel at me and told me to open the door. He got called away- said he'll be back as soon as he can and that you're spending the night with us."

"Of course," you sadly huff. Aunt May leads you towards the kitchen and you take a seat at her table. Wrapping the towel tighter around yourself, your swollen eyes follow May as she bustles around the kitchen. "And thanks. For putting up with me. I practically dropped off the face of the Earth, but you and Peter just took me right back in."

"You're family, Y/N. Everyone has rough patches or whatever going on, so everyone is allowed their space to find themselves."

Watching Aunt May prepare what looks to be hot chocolate, you nervously tap your thumb ring against the edge of the table. "I wasn't- I didn't.." you trail off, sighing. "I was stupid."

"You weren't stupid; you were in love, sweetheart." Your head snaps up and May grins at you while whisking the chocolate in its pan. "Peter moped when you weren't around. And when Peter mopes, he talks."

"Of course he did." You roll your eyes, but smile sheepishly nonetheless when she winks at you. "I missed him too if it's any consolation, but-"

"But college brings fresh faces and personalities, and you got distracted? It happens."

A fresh wave of tears make an appearance, but you keep on smiling as you wipe them away. "Xavier was everything I thought I wanted," you say, accepting the hot mug of chocolate from May as she sits across from you. "We met during a game of truth or dare where I was dared to make out with him, but.."

"But?" She asks, intrigued.

"I wasn't feeling it. I was still confused over my feelings for my best friend, so I kind of teased Xavier with an almost kiss before rejecting him and quitting the game. Little did I know," you say, smile wobbling and voice thickening, "they continued playing. He, uh, he made a bet that he could make me fall in love with him and then he'd just walk away from me as if it were no big deal."

"Oh Y/N," May coos in sympathy. As you choke down your sobs, she stands up and walks around the table to pull you up onto a hug. "I'm so sorry."

"Everyone knew but me. I pushed away everyone I knew and surrounded myself with him and his friends, and they knew! I only found out because his ex-whatever set us up and cornered him into telling me the truth. Only he didn't, so she showed me the video of that night from our truth or dare game. She had kept recording after I left and I saw everything I wasn't supposed to."

"Excuse my language, but he's a piece of shit. Her too since she did it maliciously." You snort and then after several long seconds you pull away. Wrapping the towel tighter around you again, May frowns as she looks you up and down. "You're skipping classes tomorrow. Peter too," she says. "And right now you're going to go take a hot shower while I find you some fresh clothes."

"May, you don't have to-"

"I know, but I want to. Now go. You know where the shower is. I'll leave the clothes on the toilet lid."

A refusal is on the tip of your tongue, but at her intense stare you can only nod in acceptance. Then taking a couple more sips of your hot chocolate, you set the mug in the sink before heading off towards the bathroom and immediately start the shower.

As the water heats up, you shut the door without latching it so May can walk in with the fresh clothes. Then stripping out of your own clothes and leaving it all in the sink as to not start a puddle on the floor, you shakily step in behind the curtain.

The hot water feels heavenly, the temperature on the verge of stinging, but you're still so cold that you continue to stand there until the chill in your bones goes away. Then and only then do you worry about washing your hair and body.

May had entered halfway through your shower, leaving the clothes on the toilet as promised and then locking the door behind her. You're able to dress in peace without worry that someone would be walking in on you- you only realizing after you're fully dressed that May had left you with nothing but Peter's clothes. Then comfortably dressed and rubbing the towel over your hair, you exit the bathroom only to find that May's made you some soup. You eat in relative silence, grateful that May doesn't attempt any form of small talk.

After you've eaten and have brushed your hair, May nudges you into Peter's room.

"Go on. I never got rid of the bunk beds since Peter still stays here more than his dorm."

"Thank you, May. For everything."

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Goodnight."

"Night."

Peter's room is exactly as you remember it, but instead of trying to find any new additions you immediately pull back the covers to the bottom bunk and curl up underneath them. You try not to think about the night's earlier events, but they come rushing back no matter what.

As you're laying there, curled up, the bedroom window slides open. Peter crawls in and then drops from the ceiling, and you slightly uncurl yourself to watch him. "Out saving more damsels, Parker?"

He pulls off his mask, smiling, and then taps the spider in the middle of his chest so the rest of the suit loosens. "You were my last damsel." You've seen Peter shirtless more than a handful of times, but there's something far more intimate about him undressing with the only light source coming from the moon through his window. So the second the band of his briefs come into view, you pull the blanket up to your face to shield your eyes. Peter chuckles. "Mr. Stark just wanted to talk about our monthly game night. It's mandatory the team show up."

"Game night? You superheroes have game night?"

"Jealous?"

"Actually, yeah." As Peter climbs up onto the top bunk, you flop onto your back and pull the blanket off your face. Then staring up at the bottom of the top bunk, you sigh. "Remember when we were obsessed with charades? Ned was so competitive and I was a shitty artist."

Peter sighs. "I miss those days. Everything was so easy back then."

"Yeah. Then the real world got scary, we matured faster than we were supposed to, and I- I became an asshole."

"You're not an asshole, Y/N. You just followed your own path."

"What a sucky path that turned out to be."

There's a brief moment of silence and then, "What happened tonight? Why were you sitting alone in the rain?"

"I thought May would have told you by now."

"I called her, but she said this was something you had to tell me. She was upset by whatever it was."

Your bottom lip wobbles, but you quickly sink your teeth into it. Inhaling and then shakily exhaling, you tell him. "Remember Xavier? Remember how everyone told me he'd only break my heart?"

The bed frame creaks and you startle when you see Peter's upside down head from where he's leaning over the side of the top bunk. "Name the time and place. Spiderman will pay him a visit." You snort. "I'm serious, Y/N. Just say the word and-"

"And nothing. What's done is done." Peter refuses to lay back down, he choosing to continue staring at you from his upside down position. Sighing softly, you say, "If you really want to do something, then can you ever forgive me for being a shitty friend? That's all I ask."

"There was never anything to forgive." You lean up on your elbows, staring in surprise. Peter grins. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we're skipping classes and I'll swing you by your dorm to pick up a few changes of clothes. It's the weekend and we're staying with May."

"Fine."

True to May and Peter's words, they hadn't let you attend your morning classes the following morning. Instead you had slept in, then Peter woke you with promises of a hot breakfast courtesy of May herself. You had used Peter's laptop to email your Professors after lunch and since you were such an excellent student, your Professors had no problem emailing you the work you had missed. Then after your stomach had settled, Peter and May drove you back to your dorm.

Peter escorted you inside with his hands tucked deep into his pockets, and you avoided the stares you both garnered. By now everyone was bound to know about the end of your relationship with Xavier, so seeing you with Peter would most likely be the hottest gossip as soon as you were out of sight. Your roommate had been in the room when you'd opened the door, but she clammed up when she saw you weren't alone. She tried to pretend to read, but it was obvious she was staring as Peter helped you pack a bag.

You stay with Peter and May over the weekend, turning your phone off and ignoring anyone attempting to get a hold of you. And within that small time frame, you're reminded all over again how and why you fell for your best friend years ago.

You're dreading being back on campus, but you can't avoid it forever. Peter escorts you back to your dorm room and promises he's only a text or call away, and you enter your dorm to prepare yourself for the week to come.

Some of the friends you made while with Xavier are more than content to ignore your existence, but some actually express guilt for not speaking up. Your roommate, in particular, expresses extreme guilt. She corners you one day after classes and apologizes for not saying anything. She actually quite liked you and when Xavier first made his interests known, she thought you'd continue to deny him. But you didn't and the more time passed, the more she found herself at a loss of how to tell you what she knew. She didn't want you to hate her, but in the end that's exactly what happened. You accepted her apology, but there was no forgiving or forgetting. At least not yet.

The first week post-breakup then passes with relative ease, you only having to shut down Xavier a total of three times when he attempts to talk to you in order to explain himself. You don't care that he's sorry or that he claims he actually did fall in love with you. The start of your relationship was based off of a lie and he tried his best to keep you in the dark about it. In your books, there was no forgiving that.

The weekend is upon you once again and it seems like your roommate hasn't got plans of her own. The silence is awkward and the tension is palpable, and you almost audibly thank the Fates when there's a knock on the door. When your roommate doesn't immediately stand up to answer it, but instead frowns because she wasn't expecting anyone herself, you get up and yank the door open. Standing in the hallway, sheepishly, is Peter.

"Petey? What are you doing here?"

The bed behind you creaks and you know your roommate's interest has been piqued. Rolling your eyes, you meet Peter's amused expression as he tries not to peer over your shoulder. "It's game night. You're my partner."

"Uhh.."

"Come on, Y/N," he teases. "I told you about game night."

"Yeah, but you didn't say I was invited," you tell him, eyes slightly bulging. "Christ, Petey, your game night is at Stark Tower. A little warning would have been nice."

The gasp behind you goes ignored. "Too bad. Put on some shoes and grab your phone. Mr. Stark has a car waiting for us downstairs."

With a groan you turn around and do as Peter told you. You grab your dorm keys and phone, and pocket them, and then you shove your feet into a pair of shoes. Then without even acknowledging your roommate, you step out of the room while linking your arm with Peter's and shutting the door. Halfway down the hall, you say, "I hate you. You did that on purpose."

"Someone has to show them that you're better off."

You laugh. "You're terrible. Everyone I used to associate with will know where I'm headed within the next ten minutes." Peter only smirks in response and then when you get downstairs, sure enough there's a car waiting. You're expecting a normal driver, so you nearly choke on your tongue when Peter introduces you to Steve Rogers and he to you. "For fuck's sake, Petey," you hiss while punching his arm. "You can't just introduce me to people like this without notice."

From the driver's seat, Steve chuckles. "That'd be my fault. I volunteered to drive Peter at the last second."

"He still could have texted me," you grumble. Then scooting forward in your seat to reach up front, you offer your hand. "Hi. It's nice to meet you. I swear I have actual manners."

Steve smiles. "We've recently heard a lot about you."

"All good, I hope."

"Well," he teases, lips quirking.

"He's lying," Peter muses. "It's always good."

"Mhm." As you then settle back into the seat and buckle up, Peter grins from one seat over. "So what game is being played that you needed a partner for?" But before he can answer, your phone dings several times, back to back. You glance at the screen to see the message previews and roll your eyes, then angling your phone so Peter can read it. He huffs a laugh.

"What is it?" Steve wonders, glancing at the two of you in the rear view mirror.

"The ex," you tell him as you pocket your phone. "He's not too thrilled Peter picked me up from my dorm."

"He's also not too thrilled that Y/N apparently parties with Avengers now." Steve raises an eyebrow at him through the mirror and Peter shrugs. "I might have name dropped Tony before we left."

Steve fondly shakes his head. "Well if you don't mind me asking, how recent is this ex if he's upset that Peter picked you up?"

"We broke up a couple weeks ago."

"Mutual breakup?" You meet Steve's gaze in the mirror, and smiling sadly you shake your ahead. When you avert your gaze, Steve takes the hint and changes the topic. "So tonight's game will be easy if you've watched a lot of movies growing up. The game will only work in your favor if your partner is or near the same age as you because JARVIS uses an algorithm to determine which movies to pick for each couple based on their ages."

"Watched a lot of movies?" You ask. Glancing at Peter, you slowly smile. "Movie quotes?"

"Movie quotes."

"Yes!" You cheer. Looking back at the rear view mirror, you explain for Steve when you catch his curious gaze. "My family and I, we watched a lot of movies. And then when we moved next door to Peter and aunt May, he got dragged into our movie nights as well. It first started off with music. If my mom heard a song, she'd glance around and ask 'what movie?' and we had to guess which movie we heard that song in."

"Then after Mrs. Y/L/N passed away, Y/N's brother took up the game, but with movie quotes instead."

"So basically you're going to be the team to beat."

"Damn right we are." You and Peter share a knowing smirk, and you know tonight is going to be fun.

- - - - - - - - - -

Being introduced to full-fledged superheroes is a bit surreal, but you're only starstruck for a few minutes before you start to see them as normal people. Especially when Clint and Bucky start a mini food fight with the popcorn.

You can see the others take a shine to you when you loosen up around them, and you find that their gazes never stray too far from you and Peter. But eventually you wander off and it doesn't take the girls long to corner you in the kitchen for some girl talk.

"So you and Peter, huh?" Natasha muses. "That's adorable."

You can't help the blush that blossoms as you grab a water from the refrigerator. "Petey's my best friend."

"A best friend that you're in love with," Wanda says, slowly grinning.

"I-"

"Nat. Wanda, leave her alone," Pepper says. "Peter said to make Y/N feel welcomed, not interrogate her."

"It's okay," you chuckle. "If anyone is gonna interrogate me about the Peter situation, I rather it be you than May. She's too close to us and it's weird."

"Good." Wanda leans her elbows on the kitchen island, setting her chin in her right palm. "So what's going on? That boy has been awfully cheerful these past few weeks and you're all he seems to want to talk about."

Fiddling with the cap of your water, you grin bashfully. "I.. honestly don't know. Peter and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember, but then feelings got mixed in and we were in an awkward stage. College happened and I- I got distracted by the bad boy."

"What happened with that, if you don't mind me asking," Pepper wonders. "Tony had called Peter over one night and he was in a hurry to get back to you. He kept mentioning finding you in the rain and he didn't know what was going on, only that he had never seen you like that before."

Your smile briefly falters and you glance back towards the sitting area where the boys are still poking fun at one another. Then looking back at the girls, you tell them. "I started dating this guy. I guess you could call it puppy love or whatever, and in the process I sort of cut ties with everyone and put all my focus into my relationship." You sigh, shaking your head at your own stupidity. "I fell in love and I thought he fell in love too, but it turned out that our relationship was based off of a bet. He bet his friends that he could get me to fall in love with him, and when I did then he'd drop me without even batting an eye."

The girls are quiet and when you chance a look at each of them, you see the anger written in their expressions.

"So he broke up with you," Natasha says calmly. Too calmly.

"Not exactly. I think he might have fallen in love too, so he tried to keep me from finding out about the bet. But one of his ex flings got jealous and showed me the video of him making the bet, and I walked out on him. Especially since it turned out that all my new friends knew about the bet, but didn't think to inform me about it. They watched me make a fool of myself."

"Well that's his loss," Wanda says. "I, for one, am glad you reconnected with Peter."

"Thanks. I am too."

Wanda suddenly gets called back into the sitting room by Clint, so she smiles before leaving the kitchen. Pepper moves to leave too and as she passes she squeezes your shoulder. You and Natasha are left, and the red head sidles up to you. "If you ever need help pissing off the ex, I'll gladly help."

Chuckling fondly, you grin. "Yeah? Spider-Man's offered to kick his ass, so we'll see." Natasha smiles ferally at that. "But in all honesty, I just wish he'd stop trying to contact me. I literally have about 60 messages from him since Peter picked me up from my dorm. It didn't take long for my roommate to tell everyone she could about who picked me up."

"I can remedy that right away. Just say the word."

But before you can give her the go ahead, Tony barks at you and her to get in your seats because the game was about to start. The teams have started to pair off- Tony and Pepper, Steve and Bucky, Sam and Wanda- and Clint and Peter are left waiting for their partners.

Settling down next to Peter, he quietly asks if you're okay. You nod and sip your water, and hook your arm through his as you listen to Tony's instructions. You've basically played this game growing up, only this time it is a little different. One member of the team will be reading quotes taken from a specific movie off a Stark tablet while the other guesses what movie it's from. Everyone has a minute to guess as many movies as they can.

The two arrogant Tony and Sam argue over who's going first with Tony winning the honors.

Pepper reads the quotes while Tony guesses the movie, and in their minute they manage to guess eight movies. In Tony's book, he and Pepper have already got the game won. You and Peter boo him, and throw popcorn which he manages to bat away as Sam then volunteers his team. Wanda then reads the quotes to Sam, but they only manage an abysmal five movies. Tony cackles.

Clint guesses as Natasha reads the quotes and Clint correctly guesses his ninth movie just as the last second ticks away. Clint whoops in victory as Tony groans in defeat.

Steve and Bucky manage to do worse than Sam and Wanda, the two super-soldiers only guessing three movies much to everyone's amusement. Steve sheepishly accepted defeat whereas Bucky vowed to make Stevie watch more movies in their off time.

It's finally yours and Peter's turn, and you do your best not to pre-gloat. You and Peter have got this easily. You can feel it in your bones.

"So who's reading and who's guessing?"

"Reading," Peter says, raising his hand.

"Guessing," you then grin.

As Peter quickly reads through the list of movies JARVIS has compiled for him, he smirks. Everyone takes notice, especially Steve who nudges Bucky to keep an eye on the two of you, but Peter keeps mum until the ding resonates around the room to signify the start of your minute. "Nobody puts Baby in the corner."

Your eyes widen. You know this. "Dirty Dancing!"

"Boo, you whore!"

"Mean Girls!" You laugh. The others around you snort and laugh at that particular quote, especially since you guessed it right away.

"Michael Jackson didn't-" Peter pauses, laughing, but quickly gets himself under control. "Michael Jackson didn't come over to my house to use the bathroom. But his sister did!"

"The Goonies!" You stand up, heart pumping furiously as you shift from foot to foot. This game is your jam, but you can't help but feel anxious since there's a time limit.

"Maggots, Michael. You're eating maggots. How do they taste?"

"Oh. Oh! The Lost Boys!"

"How the hell is she doing this?" You hear Sam mutter.

"There's no crying in baseball!"

"A League of Their Own! That was my mom's favorite movie," you quickly explain when Tony's jaw drops at you knowing that particular movie.

"Mama always said life was like a box of choc-"

"Forrest Gump! Next," you say, flapping your hands to hurry him up.

"Toto, I've got a feel-"

"The Wizard of Oz!"

"Oh come on!" Clint mumbles. "These are so easy."

"I'm the ghost with the most, babe."

"Beetlejuice!"

"No more yankie my wankie. The Donger need food!"

Clint, Sam, and Bucky all laugh. "Sixteen Candles!" You laugh as well.

"You jump, I jump. Remember?"

"Um. Uh.." Your eyes widen. The name of the movie is right there in your mind, but you can't seem to spit it out. You know it, you've heard that quote over and over, but for some reason the title isn't coming forward. "Second quote. Hurry!"

Peter flicks something on the tablet. "I'm the king of the world!" He shouts.

"Oh! Titanic!"

Peter whoops and you sag in relief. "Ah! My head! The mega-bitch squashed my head!"

"Drop Dead Fred!"

"Ten seconds," Pepper muses.

Peter quickly scans the next quote, but instead of reading it off the tablet, he lets the tablet drop to his side. Then stepping up to you, he takes one of your hands within his as he says, "So it's not gonna be easy, it's gonna be really hard. And we're gonna have to work at this everyday, but I wanna do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever. You and me. Everyday."

Your heart practically stops. You know it's only a quote he's reading, but something about the way he said it feels different. "I-" Your voice cracks and the entire room goes quiet.

"Three seconds."

Pepper's voice snaps you and Peter out of the brief staring contest you had going on and the name of the movie rolls off your tongue. "The Notebook."

"Time!" Peter lets your hand drop before he steps back and you shakily breathe in and out, forcing a smile on your face as Wanda raises an eyebrow at you.

"Twelve movies," Clint says in awe. "How the hell did you know all of those? Some of those movies came out before you were even born."

"I watched a lot of movies growing up," you say, chuckling softly. "My family was really close and we bonded through movies. Sometimes my brother will randomly throw a movie quote at me and I'll guess the title without even missing a beat."

"Oh that's cool." Clint nods. "My brother tried to kill me once. Or twice."

Your eyes widen in surprise and Peter groans. "Clint, nooo."

"I'm.. sorry?" You then tell the archer, but he waves you off with a chuckle. Wanda and Natasha keep trying to wave you over to no doubt talk about the effect that last movie quote had on you, but your phone vibrating back to back to back draws your attention. You pull it from your pocket and read the slew of texts that had come in, and sigh heavily. "Hey Petey? Do you think aunt May would mind if I crashed at the apartment tonight?"

"No. Why?"

"Look." You show him the texts and he frowns. "Yeah. A weekend with aunt May is much more preferable than dealing with the ex who can't seem to take no for an answer."

"This is starting to become a bit disturbing, Y/N," he tells you. "I really think you should report him."

"Report him? Oohh, I smell drama. Tell me," Tony says as he sidles up to you. By now everyone seems to be paying a bit of attention so you give him a quick rundown of what's going down. By the end of it, Tony's frowning too. "I don't like it. Or him. Nat?" He then says, turning to find the red head and then snapping his fingers at her. "Take care of it."

You stare uneasily at the red head Avenger. "I normally wouldn't take such drastic measures, but well." You hand over your phone for her to read the texts herself. "What do you think I should do?"

Natasha skims the messages. "These go back weeks," she frowns. "This is definitely something that needs to be addressed with the correct authorities if you've told him multiple times to leave you alone."

"Okay."

"I'll make a few calls. I have some connections."

"Thank you." You tell her. "You can take screenshots if you need to and send them to your phone as proof or whatever. I don't mind." As Natasha takes a seat with your phone and gets to work, you turn back to Peter. He gestures to the side with his head and you follow him into the kitchen. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." He says, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "I was just going to ask you that."

You smile tiredly. "I'm fine. I'm just so over Xavier not moving on. I mean I have. Why can't he?"

"Y-You've moved on?"

"Duh." You meet Peter's gaze, grinning. "Petey, when was the last time you saw me crying over him?"

"Uhh.."

"Exactly. It's been a while. I'm happy I'm not in a relationship anymore where I'm so obsessed with the guy that I left everyone else out in the cold. I forgot the people who were most important to me and I'm glad to finally have them back. I'm glad to have you back."

Peter bashfully smiles. "So, uh, is this a good time to talk about us since you're over Xavier?"

"Us?" You raise an eyebrow at him when he finally meets your gaze. "So I wasn't the only one who felt there was something more behind that last movie quote you said to me?"

He chuckles. "You made me watch that movie a million times. Once upon a time it was your favorite, so I thought I'd take a page out of Noah's book. You always did awe at that one quote."

"You're such a romantic, Peter Parker." You step closer to him, nudging him with your shoulder before standing nearly chest to chest with him. "It really boggles my mind that you're still single."

He shrugs. "They weren't you."

You practically beam at him before you close the short distance between the two of you, you grasping the front of his shirt before pulling him down into a kiss. It takes him a moment to realize what's happening, but when he does he's quick to pull his hands from his pockets and cradle your face in his palms.

"Oh thank god," you hear someone mumble. "If she hadn't kissed him after he had said that, I was going to."

You and Peter both laugh at the same time, you turning as Peter tucks you under his arm to see Sam, Bucky, and Clint watching you from the other side of the kitchen island as they casually toss popcorn into their mouths. Natasha and Wanda walk into the room then, Wanda slapping Sam upside the head while Natasha gets Bucky and Clint.

"As fun as this night has been," you say. "I think I should get going. I still need to call May to see if it really is okay that I spend the weekend at her place."

"Oh. Yeah. M-Me too." Peter agrees.

Natasha hands you your phone as you pass, smiling knowingly, and you tuck it back into your pocket as you shake your head at her in amusement. You're stepping around the kitchen island when the guys all coo as Peter hesitantly grabs your hand in his.

"They grow up so fast," Sam teases. And without missing a beat, Peter shoots webbing at Sam's hand when he reaches for a drink in front of him. He sighs. "Always knew I hated that kid."

[somedayonbroadway]

Inside The Closet

Fandom: Newsies

Characters: Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly, Crutchie Morris

Words: 3K+

Summary: In which Race and Spot are stuck in a closet and Jack knows a secret or two.

The alarms were loud at first. But it was nothing compared to the pure silence that reigned the halls of his school at the moment.

Race's heart was in his throat.

He wished beyond anything he could remember what class his brother was in this period.

Shop? No… Calc… no…

He couldn't think. What time was it?

The lights were off. All the lights were off.

No teacher was allowed to open the door for him now.

He was just a sixteen year old kid with nothing to defend himself as he ran through the open hallways of Roosevelt High School all alone. The school was on lockdown. And he didn't want to think about why.

With a desperate whine, the boy caught sight of a janitor's closet. He made a dash for it, praying it was open as he heard something behind him slam.

Someone was just around the next corner.

He pulled the door open and slammed it behind him as quietly as he could, stumbling back as he tripped over what he assumed to be a mop of some kind. He bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming as his arm was grabbed onto and he was whirled around, bringing his hands up in a defensive position before he saw who it was that was standing there.

"Spot?" he breathed.

He couldn't help the relief that rushed through his veins.

Spot. It was Spot. He knew Spot. He liked Spot. He was in love with—

He blinked himself out of those thoughts fast as he tried to figure out how to breathe again.

The boy in front of him slowly relaxed right along with him. It was only then that Race saw that Spot was holding a broken broom in his hand, ready to run it through someone's torso if they dared run at him.

But Spot lowered it as he tried to calm himself down.

"Jesus, Racer, ya scared me ta death," the shorter boy whispered, offering Race his hand and guiding the blond over further into the closet.

Just as Race was about to take a step, a slam was heard outside the door. And the slightly younger boy could hardly contain his terrified yelp. Spot rushed back to him and cupped a hand over his mouth.

Race froze. He could feel Spot's breath on his neck.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the footsteps to pass. He watched as Spot reached past him and carefully moved to bolt the door shut without making any noise.

Someone jiggled the lock.

Race's breath hitched. He whimpered a bit as Spot cautiously maneuvered him backwards. And then footsteps were heard.

And the boys could breathe again.

Spot loosened his hold on Race. Race turned to him quickly, wrapping his arms around his brother's friend and held to him tightly, practically clinging to him. All Spot could do was freeze.

Race couldn't hear how fast the other boy's heart was beating.

It must've been a full minute before Race calmed down enough to let go, realizing what he'd been doing. He tried to clear his throat and shake himself out of the terror that had swallowed him whole. "S-sorry…" he whispered, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the almost pitch black room he was now in. "I… I c-couldn't rememba' wh-where Jack was n'... I w-was in the bathroom 'fore the alarm went off so—"

"It's fine…" Spot muttered quietly, shifting uncomfortably from leg to leg.

He and Race hadn't been alone together in a long time. At least a year.

Race was beginning to get light headed. He reached for his phone in his back pocket, sliding it into his hand before it clattered to the ground. He cursed under his breath, reaching down for it at the same time Spot did.

Their fingers brushed against each other's own. And they froze. Race pulled back, scratching the back of his neck as Spot stuttered for a moment, grabbing the phone and lifting it up for the other boy who looked down at it and bit his tongue to hold back a whimper when he caught sight of the cracked screen. It was practically shattered. "Shit…." he muttered.

Spot felt his heart drop. His best friend's brother was clearly panicking. And neither of them had any idea what to do. "Race, it's just a phone… I'm sure Medda won't be mad," he tried to calm.

"B-but…" the blond stopped himself, desperately trying to calm down. If there was one thing in the world he didn't want to do, it was cry in front of Spot Conlon.

And then Spot's hand came down cautiously on the back of his neck. Race swore he could feel warmth bubble up in him. "Ya wanna… ya wanna sit down?" Spot asked. Race nodded and let the older boy guide him to a corner of the small room where he must've previously been sitting down on an overturned bucket.

For a second a tense silence fell over the room. Race closed his eyes and tried to count out his breaths like his brothers did for him when he forgot how to breathe. Spot sat crisscrossed in front of him on the floor and waited for him to open his eyes again.

When Race did, he looked up at Spot and found himself speechless.

It hadn't been easy avoiding Spot. Not when him and Jack always seemed to be together. Race knew it wouldn't be easy.

But he wasn't supposed to feel the way he did about his brother's best friend. Because that meant chaos.

He just couldn't help it.

"So… you uh… you good?"

Race almost laughed at that. He didn't know how to feel right now. "I… are you okay?"

Spot nodded, a small smile coming over his lips. "Yeah… I think so… nice ta not be alone…"

The blond boy nodded, offering his friend a small smile. He shifted uncomfortably as he looked around awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. He knew he needed something to distract himself. Something to take his mind off of the dangers outside.

He didn't like the darkness or the small space. He wished he could remember where Jack was.

"Race?"

"Spot?"

"You watchin' any new Netflix shows?"

The question made Race pause for a moment and he looked at his brother's best friend, unsure of what the other boy was getting at.

But when he looked up, he saw Spot smiling shyly up at him, clearly searching for some kind of distraction himself.

So Race smiled. "No, Jack actually started paying for Prime…"

—

"No, you're kidding me! They are totally in love—"

"Okay, but there don't have ta be. My point is, even if they were just friends—"

"No. I'm not having this conversation. They are going to run away together and get married on another planet."

—

"Wait, you're telling me they don't get married? He was perfect!"

"I can't spoil it for you! Ya have ta watch it!"

"Race!"

—

"That one's Jack's favorite! It's actually really funny."

"I don't get it. He's a psychic?"

"No, that's what makes it funny!"

—

"You're telling me… you haven't read. Harry. Potter."

"Wh-... I…"

"No no no, you have no defense."

—

"We just got him. He's an emotional support puppy."

"I want him."

"Don't you dare dog-nap my puppy."

—

They didn't know how long it had been. Whispered conversation carried them through the day.

Spot had forgotten how easy Race was to talk to.

Race had forgotten how comfortable he could get around Spot.

Race had ended up on the floor at some point. They were shoulder to shoulder now, sitting and watching the door. Well, not truly anymore. Race had almost forgotten about the situation happening beyond that door.

"So how've you been, Racer? Really?"

Shrugging a bit, the blond boy sighed. "I've been doin' better. Jackie sure made sure a' that…" the boy laughed a little. "I neva' thought we'd get adopted all together… but Medda is amazin'. Crutchie can sleep all on his own now, which is great. Archie helps with that. N'... I started seein' someone… about… um… our last house…"

At that, Spot's face lit up. And Race's heart stuttered in his chest. "Yeah?"

Nodding, Race smiled. "Yeah… I'm gettin' betta… got me on the right meds an' everythin'..." he stared, sounding unafraid of that fact for what must've been the first time. "But… I miss hangin' out with you..."

Spot softened even more at that, nodding a bit in agreement. "I mean, I'm normally only a bedroom away…"

The younger boy looked down at Spot and shook his head. "Ain't the same as it used ta be…" he admitted.

Spot couldn't disagree, so he remained silent.

It was true. Spot and Race had known each other practically their whole lives. Ever since Spot and Jack had become friends in the second grade. Race used to tag along with them all the time. They were their own special unit.

But something happened when they'd grown up. High school had started. Spot had seen a change in himself and his best friend's brother.

And it terrified him.

"H-how are things for you?" Race asked, desperate to keep the conversation flowing, not wanting to think anymore. He couldn't unleash his thoughts yet. Not now.

"Things are alright. My step dad and I actually… uh… we're doin' betta'... it ain't perfect… but it's betta'... we go ta see my ma every week," he explained, knowing Race probably already knew all of this. After all, he was typically only a bedroom away. "She's gettin' out in a couple months and they's gonna renew their vows, so… it's okay…" he admitted, feeling a warmth flow up in him.

Things had changed for the both of them. Things were smoothing out.

"I… I miss pizza nights…" It was a random statement. Race wasn't even sure he'd meant to say it out loud. But now it was out there. And Spot chuckled. So Race smiled. "We'd order pizza and Jack would put some ridiculous topping on it. Charlie pick the movie n' we'd fall asleep on top of each otha'..." he reminisced, truly remembering how at one point in his life, he'd been completely carefree. He'd had his brothers. And he'd had Spot. And it was all he could've asked for. Adoption be damned, he had who he needed right there.

But that was a long time ago.

"Jack is such an idiot. Who in the hell puts ice cream on pizza?" Spot shook his head.

"My brother does. N' you ate it," the other boy quipped, shoving him in the shoulder a bit.

Spot rolled his eyes, but shoved his friend back. And then he turned to look at the blond. Really look at him.

Even in the dark he could see those beautiful blue eyes.

Two years now. Two years he'd known he'd never be able to look at his best friend's brother without getting sucked into those crystal orbs. Two years he'd known something was different. Two years he'd been trying to avoid it all for this to happen.

They were in a closet. And no one was around to berate them or embarrass them or tell them they were wrong.

And Jack wasn't around to kill him.

Spot stared for a long while before he heard something outside the door crash. They could die today. A mix of fear and bravery and just a bit of adrenaline coursed up in him as he pushed himself towards the beautiful boy beside him.

That's when their lips met for the first time.

Race did not pull away. Neither did Spot.

Spot reached up to cup the other boy's cheek, feeling his fingers brush up against soft blond curls on the back of Race's neck.

It was a long, soft kiss. It was perfect.

And then it was over.

Race crashed back into reality quick, pulling away from his friend looking at him in shock.

Spot Conlon had just kissed him.

Spot. Conlon. Had just kissed him.

He couldn't form words. Neither of them could.

Spot looked shocked at himself and it made Race's heart beat even faster as he looked around for some kind of escape.

That's when he remembered why they were hiding in the first place.

A minute felt like an hour.

The boys might as well have been stuck in that closet for centuries, neither one of them speaking a word. Spot wanted to apologize. Race wanted to ask him if that had been real or not.

But they couldn't find the words.

In the darkness, Spot couldn't truly see the blush rising up Race's neck. But he could damn well feel the one spreading on his own cheeks.

Though both of their faces became clear when frantic footsteps were heard outside the door that was fiddled with only seconds later before someone who sounded so familiar started to call out for them. "Racer! Spottie! Please tell me you're in there!"

Jackie.

Race was up in an instant, rushing to unlock the door.

He was swallowed up in a tight embrace in mere seconds. And he allowed himself to hide in his brother's chest.

"Oh thank God…" Jack breathed. Race felt him place a hand in his hair. "I've been callin'. Ya weren't answerin'..."

"His phone broke…" Spot chimmed in. Race just held to Jack even tighter. "How'd ya find us?"

"Well, I can track Race's phone through mine. So I guess it ain't completely broke," Jack stated before pressing a kiss to Race's head.

A bit embarrassed, Race finally found the courage to pull away and wipe at his nose, looking around to find only a few prying eyes.

Him and his brothers were close. Some people thought it was weird.

Race did not like it when people started staring.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jack asked, sounding more worried that the younger boy would've appreciated. Managing a nod, Race took a shuddering breath. "Ya didn't hear the bell?" All Race could do was shake his head. He didn't trust his own voice. Jack sighed and looked past him to who his little brother could only assume was Spot. "Are you alright?"

"We're fine, Jackie-boy," the boy insisted. "Ya know why we were even on lockdown?"

"Some maniac runnin' from the cops. He tried ta hide in here. They caught him," Jack described vaguely, wrapping an arm around Race's shoulders to keep him close. "Crutchie is already out with Mama… you wanna go with him?" the older boy asked, shaking him a little. "Or d'ya wanna go back n' the closet with Spottie?" he teased.

Race was sure he turned bright red at the words. He made a point not to look back at his brother's best friend.

"Shuddup, JJ. We was tryin' not ta die, alright?" Spot quipped, feeling himself begin to blush himself. He prayed Race didn't see that.

But Jack just smirked.

Damn him for knowing how Spot felt about that perfect blond boy.

And damm Jack for knowing how Race felt about that ridiculously ripped football player.

Without warning, Race shook his head and pulled out of Jack's reach, fiddling with his own hair for a moment and he paused for a moment, not knowing if he should speak before he decided against it, rushing off to where he knew his mother's car had to be.

Jack didn't stop him. But he looked back towards Spot. "Ya gonna tell me what happened?" he asked.

Spot glared at him.

"I'll take that as a no," Jack decided, raising his hands up in defense. And he turned to go, with one more glance back in Spot's direction before he shook his head and followed his little brother down the hall.

—

"This has to stop."

Jack stood in his littlest brother's doorway, arms cross over his chest.

"Uhh… me readin' a book in silence while you watch ominously from the doorway. Agreed," Charlie quipped, smirking at the other boy when all he received from him was a glare. "Okay, I'm assuming you mean, Race n' Spottie?"

That was all it took to set Jack off. "Spot won't even come over here if he knows Race'll be here! And every time I mention Spot, Race clams up n' starts blushing and it hurts, Crutch," Jack said, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "It's painful."

The younger boy laughed at that, but nodded his head in agreement. "Well, somethin' definitely happened between 'em, but I don't think they's talked ta each other in weeks," he mused, smirking at his brother. "So what's ya plan?"

Jack grinned.

—

"Hey, Spottie!"

Race froze at his brother's voice. He sunk down further into the couch he sat on, just within the front door and tried to hide.

Spot. Spot was here.

He hadn't spoken to the older boy in at least a month.

He was too embarrassed.

That kiss… he'd imagined it. He knew he had. Because that couldn't have been real.

He'd been crushing on The Spot Conlon since his freshman year. Spot was popular and cool and perfect and Race was just… Race…

"Hey, I gotta clean out this closet f'r Medda real quick n' then we can go upstairs," he heard Jack say. Race thought nothing of it. He just wrapped his arms around himself as the TV kept playing.

Crutchie walked into the room, giving him an odd look. Race cleared his throat, trying to act natural as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared straight ahead at the cartoon that was playing in front of him, shifting into somewhat of a more comfortable position, but making sure he was still hidden from view.

He didn't want to face the other boy right now.

Or ever.

He didn't know what to say.

But Jack seemed to have other plans. "Hey, Racer? Could ya come n' gimme a hand please?" his brother called. Race paled.

That was perfect. Now Spot knew he was here.

Letting out a breath as he made his way to his feet, the boy walked right past Spot. The other boy didn't take his eyes off of him for a second.

Jack was fidgeting with something just in the doorway of the closet. "What, Jack?" Race snapped, wanting to get this over with and then lock himself in his room for the next hundred years.

The older boy hopped off of the step stool he was standing on and then kicked it outside the door. Without even looking at him, he just said, "come here…"

And Race did. After all, he didn't have any reason not to. He stepped into the small space and Jack stepped around him, pressing a quick peck to the side of his head.

That was when everything happened too fast for anyone to comprehend.

Jack pushed Race further into the small closet and grabbed Spot by the wrist, easily pulling the shorter boy into the space too and shutting the door quickly. That was when the blond snapped out of it and tried to rush forward. "Jack, what the—?"

"I can't watch you two avoid each other f'r the rest of your lives! One conversation, that's all I'm askin'," Jack stated through the door. "You're my best friend and my little brother n' I love you both. But this whole bein' scared a' one another has ta stop!"

Race shook his head. "Jack, I swear ta God!"

"I'll rip your arms off, Kelly! Open the damn door!"

There was no reply.

Race looked over.

Spot was so close to him.

Their eyes met after a moment. Race backed up as far as he could, pressing his back up against the wall. Spot did the same. Then they looked away.

Neither of them spoke. Not for a long while. Race fidgeted with the loose string in his pocket and Spot chewed on the inside of his cheek.

But they could only take the silence for so long.

"Look… Race… if I went too far… I'm sorry. I just…" Spot shook his head as he searched for the right words. He truly didn't know what to say. "I thought we were gonna die… I mean… I was scared that you'd never know that I…" he trailed off, afraid to admit it. He'd probably made this precious boy hate him.

He'd thought they were going to die. He truly had. He just needed to know what that felt like. What Race felt like. How things might be if he were just a little braver.

Race couldn't speak. He didn't know what he could say. His heart was beating so fast in his chest. It was real. That kiss had been real. But there was no way that Spot wanted to be with him. He wasn't anybody. He was just Jack Kelly's little brother.

Spot could only stare at the beautiful boy in front of him. He couldn't help it. Those blond curls, those blue eyes. The way he bit his lip when he was nervous. He was almost a hundred percent sure that Race didn't even know he did that. But it just made Spot fall a little harder for him.

It wasn't too long before he couldn't take it anymore.

"For Christ's sake, why did you have to be so goddamn pretty?" the older boy whispered.

Race looked up in shock for a moment. And just at that very second, Spot rushed forward to kiss him.

Fireworks went off in Race's head. And all he could do was kiss back.

Their lips fit perfectly on one another's. They moved in sync as Race reached to ball up the back of Spot's shirt in his hands. Spot's hands reached up to tangle in his curls.

If there was no need for air, they could've stayed there forever. But Spot pulled back for air. And Race couldn't help the blush or the grin that spread on his face. "I… I…"

"Would you just go out with me, Racer?"

The younger boy laughed, pulling at Spot's collar. "Yeah… yeah, I'd like that…"

And just as Spot dove back in for another kiss, the door was pulled open, revealing a clearly relieved Jack and Crutchie, sitting backwards on the couch with a bag of popcorn in his hand.

The second Jack saw them, he feigned disgust. "Okay, that's enough. That's all that needed to happen. I just don't need to see it," he stated, looking away.

Crutchie just snorted. "C'mon Jackie look… Racer's got a boyfriend," he teased.

Race stuck his tongue out at him. And then he turned to Jack. "I can't believe you just locked us in a closet. You're an asshole."

"But now you have a boyfriend!" Jack shot back immediately, gesturing to Spot as if Race didn't know what just happened.

Rolling his eyes, the boy just turned back to Spot. And he smiled. "Whatever…" he sighed. "Least I ain't gonna be alone forever, like someone I know," he stated, glancing back at his big brother for a moment, before kissing Spot right on the lips again.

Jack gawked in offense.

Crutchie laughed.

And Spot grinned.

"You believe this, Crutch? I give them both what they'd wan'ed f'r two years n' this's what I get," Jack complained, walking over to his littlest brother and flopping down onto the couch.

Spot just laughed and shook his head. "Okay, Cowboy, okay! We'll pay you back!" he laughed, sending a wink over in Race's direction. The blond boy blushed all over again.

"How about we start with buyin' ya some pizza?"

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 7 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language, mention of past drug use

wc: 12k

----------

Previously:

Maya closes her eyes and turns into him so her nose brushes the hair on his chest and she can wrap an arm around his wide back. 

“You should stay. But I’ll cook. Can’t have you burning my new house down.”

They’re asleep in record time. Maya is heavy, dreamless. She barely moves beside him the whole night. 

+++

When she wakes up, it’s early, too early considering how late they were up fucking. 

Fucking. 

She fucked Shawn. 

Maya slams her eyes shut like that will erase the night before and all the memories she’ll now cling to desperately, memories she has no business having now after what she did to him. 

Her body goes tense, rigid all over against his. Now she has to wait. 

Maya stirs before he does, and it pulls him from his heavy, dreamless sleep. They’re still tangled together, Shawn’s arm still wrapped around her waist so she’s pulled tight against his chest. His arm tightens, just a hair, like he has to reassure himself before he opens his eyes that last night wasn’t a dream. 

God, last night. 

He doesn’t regret it. Not yet, anyway. He just wants it again. 

With his nose pressed to the top of her head, he groans through a yawn and stretches his legs out, his feet knocking into hers. He can’t remember the last time they fell asleep like this, but he missed it more than he realized. 

“Morning, sugar,” he eventually mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He doesn’t let himself worry. He can’t worry yet. Not until she gives him something to worry about. 

Maya blinks hard when Shawn stretches out beside her and yawns into her hair. It’s jarring, waking up with someone when you haven’t in so long. Maya’s very out of practice. If it were any other guy that had crashed in her bed, she’d have him up and out without too much fanfare or platitude. But… it’s Shawn.

It’s Shawn, his hard, naked body pressed against hers like it’s fucking 2007 all over again. It’s Shawn, who used to try to make her breakfast, not because he was a great cook but because he wanted to do nice things for her. He made every effort to make her smile.

It’s Shawn, who has a host of tattoos she doesn’t know the stories behind because she ran away from him many years ago.

Maya’s chest goes tight, clenching with threatening tears. He’s wrapped around her like they never spent any time apart at all, like he never wants to be apart from her again. But she needs him out as fast as she can get him. She needs to regroup, take a step back from this and look at it. She can’t do that when he’s got a leg between hers and has his dry lips against her scalp.

Maya turns over to look up at him. He’s so goddamn beautiful. 

She shifts back a little, slips out of his grip to reach for her glasses. “Hi.”

He loves her in glasses. She’s so fucking cute. Even in the ugly emergency glasses she used to wear in college if she ever left her regular glasses at home or something. He actually thinks he liked the ugly ones best. He doesn’t say any of that as she wiggles out of his grasp and grabs a pair he’s never seen before. Obviously. 

He flops onto his back and looks over at her as he scratches at his stomach, a small grin stretching across his lips. “Hi. How’d you sleep?” 

He hasn’t slept so well in years. He and Leah could never quite get into the same rhythm when it came to sleep. He usually went to bed later than her, and even if they cuddled after sex, they usually ended up rolling away from one another in the middle of the night. It was a fine set up, but that deep-seated feeling of satisfaction he gets from being curled around Maya as he dozes wasn’t there. 

He’s spoiled now, all over again. 

God, he looks so comfortable. She feels like garbage. She needs him out. She’s going to lose it.

“Oh, fine thanks,” she replies stiffly, sitting up and squinting out the window. The milkman just came and dropped off the half and half for her coffee and that super rich chocolate milk she likes.

That’s a good reason to get up. She really needs to get out of this bed.

He reaches a hand out to slide his thumb along her jaw until he reaches the arm of her glasses. “These are cute, by the way.”

Shawn’s hand on her face triggers her exit. She smiles gently and stands stark naked, reaching for a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. The more clothes she’s wearing right now, the less vulnerable she feels.

“I’ll be right back,” she blurts, walking backwards toward the stairs, “The uh… the milk’s here.”

Maya scrambles out of the room, tries not to cry as she scoops the charming local dairy bottles up in her arms to bring them to the fridge. She hopes to god he’s getting dressed.

He worries now. She practically jumps out of bed when he touches her, like he’s burning up and she can’t take the heat. 

“You-- Okay,” he says with a tight frown, pushing himself to sit up as he watches her pull on clothes and nearly sprint out of the room. She doesn’t give him a chance to tease her about using the milk delivery service like a little old lady. 

His stomach hurts. 

He forces himself out of bed and doesn’t look in the mirror as he goes to piss. He knows there’ll be evidence of her mouth on his skin if he does, and he doesn’t want a reminder of that right now. He’s never been very good with confrontation, especially by his own mistakes.

He’s trying not to think about her apparent need to keep running away from him, and his own need to keep following her. He feels stupid enough as it is. 

As he pulls on last night’s clothes, he realizes he’s glad he didn’t tell her that he’s still in love with her. Glad that he didn’t do anything stupider than he already has. Like get a tattoo for her, then follow her home like a helpless puppy.

Maya is carefully placing bottles of milk in her fridge when he enters the kitchen. She offered him breakfast the night before, but he doesn’t think that’s on the table anymore. His stomach twists, the flicker of hope he felt last night slowly dying. 

“The chocolate milk is awesome, right?” he says. It’s stupid and pathetic and pretty much exactly how he’s feeling right now. 

The fresh tattoo on his back burns. 

Maya’s lower lip quivers when she hears him walking down the steps. She knows her plan to get him out has worked. A couple more awkward exchanges of small talk and he’ll be out the door and she can choke this down. 

She stares at the bottles in her fridge, nodding, “Yeah, it’s the best.”

With a deep, stabilizing breath, she turns, dead behind the eyes. She wraps her arms over her chest and tries to smile but it comes off as a grimace.

“So, uhm… it looks like the surf is good today. I’ll probably get something in my stomach and head down there.”

So you have to go. Please, please go. She doesn’t have the balls to say it out loud. She almost thinks they’d be better off if she did. At least that way she wouldn’t be dancing around her feelings and his like she always does. He deserves directness. He deserves so much more than she can give him.

She really can’t hold on anymore. She can feel her eyes stinging.

“Ok, well, last night was… I mean, it was great. I’m sure I’ll see you. I’m just-- I’ve gotta--”

As quickly as she stumbles over her words, she scrambles back up the stairs, leaving him in her kitchen all alone.

She waits for the front door to shut before she lets out the horrible sob that’s been swallowing her lungs since she woke up in his arms. She shuts herself in the bright whiteness of her studio room, surrounded by boxes and paint and turpentine and the smell usually comforts her but it doesn’t now. She sits cross-legged in the center of the room and lets herself cry.

She doesn’t fucking deserve to cry. She’s a cruel, heartless woman who keeps hurting the man who loved her. Maybe he still loves her. Maybe that’s too much to hope. It’s certainly more than she’s earned.

She doesn’t deserve hope either. Not for him.

+

Maya doesn’t show up to the farmer’s market on Saturday. If she does, she does a great job of skirting the center of the square so she never passes by the stage. Shawn’s not exactly surprised; he knew it would happen after she unceremoniously kicked him out of her house Thursday morning. 

The look she gave him before she disappeared up the stairs was cold, as if he were a random Tinder hookup and not once the love of her life. He hated it, and now he’s worried that’s the only look she’ll give him for the rest of the summer. 

He searches the crowd for her anyway. He’s a masochist, apparently. 

He goes home and gets high, because he thinks he might vomit if he tries alcohol. Geoff joins him a few hours into his private Netflix and blaze session and doesn’t ask questions. He knows Shawn will talk when he’s ready. 

Shawn’s just not sure he’ll ever be ready. 

They get high enough to start debating if he should text her or not, if he should yell at her or not, if he should tell her he’s in love with her or not. In the end, they decide against any of it. Geoff says she doesn’t deserve his attention anyway. Shawn pretends to agree, because the rational part of him knows it’s true. 

They get higher, pulling out the tall bong so they can practice their smoke tricks, even though they both really suck. As Geoff blows messy rings out the window, Shawn wonders if Jessica could turn the thimble that scars his back into something else. 

+

Maya paints.

It feels like the only thing she can do right. “Right” is a subjective term in art, she knows, but it feels right. When she looks at the canvas she’s striking her brush at, she sees the pain she feels.

But getting it out of her only makes her feel hollow. Maya’s trying not to think she deserves to feel hollow because her therapist back in New York was always trying to talk her down from her self-loathing. It’s back with a vengeance now. Because she’s hurt him again.

Maya paints and Maya drinks. She only leaves the house in the middle of the night to get food. She doesn’t really want to see anyone and she really doesn’t want to see a certain someone, but she accepts the inevitability, given that she’s staying in Avila permanently.

He still doesn’t know that.

Maya takes another swig of scotch from the very expensive bottle the partners gave her for Christmas last year. In the card that came with it, they told her to drink it with friends and loved ones. So Maya drinks it with her brushes and paints.

She stabs the brush into the canvas again with a grunt. She was going to surf this morning before she remembered the farmers market is right by the beach and she can’t risk seeing him again, not yet. The wounds she left in him (and in herself, but she’s responsible for those, so she’s not worrying about them) are still fresh. She needs to try to avoid him for his sake...

… She tells herself.

When she closes her eyes is when she’s getting the most out of every stroke. She feels his hands all over her, like they’re thanking her, loving her exactly how she is. She feels his kiss when she was getting the easel tattoo. She feels him, all of him, and lets it out on the poor, abused canvas.

With another slug of scotch burning her throat, she steps back. The painting is done. It’s fierce, visceral, hateful, despairing. It’s finished. She places it aside to dry, lifts another canvas in its place. She starts again.

+

He gets to the shop early Monday morning because he can’t sleep. Well, he can, but he doesn’t like what happens when he does. He’s been having the same dream over and over and it’s starting to make sleep just not worth it.

It always starts the same. He’s in bed with her and she’s smiling at him like she always used to when she would wake up before him and watch him sleep. 

Dream Shawn smiles back at Dream Maya and her nose twitches like it does when she’s thinking about kissing him. 

‘Morning,’ he breaks the silence. She smiles wider. He blinks, and then she’s gone. 

Sometimes he doesn’t wake up and the dream goes on. He sees her on the beach, but when he runs towards her she just gets farther away. 

He sees her at Starbucks but when she turns around, it’s a completely different person. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the symbolism.

He’s gotten better and better at waking up before he gets too deep into it. This particular morning, he’s been awake since 3:30, and he’s not keen on falling back asleep.

So he spends two hours sanding down the body of the grand piano he’s building, when he notices the sun finally starting to breach the horizon. His watch reads ‘6:32 am’ and his drooping eyelids remind him he’s yet to have any caffeine today. 

He places a Starbucks mobile order and decides to walk on the beach so he can watch the sunrise as he goes. 

Maya has found herself shifting back into her scary Wall Street sleep habits the last few days, meaning she’s been sleeping… very little. If at all.

She’s better off, she figures, while everything still hurts so badly. Dreams cannot possibly be her friend right now. So she deprives herself of them.

Her therapist Dr. Barnett would tell her to do something good for herself, something that makes her feel good. Painting, though it’s as much a bodily function for her as anything else is at this point in her life, doesn’t make her feel good right now. It just feels like picking at scabs. Or… picking at gaping wounds, more accurately.

So, surfing then.

Maya’s surfing substitute in New York was yoga but it paled in comparison. While natural and healthy and designed for calm, it just never felt the same. That’s one of the main reasons she ended up back in Avila. She loves this beach. It feels like this beach loves her back as she paddles out far this morning, further than usual, chasing waves. If this beach can love her after everything she’s done lately, she must still be okay in someone’s eyes.

Maya closes her eyes and dives under an oncoming wave. She’s waiting for something bigger. She feels it coming though, like the water is vibrating at the right frequency under her fingertips as she skims the surface. She takes a deep, sea-salted breath and releases it, and starts paddling.

He can’t remember the last time he watched the sunrise. He’s up before the sun often, but he’s usually too busy working or playing or avoiding his feelings. He’s still avoiding his feelings, but this morning he takes the time to fix his gaze on the horizon as he strolls along the shore.

It must’ve been with Leah, the last morning he had like this. He can’t remember, though. He can’t remember ever watching a sunrise with her. 

He and Maya used to watch it all the time. They would lie on the beach and make out and he would play his guitar like a douchebag. She would sing along if they got high first, or if she was still drunk from the night before. 

He looks away from the sun and kicks up some sand. He always thinks about her most when he’s trying not to think about her at all. 

Maya is completely exhausted and it’s so satisfying. She’s gotten in a good sesh on her board and thinks maybe if she crawls back up on the beach now she could just pass out on her towel, wet suit and all.

She’s humming to herself, an old Ben Folds Five song that she’s loved since she was a pre-teen. She hasn’t heard it in forever so she doesn’t quite know where it’s coming from now but sometimes it feels like the ocean brings her what she needs. That sort of thinking is a little hippy-dippy for Maya, but surfing brings it out in her sometimes. She’s floating the board in to where the waves crash and starts towing the board up the beach, where she’s left a towel and a beach bag. 

She strips down so the wet suit bunches around her hips and straightens her bikini top on the empty beach. She wrings out her hair, closing her eyes and humming louder until she’s singing.

She thinks maybe Shawn used to like this song. 

Shawn is startled from his thoughts by a voice. His gaze darts from the rippling streaks of pink and orange that paint the waves crashing onto shore. 

The universe is funny sometimes. Funny, and very cruel. 

Maya stands about fifty feet in front of him, tucked closer to the shore with her beach bag, towel, and board. She’s twisting her hair, squeezing salty water from her locks and into the sand. She doesn’t see him and Shawn’s thankful, because for some reason his feet don’t stop and he’s getting closer and closer and he thinks he’s going to talk to her and she can’t run away if she doesn’t see him first. 

Maybe he’s panicking. Maybe he should just turn around and go back to his shop. 

But she’s singing Ben Folds Five and he’s more in love with her than ever. He keeps walking. 

“Hey lady, do you take requests?” he asks with a grin, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts as he approaches her. He feels immensely stupid, because what a dumb fucking thing to say. 

He decides he hates her, just a little, for making him not know how to talk to her anymore.

He smiles through it, anyway.  

His voice immediately puts her off balance. She’s tilted over to squeeze out her hair and hearing him suddenly behind her has her very nearly tipping over into the sand. She manages to catch herself and gasp, whirling around and spraying him with residual sea water in her hair.

She has absolutely no idea why he’s talking to her. Doesn’t this man have any self preservation instincts at all? She wants to run away for his own good.

But she thinks if he’s anything like she is he just doesn’t know how to stay away from her. That’s why she keeps hurting him. Now that she’s been around him again for only a couple weeks, she looks back at the last 12 years and can’t imagine how she stayed in New York, a country away from him for so long.

He’s up early. She figures he’s probably not sleeping well either. He looks wonderful, but very tired. He’s doing the thing where he shoves his hands in his pockets and blinks at her like he’s not sure she’ll stay and talk to him. It hurts, but she gets it.

She almost falls over, and he’s a little too eager to swoop in and catch her for his own liking. Maya rights herself before he can pull his hands from his pockets, so he just shoves them deeper. He needs to behave. 

Shawn blinks, head tipping back when saltwater splashes his face, but he doesn’t care. There are worse things she could do. He’s been there. 

Maya swallows and smiles softly. “You’re the only person in the world who would ask to hear more of my voice, Shawn.”

She downplays her voice like always, but he loves it. She sings like she wrote every lyric herself, like every word is important to her. He could listen to her sing for hours because of that. 

He shrugs. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” 

He’s pretty sure he means that in more ways than one. Historically, she’s too tough on herself, and not just about her singing. 

It’s probably why she runs, and probably why he’ll keep forgiving her.

He’s so earnest sometimes. Not all the time, that would probably piss her off. But sometimes, he almost knocks her off her feet. And as she just showed him, she can do that well enough on her own.

He strikes a particular chord here. From the night they formally met at her art show, she’s been hard on herself. Well, she’s been hard on herself a lot longer than that. Her perfectionism is so deeply ingrained, she has memories of hiding a cursive workbook under her pillow and praticiting after her parents tucked her in at night. They weren’t especially tough on her about academics or really anything else. Maya did this to herself.

That’s the worst part. She has no one to blame but herself for this evil piece of her that’s trying to destroy the rest of her. Shawn knows. He knows better than anyone how she feels about herself. He used to try to love her enough to make up for the fact that she hasn’t always loved herself. It almost worked.

“I’m working on that,” she chokes, reaching for her towel to wrap herself up in, partly for warmth, partly as a shield.

She looks out at the water. “Nice sunrise, huh?”

He wonders when, if ever, he’ll take the hint. She’s not looking for him to love her, but he keeps trying. He feels like a drug addict sometimes, and sometimes he feels like the personification of that saying, ‘Insanity is doing the same exact thing over and over and expecting different outcomes each time.’

He definitely needs to get back to therapy. And he should probably mention Maya. 

She hides herself from him in the safe swaddle of her towel and he’s never felt more alienated. But she’s still talking to him, so maybe that’s a good sign. 

He can celebrate little victories, he supposes.

He doesn’t turn back to the sunrise. He’s distracted by a better view. 

“Yeah. Pretty,” is all he can manage to say because he’s still thinking about the towel around her shoulders and the way she hasn’t looked him in the eye since she came beneath him the other night. 

He manages to drag his gaze from her before she can catch him staring. He looks to the horizon. 

“I haven’t actually watched one in forever.” 

Maya turns fully to face the horizon. She closes her eyes against the harsh orange light and breathes in, soft and slow. She pins her mouth shut against anything ridiculous that could say about the other night, about the last 12 years. 

Instead, she bobs her head casually like she’s talking to a woman in line at the grocery store. 

“I caught my fair share in Manhattan from my office. Not as nice out there though. But all the same, sometimes in New York it’s easy to forget the sun exists. California never lets you forget that.”

Shawn’s never been to New York, but it sounds a bit like Toronto. He’s sure that’s stupid, though, so he doesn’t say anything. Maya doesn’t need to know the depth of his cluelessness about the rest of the world. 

Maya’s fingers itch for a brush. She tugs on her knuckles to crack them the way she always does when she’s jonesing to paint. Maybe she’ll go by the art supply store on her way home. Again. 

“You’re up early,” Maya comments weakly. 

He knows she’s anxious when she pulls at her fingers, popping the joints. He hates that. Before, they were also so good for each other’s anxiety. Now, it seems, they bring out the worst in each other. 

“Oh,” he says, eyebrows quirking, “Yeah, well. You know, couldn’t sleep.” 

You’re haunting my fucking dreams, he wants to say. You’re driving me crazy. 

“What about you? I thought you were more of a post-sunrise surfer.” 

He’s not very good at pretending he doesn’t remember things about her. He thinks he should get a little better at it, though he’s not sure why.  He’s sure she can tell how badly he’s fucked for her, how much he still loves her. Ever since she got here, his heart has been right there, beating desperately on his sleeve while his love for her drips from every fucking pore in his skin.

She’s gotta know he remembers all of it. So why pretend he doesn’t? He doesn’t like faking his feelings, even if she doesn’t want the real ones. 

It’s in the air between them, that neither of them is sleeping and it’s largely because of this… thing. Maya notes the circles under his eyes. She’s never seen those before, not even when he was cramming for finals. They’ve come either with age or with the profound level at which she’s ruined him lately. 

Maya’s fingers twitch again. She tugs them until they pop. 

She looks back out to the surf. “I’m not sleeping well either,” she concedes with a sigh. 

She glances back at him. “And you know how much I love an empty beach.”

Of course he knows. He knows everything about her. And he manages to love her anyway. Or, he used to. But it has Maya thinking — maybe she’s missing something. Because if someone like Shawn can love her, she must be worth loving right?

She really needs to fucking paint. 

She takes a half step closer to him and looks up at the way the morning breeze tousles his curls. Will she ever wake up with him again?

He holds his breath when she takes a step toward him, as if she were a butterfly flirting with the idea of landing on his finger and he doesn’t want to scare her away. He has to calculate his next move carefully -- he doesn’t dare step closer himself, has to be sure he doesn’t say anything that might ignite panic. 

He slides a hand through his curls then shakes his head a little, as if he were the one in the water who needs to fling salt from his hair.

“Yeah,” he finally murmurs, nodding, “I do. Even though it makes me nervous.” 

Maya always loved surfing alone, and Shawn hated it because he gets paranoid about riptides and shark attacks and any other danger of the ocean because he doesn’t have that visceral connection to it that she does. Sometimes, he thinks Maya wouldn’t mind if the waves carried her off, and that’s the scariest part. 

Mostly, he just wants to be carried with her. 

It used to make Shawn crazy that all she wanted to do was check surf forecasts at 7am and sneak out of bed with a note on the pillow. She knows he didn’t understand but he respected her relationship to surfing and to the sea. 

He didn’t understand the urge, but he understood her. She always found that comforting. 

Maya expects him to excuse himself politely at some point, but he doesn’t. She shouldn’t be quite so happy about it, but she is. While he looks off at the water, she wriggles out of her wetsuit altogether and starts drying herself off. For a moment or two she considers asking him to breakfast. 

When she looks back up at him, she changes her mind. Stop hurting him, her mind advises. She decides to listen. 

“Oh,” he says after a moment, “how’s the tattoo doing, eh?” He doesn’t know why he asks, other than as an excuse to stay here with her, staring at the water. 

“Oh, it’s so great, it’s exactly what I wanted,” Maya tells him, gesturing to the ink on the inside of her wrist. She grins at it and it feels like her first real smile in a while. 

“How’s um…” She realizes too late that asking about the thimble is a loaded question. She sniffs and pretends she didn’t say anything at all, kicking at the sand with her toes. 

She looks happy about the tattoo, and he’s glad for it because it’s his fault she got it. He’d hate himself if she started regretting it. He doesn’t want to be responsible for any of her regrets. He just wants to make her smile. 

“How’s--?” he realizes she probably wanted to ask about his tattoo, but decides against it. Something in his gut twists, and he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt for spending the last few days hating the thimble on his shoulder. 

He coughs. He gets the urge to make up something about Geoff, to pretend like she gives a shit about his roommate so they can keep avoiding the elephant that sits on the sand between them. 

He ignores the urge. He’s trying to practice honesty, both with himself and her. 

“I can’t sleep on my back yet, but I think it’s healing well,” he finally says, nodding as he looks back out to the ocean. It’s not the whole truth about the tattoo, but it’s not a lie. He doesn’t want to tell her he’s thought about changing it, because there’s a part of him that’s still hoping she’ll give him a reason to keep it.

Maya imagines him tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. It’s an unfamiliar idea -- they really slept so well together, even when they were fighting or each anxious about something in their own lives. Maya always found it curious, like their subconsciouses were more comfortable together than apart.

“You mostly always slept on your side or your stomach anyway,” Maya hums with a sigh. She’s becoming resigned to feeling this nostalgia around him and not being able to keep it to herself. And he’s the only one who she can share it with, so he’s stuck with it.

Maya takes another step closer to him until they’re standing an actual normal conversation’s distance apart instead of their awkward gap. It feels a little better. And she can sort of see the freckles on the bridge of his nose from here.

“Did you just walk out to watch the sunrise or were you headed somewhere?” Maya murmurs, kinda hoping he doesn’t have anywhere to be.

She gets closer and he’s frozen in place, can’t believe his fucking luck that she’s not shoving her stuff in her bag and running away from him. 

He doesn’t care about the latte that’s waiting for him. It’s probably cold by now. 

He smiles a little at her, lifting one shoulder in a careful shrug, says, “I was just taking a break from the shop to grab a coffee.” 

Geoff’s voice in his head tells him to run, to just go get that cold latte and get back to his piano. He doesn’t want to listen to it. He wants to see Maya smile again. 

“But,” he clears his throat, tilts his head, “are you hungry? I haven’t had breakfast and hash browns sound pretty good.” 

It’s a shot in the fucking dark. He’s not sure he’s even really asked her anything. He doesn’t think he can say wanna get breakfast with me in such a straightforward way without triggering some sort of PTSD from the other morning. So his words dance around it while his eyes dart towards the water, as if looking at her for too long could cause the waves to swallow her up and carry her away. 

Maya looks between him and the sand. Breakfast. He wants breakfast. With her.

She should walk away now, sell her house and move away again because he was probably ok without her. But she’s hungry too.

Maya looks down at her beach bag and shyly back up at Shawn. “I like hash browns.”

Maya squats and digs her clothes out of her bag, slipping into shorts and a tank top. She hauls her board up under her arm and blinks at him.

“Where should we go?”

The surfboard dwarfs her. Shawn can’t help but smile. She doesn’t need his help, but he’s also riding the high of not being flat out rejected. 

She wants to get breakfast with him. 

He reaches for the board with a glance at her, his brow quirked. She must be reflexively used to him carrying it for her, because she doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

Shawn doesn’t hesitate to take her board under his arm and it seems to be a lot less work for him than it usually is for her so she lets him. She’s also becoming addicted to this feeling of nostalgia he gives her with every other thing he does. Probably because being with him was the last time she was really all that happy.

That thought should disturb her more than it does. Instead, she just observes it and lets it pass by.

He looks away, back towards his shop as he straightens up with the board, humming like he’s considering. He’s already thought about this, though, about taking her to his diner and getting hash browns and coffee shakes and whatever else they feel like gorging on because they both love breakfast food. 

“Well,” he starts, voice cool, “we could go to the diner back by my shop. It’s new since you’ve been here.” 

It’s been there for 10 years now, but that’s— Well, it’s still new to Maya. It’s new to him and Maya, together. He’s knows it’ll change the place forever once he brings her, but he doesn’t care. 

He wants his fantasy. 

Shawn has a place he wants to show her and she loves that. It’s probably good that they don’t go to all the same old haunts anyway. They have to have a few things that are new and not something they’ve dug up from then. This can be one of those.

The diner is on the boardwalk by Shawn’s shop so, being right off the beach, they have a rack for surfboards outside, which makes it a good joint already in Maya’s mind. She watches Shawn prop her board up as carefully as she would and smiles to herself. She follows him inside and looks around curiously at a place he’s made part of his home.

She likes it. She likes it a lot.

He wishes he could curl his arm around her and pull her into his side like before. That he could nose at her hair and kiss her temple while she picks out a table. That’s their routine at places like this. Maya picks the table, then Shawn picks his chair. 

He keeps his hands to himself. 

“Do they make coffee milkshakes?” Maya giggles, going a little pink around the cheeks.

He thinks she can read his mind. It makes his heart race, because his mind is a mess of things he’s not allowed to think about her anymore. He smiles with his lips pressed together, nods. 

“Totally. And coffee with a chocolate swirl. Or a caramel swirl. Or a whatever you want swirl I guess.” 

It’s too fucking early in the morning for him to be at all charming, isn’t it?

The place is pretty dead because it’s still so early. Never too early for a milkshake though. She grins and wiggles her eyebrows at the options he lists. Maya likes the vibe and sees why Shawn would be drawn here. This is definitely his kind of place. If they had stayed together, this would’ve been their kind of place. 

Maya finds a booth she likes by a window and Shawn slides in on his side. His eyes look amber in the early morning light. She tries not to stare. She doesn’t do very well.

A waitress appears seemingly out of nowhere and smiles, handing them menus. Maya is grateful to have something to look at other than how he glows even when he’s this tired.

Coffee shake, french toast and hash browns. Sold. She places her menu down and beams at Shawn. She knows he could guess her order. She’s a creature of habit.

“What are you getting?”

The waitress, Deb, makes a face at Shawn when she sees Maya but doesn’t say anything as she sets down menus in front of them. Maya seems not to notice. He’s fucking thankful for that. 

His gaze drops to the menu even though he’s got it memorized. He hums, then decides not to hold back. She’s seen him eat before. 

“Well, hash browns for sure. Then I usually go for the Sunny in Cali with extra bacon, toast, and a cheddar biscuit. Plus a chocolate malt. Oh, and a fruit bowl.” 

Deb already knows his early-morning-can’t-sleep-just-remembered-I-need-food order, so he won’t have to repeat it all again.

Maya is impressed. She’s always been a big eater but Shawn could outdo her any day of the week. I mean, it’s no wonder, because he’s enormous and exercises more than anyone she’s ever met so his metabolism is a wonder of this earth, but it always makes her smile. He never holds back from her. She loves that about him.

She blinks hard and realizes she hasn’t let herself think about him that way in a while. It’s jarring. She inhales sharply and picks at the corner of her menu.

“That sounds completely excessive and delicious, so of course that’s your order,” she laughs, imagining him sitting here by himself most of the time eating a mountain of food. She hopes he wasn’t always alone.

“Do you bring people here often? Or is this kinda your place?”

He wonders if by people she means women. Like maybe she’s angling for some sort of… indication of his sexual history? Like she maybe gives a shit that he might’ve touched someone else the way he touched her.

Probably not. 

She means friends, of course. 

(Even so, he’s never touched anyone the way he has her. Not that she deserves to know.)

“Oh— uh, nah, not really. It’s, yeah, a me place I guess. It’s so close to the shop and I usually get distracted by work, so by the time I realize food still exists I just come here and get it and don’t really think about, you know, other people.” 

He sounds like a huge fucking loser. He has friends. He goes out with them plenty. But he likes having a place to eat that’s just his, also. He likes a place for writing music, even though he pretends he doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore. 

People always want to hear his songs but they’re not the ones he writes them for, so it’s easier to act like there are no songs. 

“But it’s not— I mean, I like that this place is just for me. I have my booth and my order and, you know, I can write without anyone bugging me. And there’s a perfect view of the beach. It’s not something I really want to share.”

Shawn swallows and looks down at his menu, dragging his nail along one frayed edge. 

“That sounds totally selfish,” he says with a laugh. 

The irony of bringing her here and then telling her he doesn’t like to share it with people is definitely not lost on him. 

Maya isn’t at all shocked by the notion of Shawn forgetting to feed himself or do normal human things while he’s working. He was always like that. They had it in common. That self-destructive instinct for the sake of productivity was one of the things that made Maya so nervous about moving with him to LA. She wondered if they would end up destroying themselves and then each other. 

Maya bobs her head, listening to his explanation. She clears her throat and shakes her head. 

“No, I get it, I had— I have a place like that in New York, a secret ramen spot. I’ve never taken anyone there but I went often enough that they knew my order. I think secret spots are good.”

Even though she just took his. Like she takes everything from him. 

She takes a deep breath and settles into the booth after the waitress takes their order and scurries off. 

“I’ve been painting again,” she blurts. She hasn’t really been keeping it a secret but she didn’t think she was ready to start talking about it. Apparently she is with him. 

She says it like a secret, like she hasn’t been painting and she shouldn’t be painting but she is anyway. He’s not sure why. It almost sounds like she quit art all together when she moved to New York. He always wondered about that. 

He knew dreams of being artists in LA were a little too bold, but he didn’t think she’d never pick up a brush again when she left. 

“Do you not paint in New York?” 

She probably doesn’t have time, now that he thinks about it. He hasn’t asked much about her job, mostly because he doesn’t like thinking about the fact that she has a life outside of the beach, but he figures she’s like, super busy and super important and painting is probably the least of her worries.

It makes him a little sad, because the whole time he knew Maya, her hands were covered in paint or graphite. She always carried a sketchbook, would constantly stop wherever they went to sit and draw. Shawn liked to watch, and Maya never seemed to mind. 

He doesn’t think she can just stop in the middle of the workday to draw. Just like he doesn’t stop in the middle of a refurb to write songs. They’re adults now, so everything is different. He’s glad that she took this vacation to indulge in herself a little, at least. 

Maya covers a wince at his question. She’s definitely not ready to talk about this, principally because she’s going to have to keep pushing her lie out a little further and it makes her sick to bring it up every time. 

She clears her throat and sits forward carefully, eyes on the plastic-veneered tabletop, “No. I don’t paint in New York.”

She rakes a hand through her hair. She has tried. The third time she moved apartments, when she got that place on Madison with that balcony and the unbelievable lighting, she re-invested in paints and canvases and everything she’s ever wanted at a price point she could never afford. She made a makeshift studio out of the spare bedroom. 

She scared the hell out of herself every time she walked in that room. Art wasn’t an escape the way it was anywhere else, art in Manhattan was a stupid dalliance and a waste of her expensive time. She remembers standing frozen in front of a canvas with a brush in her twitching fingers feeling like every stroke had to be genius or it didn’t make sense to continue. 

So she stopped. She had to. If she kept up, she worried she’d never be able to create again. 

She looks up at Shawn, eyes glittering, just as their food arrives. 

“I have this room upstairs toward the back of the cottage. It needs a little work, I think, maybe in the winter. But… it has the best light ever. When I open the windows, I get a nice breeze right off the beach… I… love that room. I never want to leave that room.”

She talking about the room like she wants to stay in Avila and never go back to New York. He doesn’t blame her. He could never move back to Toronto after living here, and Toronto isn’t nearly as congested as Manhattan. He presses his lips together and debates with himself if he should ask the question that’s burning his tongue. 

He grabs the ketchup so he can have something to do with his hands while he gets his mouth around the words. 

“So like,” he taps the heel of his hand against the ketchup bottle, “Would you keep the house here after the summer? Like as a place to come back and paint or something?” 

He tries to temper the tone of his voice as he speaks so he doesn’t sound too much like an overeager puppy. He’s done enough damage to their flimsy friendship by fucking her like he still loves her the other night. He doesn’t need to do anymore by making her think he wants to keep her on this beach permanently, even if he totally, completely does. Even if he thinks it might be good for her, like it was for him. 

He was a lot more self-destructive in LA after she left. He drank, he stayed out all night playing gigs he didn’t get paid for or dancing with girls who didn’t care about him. He did coke because that’s what everyone in LA does before they move on to opiates or designer drugs or whatever. He acted like a teenager trying to scare his parents to death because he was pissed at them. 

Maybe he was trying to kill himself. 

Avila helped him, as much as a change of pace can help anyone, if not more. Maybe it could help Maya, too.  

It’s getting harder and harder to lie to him. She doesn’t know how she managed it to begin with, but it fell out of her mouth and now she has to protect it or it’ll hurt them both. 

“I… yeah, no, I’ll keep it. I’ve become very attached now. I don’t like the idea of anyone else living there. It feels like it’s mine, even if it’s only been a couple weeks.”

She’ll keep it. That means she’ll come back. Which means they’ll have more time together than the summer. Which means--

He shouldn’t get his hopes up. Well. They’re already up, and only previously tempered by the brevity and impermanence of her stay. This new information is a little dangerous, so he tries to focus on breakfast, instead of the future. 

She shoves a bite of French toast in her mouth and focuses on chewing. It’s really good. She gets why he hoards this place to himself. 

He watches her eat while he cuts through his sunny-side up egg-topped waffle. The yolk gushes out and leaks all over plate, bleeding onto the toast and bacon, just like he likes. 

“What’s your favorite thing about Avila?” she hums over a bite of food. It’s probably gross and not very polite. She forgets with him sometimes that she’s not in a position to be a little gross. 

Her question comes just as he shoves a forkful of food in his mouth. His eyes bulge slightly and he nods, holding his finger up so he can chew a bit before answering. 

“I think--” food bulges in his cheeks, “Probably the people. Everyone is just, I dunno, nice and encouraging. Everyone gets along and nothing is very, like, intense. Like everyone just wants to be with their families and have a good time.” 

Maya tilts her chin onto her hand with her elbow propped on the table to watch him talk through a mouthful of food. He’s still a little gross with her, too. She swirls a chunk of French toast around her puddle of syrup and listens.

“I think that’s what I needed. I really like my team in New York, they’re great guys, but once we go home at night, they’re gone. We don’t really hang out if it’s not work related. So I guess I didn’t really make a lot of friends in Manhattan. I mean, it’s ok, because I don’t really have time, but when I do, it’s quiet. It’s… maybe a little lonely.”

She doesn’t mean to spill all of that on him, especially while they’re just eating. She doesn’t want him to feel sorry for her -- she doesn’t think she deserves his sympathy at all. 

But maybe there’s a piece of her that wants him to know she wasn’t happy without him. She doesn’t like the idea of him thinking she ran off and was just… fine. She wasn’t fine. She just turned it all off and did her job, figuring at some point she’d meet someone who she wanted to turn on for.

Shawn’s not very hungry anymore, but he keeps eating to save face. It crushes his heart to think about her lonely and cold in New York. He used to wonder if she was seeing anyone and how many guys there’d been since him. She makes it sound like there weren’t any. Maybe except for cold hookups, but otherwise— nothing.

He suddenly feels like he cheated on her with Leah. He fell in love with someone else. Never as deeply and thoroughly as he did with Maya, but still. A bolus of guilt sits heavy in his stomach, even though he knows how stupid it is.

She left you, idiot. 

“Maya, that— I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s his fault, like he should’ve gone after her instead of marrying someone else. 

She sees the look on his face and wishes she hadn’t said anything. He looks a little stricken. God, she just keeps hurting him. It feels like every other word out of her mouth hurts him. She doesn’t mean to. But she’s got to stop running away from him, too.

It’s not helping either of them, really. Because running isn’t solving, it’s avoiding. And it’s clear by what happened the other night neither of them has healed properly since the last time she ran. It’s not a solution. And it’s not the path she’s going to choose anymore.

Maya lifts her head and shovels in another bite of food while she thinks about what to say.

“Don’t be sorry, Shawn. I knew what I was getting into. I didn’t know exactly how it would feel but I had a good idea of what my daily life would look like. Choosing my career over the rest of my life was my choice. I chose it every day for a really long time.”

I’m sorry I did.

She doesn’t say the words out loud, but the hopes the implication is clear.

“I think— god, you probably work like, way too fucking hard, sugar. You should— I mean, I can’t tell you what to do but, have you ever thought about cutting back? Like after your vacation, I mean.” 

He looks down at his food and stabs at his waffle, distracting himself from staring desperately at her. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about cutting back,” she croaks, lifting her mug of coffee and cradling it in both hands in front of her face. Another lie. They’re piling up. Soon she’s not going to be able to see over the top of them.

He thinks she should just stay permanently. New York isn’t the kind of place she belongs. Not that, you know, he’s an expert on her or knows best for her or whatever but. He does know what she looks like when she’s happy, and she doesn’t look happy talking about New York. 

He thinks the happiest he ever saw her was in Avila, but his lovesick mind could be tricking him. He pushes his food around on his plate until his stupid big mouth betrays him.

“You should just stay here. No offense, Lemon, but your job sounds like it sucks. Is being rich really worth it?” 

His fork spears an avocado slice. 

Maya laughs, loud and clear. It surprises her. She almost chokes on it, but manages to swallow her food and shake her head.

“My job… well, it’s very exciting. It’s more exciting than fulfilling. And at this point, I guess I’m probably rich enough not to have to work again if I don’t want to.”

Maya focuses on the glint in his eyes. It’s a little shy, a little hopeful, and all Shawn.

She brushes him off like he’s joking, just like he figured she would. She used to do it a lot when he brought up something she didn’t want to talk about. Particularly stuff she wanted to say no to but didn’t want to let him down. 

All he ever really wanted was her honesty. 

“You could surf every day if you stayed. Plus, you could like, design more tattoos for me. Or whoever,” he adds before taking a bite, smiling at her while he chews, trying to play it cool even though his heart his doing gymnastics in his ribcage. 

She almost says it -- I am staying -- but she chickens out and clamps her lips down around the words, and around another forkful of food.

Maya swallows. “I don’t even know the stories behind a bunch of your newest ones,” she deflects, sitting up and staring at his chest like she can see through the fabric of his shirt, “So maybe we’ll start there.”

He looks down at himself and flushes. He can’t talk about the tiger or the anchor without, like, exposing himself. Or the thistle for that matter, considering he got it after his divorce. 

He shovels a bite of waffle into his mouth to give himself a moment to think, but her eyes are on him and he’s trying not to lie to her if he doesn’t have to. 

“Well, I got the thistle after my divorce.” 

He looks away from her after he drops his fork, leaning over to take a sip of his shake.

Maybe he stunned her silent because he hears himself still talking after he swallows. 

“It’s just, for strength and courage and determination. That’s what thistles represent, anyway. It felt like it fit, you know, after something like that.” 

Maya swears she falls through the booth seat. Because there’s no way she’s still upright, not after hearing that.

Her head rushes. Her tongue feels heavy and sandpapery. She wants to put her head down on the table and not look at him or at anything else for a while. She sucks in a shaky inhale after she realizes she’s not even fucking breathing.

“Divorce,” she murmurs without emotion. She doesn’t even know what kind of inflection to put on the word, she’s so fucking overwhelmed. 

That was certainly unceremonious of him, so he really can’t blame her for her catatonic reaction. He eats as he waits, eyes downcast as he lets her process what the fuck he just admitted. 

Not that it was a secret. His marriage was plastered all over everywhere. His Instagram, Facebook, even MySpace in one of its weak resurgences.

She’s so, so achingly, heartbreakingly sad for him, that he had to face something like that. She’s enraged at the idea that another woman walked around for an unspecified amount of time with his ring on her finger. That’s followed quickly by guilt, both from being jealous of a woman she doesn’t know the name of who no doubt was also hurt by the process and from not wanting to begrudge him for any attempt he made at happiness and moving on. She actually admires him for it, somewhat. She certainly never tried. Beyond a few first, maybe a handful of second dates and some unfeeling fucking every few months, she made no attempt at a life.

What does she even say now? She has so many questions.

When she gets like this, she runs. She doesn’t run, she fucking sprints. But realizing that has her stuck. Because she’s not supposed to run anymore.

Her leg twitches under the table. She fights bile in her throat with more food. After she chews and swallows, she speaks.

“I’m… uhm, how long were you married?”

Good. That’s a safe start. She plants her feet to the floor like she’s worried they might betray her willpower and run for her.

He decides his eggs are making him sick so he switches to the shake because it’s too good to ever make him sick. He’s sucking nervously at his straw when she interrupts him. 

“Oh,” he says around a mouthful of chocolate. He swallows, “We were— three years, almost. And that was like… about six years ago, now.” 

He feels like such an old-ass fucking adult when people ask him that question. Like he’s some middle aged guy on a TV show just trying to forget his ex. Except the ex Shawn’s always trying to forget is Maya. 

He’d make a better TV show than those others, he thinks. 

“But it’s okay— I mean, I’m okay—“ 

Not like she was wondering.

“—it was my idea, pretty much. And like, mostly my fault. I— it wasn’t anything awful. I just fell out of love. I don’t know. She didn’t even do anything wrong.” 

He doesn’t really talk about it, except with his therapist whom he fucking lies to. He doesn’t want to lie to Maya, though. 

“But I could never give her enough of me.” 

Maya feels sick imagining this poor woman, whoever she is, listening to Shawn tell her he wants out, that on some level their marriage did not make him happy. If Maya had to endure that, she… well, she doesn’t know what would happen. Maybe something similar to what Shawn had to deal with when she left him.

She does some math in her head. They were married for almost three years, ending about six years ago. If she’s correct, that means he got married three years after she left. That’s… I mean, she has no room to be upset at all, but three years seems like a reasonable enough time for him to meet and fall in love with someone.

He was in love. He was married.

Maya presses her hands into the table and breathes again. She feels like her head is going to fly off her body. She’s definitely done eating now. 

“I’m… sorry, I’m a little thrown,” she murmurs, her voice breaking slightly. She can’t cry, though. She refuses to do that to him.

She buttons herself down the way she got good at doing on Wall Street. If she gets emotional, she gets sloppy. He deserves better from her right now.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” she begins, her voice unsteady but still warm, “I would never, ever want you to go through that. That must’ve been… awful.”

He has the overwhelming urge to leap out of his seat and slip into the booth next to her, because that’s always his instinct when she looks like she’s about to cry. And when her voice sounds like… that. 

He curls his toes in his shoes and stays glued in his seat. It’s not his job to kiss her better anymore— especially not about this. 

“You— it’s not your fault,” he offers weakly, because she apologizes like it’s hers to apologize for. He doesn’t understand that, unless she can see right through him. 

Can she see right through him? He probably shouldn’t have had sex with her if he wanted his feelings to keep flying under the radar. 

He’s not very smart when it comes to her. 

“It’s—“ he’s not entirely sure what to say, “it is what it is. We still talk sometimes. But it’s not like we had a kid or anything. I think she has one now though. With her boyfriend or something.” 

Shawn looks tense like he’s choosing his words carefully. She can’t see the look on her face but she can imagine it, so she understands why he’s looking at her like she might crack open at any moment.

Her eyes flick up to his from the cold food on her plate. “Oh. A baby. That’s… that’s great.”

Maya’s never been sure about the kid thing. In the fast five years, she’s resigned herself to going childless. She’s still not sure how she feels about it sometimes. 

Maya shifts and asks a question she’s really not sure she wants an answer to. “Did… did you think about having kids with her? I mean, did you want to?”

God, Shawn would make the most wonderful dad. Attentive and supportive and fun and wise and wonderful. Maya stares at her French toast as the waitress clears it away. 

Shawn doesn’t expect the question. His eyebrows raise before he can stop them, and he pushes a hand into his hair as he leans back in his booth. 

“Oh, ah— Not at the time. We both wanted to wait, so it wasn’t really— we didn’t talk about it other than like, wanting to save a bunch of money first.” 

It was mostly an excuse. He doesn’t think he ever actually wanted kids with Leah period, but it was hard to just say no when he wanted to be a dad and the woman he wanted that with was gone. 

He’s glad he made his excuses. It’s better than having a kid in the mix now. 

Leah’s happier now, too. He hears it in her voice whenever they talk. 

“I think,” he says, dropping his hand from his hair and pushing his palm into the ruby-red tabletop, “I think I was stalling because I knew it wasn’t— that I’d made a mistake. But I still loved her, so I couldn’t just say no.” 

He’s never said that out loud. His therapist could never dig quite that deep. Maya barely had to scratch. 

Maya holds on desperately as he starts talking about considering having kids with her. She has to remind herself that they didn’t, there were no babies involved, to keep her from sprinting down the beach. 

Maya lifts her hands and rakes them both through her stringy, salty hair at once. She sighs heavily. 

“You know, I think we have a lot to learn about each other from the last 12 years,” she murmurs, shaking her head. 

She thinks about reaching over the table and taking his hand, a small gesture, one that won’t nearly make up for everything, for leaving, but also for never coming back. 

“I, um,” he laughs, but it’s humorless, “I think you’re right about that.” 

He looks down at his lap as he pushes his hand into his pocket to fetch his wallet. He fishes out a $50 and drops it on the table. 

She picks at a cuticle on her thumbnail and looks up at him. 

“I’m sorry. When I left, I did a really good job of blocking you out, social media and everything. I did what was easiest for me. But I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry for that.”

He can’t bring himself to look at her as she apologizes. He rests his elbow on the table and pushes his hand through his hair as he focuses on breathing through his nose. 

“It wasn’t your job to be there anymore. So, you know. You don’t have to apologize.” 

He picks at his jeans with one hand, still tugging at his hair and not looking at her because he’s a fucking coward. If he looks at her he’s gonna tell her he never stopped loving her because she’s being so sincere with him. 

“You don’t— I don’t think you have anything to apologize to me for. I forgave you a long time ago,” he says once he’s able to finally look at her again. He shrugs. “I had on rose colored glasses back then. About LA and my career and what my life was supposed to look like. I was— I wanted you to wear them too and— I shouldn’t have. So I’m sorry. I always have been. And now I’m sorry I made you want to forget me.” 

He flushes at the end because he can’t believe himself. He’s wanted to say it to her for forever but never really thought he would get the chance. 

Maya hangs on every word. It’s a lot to unpack and she can just hope she remembers it for later analysis like when he’s not looking right at her and she feels like she could just crawl out of her skin.

His grace is… astounding. The fact that he can even stand to sit here with her is amazing. His heart is so fucking big. And it used to belong to her. She gave it back.

Her eyes fill against her will. Finally, she can’t stop herself from reaching over to take his hand. Maya holds it, big and warm and pale next in both of hers. She cradles it gently, admiring the swallow tattoo. She closes her eyes and lifts it to her lips like it’s precious, because all of him is precious.

Maya plants gentle kisses on each one of his knuckles and lets herself cry just a little for him, for everything she did to him, for all the time she spent hating herself because of it. She didn’t really cry in front of him much, or anyone else. So this is fairly unusual for them both.

She speaks into the warm, rough skin of his hands. “I’ve never wanted to forget you. I probably deserve to -- to forget how good you were to me, always. I thought I wanted something I couldn’t have with you. I thought I was freeing you from something that would trap you like it trapped me -- a life that couldn’t give you everything you deserved. I thought I knew what was best. I don’t know now. Maybe everything happens for a reason.”

She opens her eyes and feels more tears spill down her cheeks. Her lips shake against his knuckles.

Shawn doesn’t know why she thinks like that. Like she deserves not to be loved by him, or to not have loved him at all. He doesn’t think about it that way. He thinks they were kids and kids don’t know how to be in love very well. 

They could be better at it now. If she wanted that. 

He shakes the thought.

Her tears splash against his hand and he hates that she’s crying, that he can feel her shaking as she kisses his knuckles. 

“Maya,” he chokes as he looks up at her, shaking his head, “don’t cry, please— you know I can’t, I’m not good when you cry, sugar.” 

He hoists himself over the table and reaches for her face with his free hand, thumb brushing her tears. “I’m sorry. Shit, now we’re both— we could go back and forth forever, eh? But we can’t— we shouldn’t do that. Let’s just, I don’t know, focus on moving forward or something. Like adults. Because we’re grownups now.” 

Carefully, he tilts her head back so she’ll look him in the eye.

Maya attempts to focus on steadying her breathing, leaning into his touch against her face. He tilts her head back and the breathing progress is lost. He always has her breathless. But when he’s looking at her like this especially, it’s harder to remember why she was crying in the first place.

Maya wets her lips and sniffs gently, nodding with her chin in the palm of his hand. “I think… I can try to do that. We should… yeah, we should try to do that.”

Move forward. As what? As friends? As lovers? As the soulmates Maya used to think they were when she believed in that sort of thing?

Now isn’t the time to ask, she figures. 

“Ok,” she coughs, sitting back out of his grip, “I’ll stop crying now. I’m-- I’ll be ok. I promise.”

Maya stands on shaky knees and lets Shawn lead her out back to her board. It’s warmed up outside and more people are milling about. Maya looks around at them blankly, swiping at her cheeks. She doesn’t know how to say goodbye to him now. 

He doesn’t want to leave her now. That’s how it always is. He wants to avoid her until he gets a taste of her and then he’s addicted all over again. 

There’s just so much time to make up for. He doesn’t even know if she wants that. But she cried for him and she kissed his hand and she looked at him like maybe she wishes they’d been together all that time. Like she would want to get there again in the future. 

They need time apart. He needs time to process without romanticizing, like the adult he just claimed he was. 

Maya runs her hand along her board reverently. It needs a wax. She puts that on her very short mental to do list right below “cry about Shawn’s divorce.”

He watches her caress her board with the same delicate attention he gives his guitars.

“You should stop by the shop sometime this week,” he says as they stand outside in front of the board rack. “I’m working on a project you might like.” 

His invitation gets her attention. 

“Yeah. I’d love that, actually.”

She feels like she could sit around at his shop all day. Watching him work would be soothing. And it’s an invitation with a purpose so they probably won’t, like, end up rolling into bed together. Like they’re kind of prone to do. 

She looks back at him with a smile. “Thanks for bringing me to your happy place.”

She doesn’t look quite so sad anymore. She looks excited, maybe, to come to his shop and watch him work. Just like she used to watch him write and fumble around with new music. He’d love to watch her paint or draw again, but he’s not sure she’s ready for that. 

“It could be yours too,” he says with a quirk of his brow, taking a careful step towards her and reaching for her hand. “I mean, you’d really like the shakes.”

He lifts her hands, looks down at her fingers and slides his thumb across her knuckles. His nervous habit. 

Maya watches his fingers move gently across hers and takes a half step closer to him. He’s always so warm -- it’s one of his many addictive qualities.

“Plus, it’s, you know, close to me. Which isn’t such a bad thing, is it?” 

He smiles at her sheepishly, pulling her forward so he can cup her cheek. He studies the freckles dusting her nose, the flush of her cheeks, and the gleam in her eye before he drops his lips to hers. 

He tastes her lips slowly, backing her up against the surfboards so he can kiss the air from her lungs before he has to go back to work, like a responsible adult. 

She doesn’t expect the kiss when it comes. Maybe she should have -- maybe she still doesn’t think she deserves to be kissed by him, especially like this, like he’s not sure when she’ll let him kiss her again. Maya holds onto it as long as she can, letting him back her up until she’s pinned in between him and the boards. 

He pulls back, leaving a delicate kiss to the corner of her lips before stepping away completely. 

“You know where to find me, Lemon,” he says with a careful smile and a nod. With that, he turns and heads for his shop, and it takes most of his crumbling willpower to not look back at her. 

She wouldn’t have let go for a while if he didn’t pull away first. She pulls her hands back from his hips and licks her lips, feeling her chest finally deflate when he walks away.

She watches him go and thinks way too hard.

Her fingers itch for a sketchpad. She tells herself when she picks up her pencils later that maybe she’ll draw the boardwalk or some palm trees or the Manhattan skyline. She’s not going to draw him.

--------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr @curlsofshawn @graysonmendes @tnhmblive @meltingicequeen

[narrysgolden]

Private Nights - Part 2

��post hiatus narry, who haven’t seen each other since an awkward emotional run in at the eagles show, have to share a private flight”

PART 1

Niall hardly slept that night, groaning loudly when his alarm went off at 6am. Peeking one eye open, trying not to go blind from the flash of the screen, he turned his alarm off. But before he could roll back in bed he noticed a string of texts from Tara.

Niall, darling, I’m so so so sorry I’m not going to be able to come to LA.

I’ve woken up with a horrendous stomach ache and fever.

Haven’t left the bathroom all night.

Hope you can forgive me! I know you’ll smash it either way.

Don’t get too lonely without me. Xx.

Ugh. He groans and rolls back over, throwing the covers up over his head, conscious not to fall back asleep. I guess no Tara means it’s just me and the cabin crew. Great one. Until about 30 seconds later he remembers, Harry. He fills up with an odd mix of excitement and dread, not to get his hopes up on a long lost friendship.

He scrubs all thoughts from his mind and slowly crawls out of bed, pulling open the curtains, even if the sun has yet to come up. A shower, change of clothes and a packed bag later, he’s out the door and into the car on the way to the airport.

Sitting in the back seat, still in a sleepy daze, Niall unlocks his phone and pulls up Harry’s contact. He begins typing out a message, but quickly deletes it all, switches off his phone and puts it back in his lap. He trusts harry will be there on time. Harry’s never late. They can figure it out when they get to the airport.

And sure enough, as Niall’s car pulls up to the tarmac, Harry’s there with his leather Gucci luggage scrolling through his phone aimlessly. Harry’s wearing flared blue jeans, a long-lined tan Gucci coat, and a denim baker boy hat. He looks like a right twat, flaunting the luxury brands adorning his body, but a sexy one at that.

Niall almost can’t believe he just thought that. His blood starts to boil. With his hatred for that hat, or his unbridled attraction, he’s not sure.

The next 30 seconds seems like 30 minutes. The SUV comes to a halt, just feet from the stairs to the jet, swinging past Harry and blowing the soft curls out from his face. Niall’s palms begin to sweat, truly unaware of why his body is betraying him. Stepping out of the car, he’s greeted with Harry’s soft dimpled smile. Heat rises to Niall’s cheeks and he could almost say he was blushing until he mentally slapped himself and cleared his throat. “Hey, Harry. Good to see ya buddy.”

Harry put his bag down carefully, reaching his arms out for an embrace. “You too Niall”, he says with a cheeky grin. Niall goes in for the hug too, awkward limbs tangling, and he pulls away at just the wrong moment to where Harry’s wholesomely British cheek kiss lands right on the corner of Niall’s mouth. The air is instantly so thick you could cut the tension with a knife. The two boys stand there in silence, Niall uncomfortable, Harry embarrassed. It was probably only a few seconds, but Niall could swear it was an eternity.

“Let me grab my bag”, he blurts out, running around to the other side of the car. God. I didn’t think seeing him would be this bad. I need a drink.

They all board the plane, not too many words exchanged but soft smiles shot back and forth. It had been a few minutes, but Niall was just now noticing that Harry was alone. That’s very unusual, not even a guard. “Hey where’s Jeff? You never go anywhere alone.” Niall questioned.

“’Second Honeymoon’ in Jamaica remember? It’s why we are on this plane together.” Harry chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

“Right, right, well glad I could be of help.” And now is when it sinks in that him and Harry truly are alone, no Jeff, no Tara, neither brought security for the plane. Just them and the cabin crew.

Just as Niall was getting lost in his brain again, the flight attendant came around with a tray and two thin fluted glasses full of bubbles. Before she could even speak, Niall was letting out a “Please” and taking a glass of champagne off the tray. She motioned to Harry next who nodded a quiet “Thank you” and took a glass as well.

Good, this is good. We got past the awkward and now I have alcohol to get me through the next…..11 hours….fuck. In the midst of trying to rationalize with himself that everything would be just fine, Niall didn’t realize he was chugging his champagne until he was practically choking on the carbonation.

Harry looked up abruptly, reacting to the intense coughing and sputtering from the seat facing him. “You okay, Ni?” He reached out instinctively, placing his hand on Niall’s knee, truly hoping he wasn’t dying in front of him.

The reaction of Harry’s touch was burning Niall. Blood rushing straight to his knee and making him feel lightheaded in combination with the alcohol. Harry didn’t move, Niall didn’t want him to, and they were both content like that in the moment. “Yeah, just drank too fast is all.”

The boys spent the next few hours talking and laughing, getting comfortable with each other again, and going through four more glasses of champagne, each. They were pissed drunk at this point, all inhibitions gone and not a care in the world.

“Haaarrryyy, Harry, do you remember—remember that time when you nearly DIED jumping onto Paul?” Niall was laughing so hard at this point he could barely get his words out properly, slurring through his thick Irish accent. They had been going on about old memoires, the band days, for awhile now. Reminiscing on times when they were young, spontaneous, together, although they didn’t talk about that part.

Harry tried to get serious, “That’s not funny, Niall. Like you said I almost died! And it was embarrassing.” Niall burst out laughing again, doubling over in a fit. “You’re one to talk though! Remember when you punted that basketball straight into your face in front of hundreds of fans?” Now Harry’s bursting into laughter.

“Heyyyyyyy” Niall drones on, slumping back into his seat.

Harry suddenly gets up, stumbling about like a baby deer. “We need water.” He slowly made his way to the back of the jet and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge before falling dramatically onto the couch. “Niall you’re gonna have to come get it, I can’t move.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, H.” He finally gets up after a minute of contemplation and slumps down on the couch next to Harry.

“Drink up, drunkie.” Harry hands him the second bottle of water and with a “Cheers mate” they chug. At this point it had been awhile since they finished the second bottle of champagne and the sleepy hangover stage was setting in.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Niall suggests. Grabbing the remote and flipping through Netflix, stopping on Love Actually before Harry could respond.

“Hey, that’s my—“

“I know it’s your favorite, H. Plus its practically holiday season right?”

“Love Actually is a year round movie, Niall, you should know this.”

“Right, right, forgot you’re one of those people.” Niall taunts.

Harry lightly punches Niall in the arm, causing Niall’s open bottle of water to flop around in his hand, spilling directly on his crotch. Niall doesn’t even say anything, except for a loud groan. He stood up quickly, unbuttoned his trousers, pulled them all the way off, and threw them on the floor before sitting back down. Harry looks over, confused but giggling before his eyes landed right on Niall’s tight black boxers. Studying the way they cling to his thighs, how full his bum looked, definitely filled out from the last time he saw him.

Harry quickly shut his gaping mouth and turned back to the tv, hoping that Niall didn’t notice his staring. He didn’t, his eyes already fixated on the screen. The boys proceeded to sit there in silence, sipping water, eyes getting heavy.

After much time had passed, Harry woke up in a daze, unsure of where he was, looking around in a dimly lit jet cabin. The window shades were closed, Netflix had prompted the “Are you still watching?” question, and there was a heavy brunette boy holding him down on the couch. Harry was half laying on the couch, head on the back armrest, one leg up on the seat, and his right arm draped around Niall’s chest. Niall was laying his head on Harry’s chest, both his legs curled up at the end of the couch, still pantsless.

Harry shifts, trying not to wake Niall up, but also wanting him off so he can take care of the semi that was growing in his pants. He cleared his throat loudly, placing his hand on Niall’s shoulder before the dazed and confused boy peeled off his chest.

Looking around like he just woke up on the other side of the world, which wasn’t too far off, Niall groaned. “What time is it?”

“No fucking clue.”

The flight attendant popped her head in, “We’ve got about an hour left, can I get you two anything?”

Harry and Niall look at each other, disheveled messes, and answer in unison. “Advil.”

[forever-rogue]

The Edge of Thirty - Part 7

Summary: Everyone seems to be getting married, having babies, or “growing up.” Except Y/N. Suddenly at almost thirty, reality seems to be crashing down on her – and hard. Nothing seemed as daunting as turning thirty…until she met Gwilym Lee anyway.  

A/N: Hiya! Thanks for reading and supporting this story. I hope you enjoy!  Please note there are a lot of up and downs in this chapter and more to come! Also, if tags aren’t working please let me know, or if I’ve accidentally forgotten to add (my b)!  Taglists are open! xx

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: language, angst (?)

MASTERLIST

“You…what?” Y/N was stunned by his words as they hung in the air, heavy and thick with the anticipation of response. She had heard them loud and clear, but for some reason couldn’t process them. It had been long, so long, almost in an other lifetime, that she had last heard those very same words. Gwil opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times, unsure if he should repeat the words. A concerned look crossed his features as she stared at him, “you’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” he confessed and he felt like he was in church, a sinner professing all his dark secrets to the priest, “I-I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve gone and fucked everything up.”

“I’m…no,” she shook her head fervently, wishing she could get him to see it was her and not him that was the issue. She dabbed at her already puffy, red eyes. There was a moment of tense silence, so thick you could have cut it with a knife. She finally brought her eyes to his, “it’s not your fault. It’s me as always. You shouldn’t love me. You can’t love me.”

“You don’t choose the people you love, Y/N. That’s not how life works. That’s not how any of this works,” he let out a long, shaky breath. How he wished she could herself through his eyes. She had so much to offer, but for whatever reason she refused to see it, “it just happens. I don’t know what possessed me to go to sit at that bar that night, I’m glad I did. Because I met you - completely by accident, but I know it was meant to be.”

“You know nothing,” she said quietly, her voice cracking as the words spilled out of her mouth. He looked taken aback but her short response, his own ocean eyes looking they were about to spill over with tears, “you don’t the terrible person I am. You don’t love me. I think you should go home now.”

“How can you know how I feel? You’re acting like a child, Y/N! Just listen to people for once. So, what now?” he asked, taking a step back, her reaction hitting him hard. He was usually in check of his emotions, but was suddenly more volatile today. He hadn’t been to lose his temper like that, but even he couldn’t help it sometimes. She bit down on her lip, almost drawing blood as she stared at him, “is this the end? You’re just going to throw everything away now?”

“Gwil - I don’t know what you want me to say right now,” she reluctantly opened the door further, indicating that it was okay for him to come in. She wasn’t in the right state of mind at the moment by any means, but she didn’t need to cause a scene either.

“I want you to say no. I want you to tell me not to walk away,” there was a slight desperation in his voice, as he held up his hands in exasperation, “I want you to tell me that you want me and this hasn’t been some sort of joke to you.”

“This was never a joke, Gwilym!” she immediately jumped onto the defensive, tried to keeping her voice down and not incur the wrath of her tired neighbors, “my feelings for you are genuine and I’ve promised you that.”

“Then why won’t you let me in?” he seemed a bit calmer now, running a hand throw his brown locks as his nostrils flared. She looked between him and the door, jerking her head inside. He let out a breathy half laugh, “that’s not what I meant. I meant it metaphorically.”

“I’ve asked you to be patient with me,” she insisted quietly, feeling more like a child getting scolded than anything else. She flicked her eyes to his, and he seemed to be suffering from an internal dilemma.

“And I have been, and will continue to be,” he insisted. You didn’t move and he took a step back at your nonverbal answer, “but you need to start opening up more to me. I don’t care about your past, Y/N. You can tell me whatever, and I’m not going anywhere. But what you’re doing now, it isn’t working for me.”

“Gwil-”

“I-I’m not saying that you have to say you love me,” he let out a long breath, “but I’m also not going to stick around if you keep pushing away and acting like a scared little girl every time something happens or someone shows you the slightest bit of affection.”

“Please,” she almost whispered, taking a step into the hallway. This was not what she had wanted at all - she wanted to him to stay. But it was still incredibly hard to just completely open up to him, “please don’t walk away.”

“I love you, Y/N, I do. But I’m not going to stick around while you close yourself off to me,” he replied sadly, “maybe I just need to leave for a while. Maybe you do need to…grow up a little bit. Maybe this isn’t going to work.”

“Gwil,” she called out to him as he started to walk away, a worn and tired expression on his gestures, “don’t walk away! If you do then don’t ever bother coming back!”

He stopped for a moment, his shoulders tensed and it appeared he’d turn around and come back. But he didn’t. He kept walking down the hall, in complete silence, disappearing into the elevator without another word.

Y/N stared after him wordlessly, wishing she’d have a dash of courage and sprint after him, even if she had to chase him out of the building and track him down. But she didn’t. She remained rooted in her spot, staring down the hall for long after he had been gone, tears trickling silently down her checks and falling soundlessly to the floor. She knew immediately that she had fucked up. She’d let the best thing that happened to her walk away without so much as a struggle.

The next several days were spent in a alcohol induced stupor, as Y/N downed copious amounts of anything and everything she could find in her cabinets. Her phone had remained on do not disturb, and she hadn’t done much besides getting up to get a few bites of food here and there, to be chased down with a cocktail. She hadn’t showered or changed, knowing she was a dirty, smelly, mess, but at that point what did it matter?

Her friendship with Ben was over, her career was all but down the drain, and she had chased Gwil away and told him never to come back. She found no point to much of anything, so she remained steadfast in bed, watching Netflix between her naps.

“Y/N?” a soft voice next to her startled her awake, as she rubbed the bleariness from her eyes, trying to figure what was going on. Turning her head, she looked towards the doorway and saw a figure in her doorway. Her head was pounding with the onset of a hangover as she looked as she tired to figure out who it was.

He walked closer to her, dismayed at the sight of her. She looked half out of it, hair messy and bedraggled, as she shielded her eyes from the sun that filtered into the room. She narrowed her eyes and slowly recognized the figure as Ben. He leaned down and kneeled next to her bed, reaching out a hand and running it over her cheek gently.

“What are you doing here Ben?” she croaked out, her throat dry and parched from the the burning alcohol. She hadn’t said so much as a word out loud since her self induced state of shut in. He gave her a pained look as he opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “you hate me, why bother? How did you even get in?”

“We have copies of each other’s keys, love, or have you already forgotten that?” he asked quietly, pulling out the small metal piece from his pocket, twisting it between his fingers before shoving it away. She closed her eyes and groaned, pulling the covers over head, praying he’d take the hint and leave, “Y/N, I don’t hate you. I could never hate, ever, hate you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she sighed from underneath the covers. Ben lifted a gentle hand and pulled the covers back, all but forcing her to look at him. His expression was so soft and gentle, it almost broke her heart and brought on a wave of emotion, “Ben-”

“Shh,” he commanded quietly, “we can talk later but firstly, you’re getting out of bed and showering. You look, and smell, full offense intended, like death.”

“I haven’t been up too much lately,” she admitted with a sigh, trying to drown out the slowly increasing pounding in her head. Ben’s eyes swept the room and he took in all the empty bottles and glasses that had contained liquor. He let out a sigh before meeting her eyes, “yes, yes, I know what it looks like. It was exactly what it looked like.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that’s not a good idea to live off of liquor and instant ramen?” he took her hand and slowly hoisted her out of the bed, helping to steady her as she swayed on her feet. Clinging onto him, she murmured a word of thanks as he pulled her along in the direction of the bathroom. He was muttering under his breath about the mess, but she was too worn out to care.

“Slow down Benny,” she pleaded, feeling woozy from her impending hangover combined with the lack of food. She was glad that her neighbors had agreed to keep Deacon for a few more days - she would have been ashamed to have him with her, “I’m not feeling super great.”

“Self inflicted damage doesn’t get you an out,” he grabbed a towel from the linen closet and shoved it at her, “it’s time to pull yourself together and sober up. No more alcohol induced exile for you, love, it’s time to reenter the world of the living.”

“Must I?” she groaned as he flicked on the bathroom light and ushered her inside, turning on shower and turning it to scalding, just like she liked. The adamant expression on his face, combined with a cocked eyebrow, suggested that he was dead serious and there was no point in arguing with her. She started to strip and he exited the room, closing the door almost completely to give her some privacy, “what about clean clothes?”

“I’ll bring you some,” he called back to her, “just worry about showering and make sure you get every inch clean. Otherwise I’ll keep you in there and do the job myself, and I won’t be as kind.”

“That’s weird, Ben!” she rebutted as she stepped into the stream of hot water. It almost burnt, the hot water hitting her skin in a sharp contrast to the coldness that she felt. It was almost hard to keep her balance as she closed her eyes and started to shampoo her hair. This hangover was going to be killer, but hopefully it would be the last one she’d experience for a while.

“Clean clothes,” Ben announced as he came back inside, dropping the items onto the counter. He paused for a moment, shifting his weight awkwardly between his feet, “hey - are you going to be okay?”

“Who’s asking? Ben or Dr. Jones?” she called back, massaging her scalped thoroughly before starting to rinse her locks, scrubbing away all the bad memories of the last several days.

“Ben,” he replied quietly, clutching onto the door frame. A light smile was on his face; at least he knew she wasn’t completely gone with the sass she was giving him.

“I’ll be okay,” she replied, starting to condition her tangled mop of hair, “as far as taking a shower goes anyway. Otherwise, who knows. A-are you going to stick around?”

“I’ll be here for you,” he replied in a soft tone before exiting the bathroom and closing the door. He meant it both literally and metaphorically, much as he always had. They had been best friends for years and it would take a lot more than a few silly spats to break them apart. Gazing around her apartment, he let out a low breath before deciding to start cleaning up. It was the least he could do, or so he figured.

“Hey, look at you, finally resembling a person again,” Ben smiled as Y/N emerged from the bathroom, shaking out her damp hair, trying to comb through the last of the remaining knots. She suck out her tongue at him before plopping onto the opposite side of the couch. Even though she’d never admit, she felt much better than she had, it really was amazing what something as simple as a shower could do, “how are you feeling?”

“Physically? Like shit. Mentally? Also like shit,” she confessed, sinking lower onto the couch and grabbing the blanket off of the back of it to wrap around her body. Ben gave her a look, somewhere between pity and annoyance as she just shrugged her shoulders, “look, I know this is largely my own fault, so if you want to make a this a whole thing, please don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to say those words,” he admitted, even though he did want to partially yell out those words, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been avoiding all of us for days, I know your phone is either on do not disturb or dead. A-and we didn’t exactly part on the best terms. I hate fighting with you, I hate leaving things on a bad note.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown me under the bus like that,” she said simply, reaching for the mug of tea he had set out for her, sipping on the hot liquid. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. The corners of Ben’s mouth turned downwards into a frown, and his eyes shift downwards. She stretched out her leg and nudged him gently, “look I didn’t mean it like that...it’s just...how else was that supposed to seem to me?”

“I realize now that it all appears very bad, and like I wanted to put you on the line, but that was never my intention, love. You should know, after all these years, that I would never do that to you. What reason would I have for doing so?” he mused out loud, and she realized he was right. Hanging her head, she gave him a nod, clutching the warm mug of tea tighter to her chest in order to adsorb its warmth. She’d never do anything to bring him warm, so why did she so easily think he’d do that to her.

“I guess I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that,” she admitted, replaying the horrible scenes in her mind, “it was just a lot and I was angry, and then that jackass mentioned your name and I guess I just flipped. That’s probably what he wanted...I should have known. I walked right into his little trap.”

“It’ll be okay, Y/N, I didn’t tell him about what happened,” he explained, “and I would never. What happened stays between you and I-”

“And that student that was in your room! He’s probably gone and told everyone,” she groaned, anxiously running a hand through her hair, “I’ll be dead just because of that.”

“I’ve already had a talk with him,” Ben explained and she let out a long sigh of relief, “he’s okay, I trust him. You’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“Thank God,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry Ben, I’m so sorry...but can you explain to me exactly what you told Crickle? I just want to know, and that way if he asks I’ll know how to respond.”

“I was working late one afternoon, finishing some reports,” he began with a heavy sigh, “he came into my office and, well, you know how he gets. He all but forced me to stay as he started to go on and on about you.”

“What did he say?” she asked as she leaned forward, rapt with attention and hanging onto Ben’s every word, “as if I didn’t already know.”

“Just what you’d expect. Talking about how he’d heard from other teachers they saw you out and that some parents had seen you, and I quote, out on the town. He basically asked me what I thought about all of it,” he explained and Y/N could feel herself starting to grow angry again. Who was this one old man to judge her and try to conform her to his ideal image of a young woman? She wished she could go and smack his smug little face in, but controlled herself.

“So he was basically trying to tell you how much he hated me?” she rolled her eyes as Ben nodded, a sad smile tugging on his features.

“Bingo,” he confirmed, “I told him that I was your best friend, I trust you with my life, and what you do outside of work in way affects your work and has nothing to do with anything. And that I know how much your students adore you, because they do. That you’re an amazing teacher and person.”

“Y-you told him all of that?” she asked quietly, feeling tears start to prick at the back of her eyes. Naturally Ben had told Crickle all that. He was the one that was an amazing person, not her.

“I did,” he confirmed, a bobbing his head as she lunged herself across the couch, throwing her arms him, almost crushing him in her embrace. He was taken aback for a few moments before squeezing her back, resting his head in the crook of her neck, “if only you’d calm down sometimes and take a breath before reacting. This whole situation might have been avoided.”

“Oh,” she all but squeaked out, pulling back from, looking at his sage eyes. He wasn’t aware of the full story just yet, “there’s a little more to…all of this.”

“Ooh, love, what’s gone and happened now with Gwil?” he immediately asked, and she glared at him for a moment before they burst into a fit of giggles. She wondered how she could ever actually be mad at him; he knew her inside out, almost more than she knew herself.

“Ben, sometimes I wish you weren’t so brilliant, but other times I’m so thankful for it,” she jokingly pouted at him before playing with the edge of the blanket, where a few frayed strands poke out, “we go into a fight. I basically…not basically, actually, told him to leave and not come back.”

“What in the hell possessed you to do that!?” he was shocked, but a part of him wasn’t surprised. He knew this was hard for her, it was hard for her to open up to him at times still. But he had hoped that their talk would have shown Y/N that it was okay to let Gwil in. He knew she was in deep for him. 

“He came over that night, after our little fiasco and I was already mostly drunk and he told me he was in love with me and I couldn’t handle anything,” she put her face in her hands as she replayed the scene in her mind. It had been a complete disaster, and the look on Gwil’s face had been enough to almost completely break her heart. She shouldn’t have let him go.

“He what!?” Ben almost yelled out as Y/N nodded slowly, taking a long sip of her tea. He was surprised, but not shocked in the slightest. The way things had been going with them, he knew it would reach a crescendo at some. And so it had, with him just simply confessing his love to her, “what did you say? Did you tell him you love him back?”

“I didn’t say anything!” she flailed her hands to demonstrate her point, almost spilling tea everywhere, “I panicked and told him he knows nothing! I pulled an Ygritte and basically made him Jon Snow!”

“You just…rejected him with a Game of Thrones quote?” Ben couldn’t lie it was a little funny, but the expression on her face suggested otherwise, “sorry, love, but it’s a little funny.”

“Yeah, well, the look on face suggested otherwise. He seemed so torn up, I regretted everything as soon as I said it,” she set the mug down and ran a hand over her face, “I just…no one’s said that to me in so long. And it just took me by complete surprise. I was already emotional, drunk, and then this. I know he meant well, and I know he meant it…”

“And?” Ben asked softly, causing her to look at him in question. He chuckled fondly – sometimes she was so oblivious about the obvious, “how do you feel about him?”

“I-I’ve never thought about it really,” she confessed, trying to assess her own thoughts on Gwil. Sure, he was the complete package: handsome, smart, kind, funny, and caring beyond measure. Simply put, he was amazing, and deep down she knew she had quickly fallen for him. Even at this point, trying to imagine a life without him involved was hard.

She yearned to have a future with him. Waking up to him in the mornings, kissing him till he woke up, feeling his arms draped her around her waist. To find him in the kitchen making dinner after a long day while he sang along to whatever was on Spotify, offering her a glass of wine as soon as she walked through the door. To have hold her when she was having a bad day, to whisper comforting so gently in her ear. 

But she was wanted to give that all back to him too. She wanted to take care of him as much as he took care of her. She wanted to bring him breakfast in bed on a lazy Sunday morning. She wanted to be the one he turned to when there was no one else. She wanted to be everything he needed.

But the idea that she might not be was terrifying.

“Do you see a future with him? I know it’s a ways off, but what about marriage and a family? Could you see that with Gwilym?” Ben asked and her eyes immediately widened, “he’s made it pretty clear that that is his endgame.”

“Yes,” she blurted out before she even had time to fully process what she had just said. But it wasn’t a lie…it was true. She wanted a future with him, “I do…I want to be with him. I think I might…”

“Be in love with him?” Ben nudged her knee gently, and she nodded, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. It was her nervous and excited all at once. She loved him. She loved Gwilym Lee. He reached over and put his hand under her chin, tilted your face up so she was forced to look at him, “it’s okay to be scared, love. But you need to tell him. That’s the only way he’s ever going to know.”

“It’s too late, Ben, I fucked everything up with him,” she gave him a small, sad half smile, “besides, why would he take me back at this point?”

“Because he loves you,” he stated simply, “don’t you think Tessa and I ever have arguments and say things we regret? Because we do…no relationship is perfect. But it works because we love each other. You don’t turn away from the one you truly love.”

“What should I do?” she asked quietly, closing her eyes and wishing there was an easy solution. In reality there was -  go to him and apologize and try to set things right. But it was much easier said than done. Ben smirked as he raised an eyebrow at her, “ugh, Ben, get that stupid look off of your face. I know, I know.”

“Go to him and apologize,” he stated and gave him a look of disdain. He was right but he didn’t have to be so smug about everything, “and don’t even think about mouthing off to me. You want to get him back and keep him? Go to him and be honest with him, completely honest.”

“What if it all blows up in my face?” she couldn’t imagine the feel of rejection. It would be too much to bear, especially from him.

“It won’t-“

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a doctor and you should just trust me.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“It does. Trust me. And have some faith in him and yourself.”

“Okay,” she said, exhaling a long breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding in, “I’ll go to him. Tell him I love him and that I’m a fucking fool, but I’m trying. And hopefully he won’t turn me away.”

“Atta girl,” he gave her a hand a quick squeeze, “he loves you. Nothing will go wrong.”

“Promise?” she asked meekly, stretching out her hand and extending her pinkie.

“Promise,” he hooked his finger around hers, squeezing it reassuringly and giving her a smile. At least she always had Ben. 

Y/N heart felt like her heart was going to burst through her chest as she waited in front of Gwil’s door. Her stomach was nauseous, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to faint or throw up. Either was not a pleasant choice and she hoped it would the feeling would pass. Raising her hand, she paused just before knocking, contemplating just running away. But she didn’t. She was done running away from him, turning him away just because she was scared. It was time to conquer her fears.

Finally rapping her knuckles against the door, she waited with bated breath for him to answer. She heard him shuffling from inside the apartment, followed by the sound of his familiar footsteps, the medium sure-footed tread. He unlocked the door achingly slowly, pulling it open at a snail’s pace.

“Y/N?” he asked, surprised to find her standing on his doorstep, looking at him nervously as she held out a single flower in her hand. He looked as handsome as ever, and it almost wasn’t fair – how did he always manage to look so fine? His jaw was littered with more stubble than she had seen before, his hair not as coiffed, and even underneath his glasses she could see the dark circles, “w-what are you doing here?”

“I-I love you,” she stammered out, awaiting his reaction, whether it was good or bad, “and I wanted to apologize for all the things I’ve said and done. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, I should have opened and listened to you. I don’t want to lose you, Gwilym Lee, but I understand if it’s too late. But I just…had to tell you. I had to apologize at least.”

“Y/N,” he repeated quietly, his face going through a range of emotions as he tried to process what she revealed to him. It was eating her up inside; she hadn’t been quite sure of what his response would be, but she was hoping for a little more than this.

“Gwil,” she stuck out the flower to him and he gently took it from her, turning it over in his fingers, “I’m so sorry. If nothing else, just please forgive me.”

He remained silent for a few moments, seeming unsure of how to respond. But when he finally flicked his eyes up to hers, there was only a few seconds that passed before he crashed his lips onto hers and wrapped his arms around her, gripping her waist tightly. He kissed her feverishly for a few moments, which she eagerly reciprocated, before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers, “I love you, Y/N.”

“And I love you.”

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Three

Bruce sat across the table from you in a greasy little diner. It felt like being a kid back in Ohio. Breakfast on a Sunday morning with his mom, before they went to church. While his dad slept off Saturday night. It felt like simple happiness. Warmth. 

You had pecan waffles and hot chocolate. Sweet and soft. Earthy. Comfort food. You’d taken a sip of hot chocolate and blushed when whipped cream smeared onto your nose. Bruce wanted to kiss it away. Instead, he smiled and handed you a napkin. “Sorry,” you murmur, “I’m the reason we can’t have nice things, I guess.” Bruce shakes his head and takes a sip of his orange juice, “You’re fine,” he said, “It’s cute.”

You bite your lip and glance up at him, self consciously brushing hair out of your eyes. Bruce feels his mouth go dry and took a calming breath. Christ alive, you’re pretty. So pretty. And without the others around to distract him he desperately wanted to kiss you. To taste the sweetness clinging to your lips. Bruce tears his eyes away from the colors dancing in your eyes, the subtle shifts that reflect your moods and thoughts. This morning, they’re subtly more gray. Darker in a way he can’t define beyond that. The way they get when you’re sad. Or distressed. “How are you,” he asked, “after last night?” You sigh, “Off-kilter, but no major damage. My jaw is a little sore and I might be a little concussed.” Bruce frowned, “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for your hand. “We should have all noticed you were missing sooner.” You squeeze his hand, “I just... I stepped outside for a moment to get some fresh air. I felt too hot and I just... I needed to breathe.” Bruce feels his cheeks heat, remembering how badly he’s wanted to find you. And what for. The sudden heat that had coursed through his body. The need to kiss you. You glance away and your heart skips. You’d been trying to collect yourself. You needed to kiss Bruce. You needed to run your fingers through his hair. 

“I- about last night,” Bruce started, “The Hulk, he, if he scared you...” You squeeze his hand, “Bruce, it’s okay. The Hulk... He was sweet. Concerned. He tried to fix my sweater and he really didn’t like that I was bleeding.” Bruce felt his mouth open and snapped it closed again. It was really difficult to believe that you hadn’t been frightened but he could believe that the Hulk had cared for you in his way. He might be a mostly mindless manifestation of rage but, he knew which people were important to Bruce. He would have known that you were someone he cared for. “I’m glad you weren’t scared,” he murmured. Bruce didn’t think he could take you being afraid of him. Either of him. “I could never,” you say softly, “I-” You snap your mouth shut and bite your tongue. The rest of the breakfast is quiet. Comfortable quiet and shy glances. The scientists basks in the warmth of your company. The glow that emanates from you. He loves this. The quiet and comfort. He desperately wants more of it. More of you. 

You pay for breakfast and kiss his cheek, “As a thank you,” you tell him when he objects. “I’ll get it next time?” he says, taking your arm. He’s not that much taller than you but he walks quickly. Holding your arm makes him slow down a little. “Deal,” you say blushing and looking away. You’re so giddy you could burst out giggling at any moment. Bruce smiles and stops under a shade tree, “Y/N?” he asks softly, tilting your chin up. “I need... I need to do something. I just. I need to know and if it crosses a line I’ll never do it again.” He gave you a second to object and when you didn’t, his lips pressed into yours. 

He kept the pressure soft. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone. Since he’d felt feminine curves under his hands. Somehow, he knew what to do still. One hand toyed with the curls on the nape of your neck and the other rested at your waist as he pulled you closer. You leaned into the kiss, your arms winding around his neck to be able to grip his hair. He sighed. You felt so good. As you kissed him back he took it as an invitation, licking gently into your mouth to get a better taste of you. He felt his heart racing and fought to keep himself from pressing for more. To keep his hands from wondering. This was the first kiss. Some tenderness was a must. He just... He didn’t want to rush. You were so young. So much younger than him. When he came up for air he searched your face carefully, cupping your cheeks. “Too much?” he asked, anxious. Your eyes are the color they turn when someone shows you videos of baby animals or brings you your favorite candy... The happy colors. The happy galaxy. You stand on your toes and kiss him again softly, “I’ve been dreaming of that for weeks,” you murmur. 

Bruce smiles and brushes hair out of your eyes, “Really?” he asks. You nod, blushing and smile up at him shyly. “This whole time I’ve just felt like a dirty old man wanting you so much,” he says. You giggle and snuggle into his chest and he hugs you tightly. Bruce feels the tension in your body relax as the pressure and warmth of his body soothes the rest of your discomfort. As it makes you feel safe. “Bruce,” you murmur, “Take me back home? I wanna get a cuddle in before the rest of the tower wakes up.” The scientist smiles and kisses your shoulder before kissing your lips again, “Your room or mine?” he says, teasing gently. “Mine, I think,” you say softly, “I probably have a more comfortable bed.” Bruce laughs, “Probably... Natasha buys you enough fluffy blankets.” He takes your arm again and walks you back to the tower. That kiss was more than he had ever wanted. He felt like he was on cloud nine.

Academically, Bruce knew that touch was incredibly important. That physical contact with another human could soothe any number of stress-related ailments. He just... until he was cuddled in your bed watching Nailed It on Netflix and drowsing comfortably, his belly full and your head on his chest that he understood just how... starved for it that he was. Your fingers found the hem of his sweatshirt and traced idle patterns into his bare skin. Ghosting over stretch marks and the soft hair tenderly. He didn’t think you were looking to arouse him, but you were. The soft touches and the press of your curves... He was hungry for more than just simple touch. He didn’t want to rush but he desperately needed more. He sighed and pulled you close, stroking your hip gently. It had been a long time. He’d not been with a woman in almost 10 years. He’d not wanted one. His guilt and fear. His shame. Had kept him from looking for one. You prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him, “Bruce, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” He looks at you and smiles, “No, Y/N,” he soothes, “Baby you’re fine.” He didn’t want to rush. He was still worried he’d embarrass himself. Or hurt you. “Bruce,” you murmur, kissing him, “Talk to me?”

He sighs, “I haven’t been with a woman in a long time, Y/N... and even before I wasn’t very... practiced.” his cheeks color and you shift over to straddle his hips carefully, “Is that all?” you ask softly. “Bruce, I don’t care about that... I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to laugh.” Mischief sparkles in your eyes and he hums, “A secret? Well, cross my heart.” He makes an x over his heart and puts his hands on your hips, “I’m still a virgin,” you whisper. Bruce quirks an eyebrow but he doesn’t laugh, “You like sex, though,” he says. You shake your head and look down at the hands that rested on his chest, “I’m sex-positive. I don’t think it’s shameful... I just. I was waiting for the right person. Someone... Someone who makes me feel safe.” Bruce nods and leans up to kiss you, “Then we’ll wait. Until you’re sure about me.” You blush and shift slightly to get off of his erection, you’d been called a tease before and you didn’t want Bruce to think that that was true. Men tended to mistake the ease with which you flirted with experience. The truth was, flirting had gotten you places to stay or distracted someone while you got some food. “You’re not mad?” you ask softly. Bruce chuckled, “No, sweetheart. I’d be a lot more green if I was angry.” You swallow hard and smile a little, “What about... well I mean. You’re... I- I mean.” Bruce laughed and cupped your cheek, “I was really well acquainted with my hand long before I met you... I can stay that way for a little while. As long as I know we can eat breakfast food and cuddle.”

[iputastickeronmycarrier]

『𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕐𝕠𝕦』:| chapter 1: 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘈𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵  |

Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff 

Word Count: 2.2k

From busking on the streets to serenades in bars, Y/N has watched them all.  A journalist by trade, she spends her most recent nights writing in her journal in the glow of neon signs in hidden places as she scours the city for upcoming artists for her new editorial.  The hunt for local artists leads her to the dimmed lighting of a bar where she meets Jeon Jungkook, an alluring singer with a voice that drips with equals amounts of anguish and innocent wonder.   In the hushed corners of busy rooms and under cascading gradients of moonlight, Y/N comes back every Tuesday and Friday to see him perform where she discover there may be a more important story unfolding between them that's worth following.

-continuing series-

Follow me on Wattpad

xoxo, Gossip Girl

The moon looks lonely Like it's crying in the bright night sky Even though I always know the morning will come I want to stay in your sky like a star

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t come here every Tuesday and Friday to hear him.  There was something ethereal about him.  Shrouded in the darkness of the bar, he sits on the stool with a dusty light reflecting off his dark tresses.  With eyes closed and hands pressed against his chest as if to contain himself in his body he breathes out a melody, he stares into the audience, demanding their attention.

“Still with you,” you hum along to his vocals as he hits the last note.  He leans back away from the mic, and sighs.

“Thank you, Thank you so much for being here,” he says while bowing his head.

His posture still reads as defeated even amidst the clapping.  You wonder what pain he traps inside so fervently that he has to wrap his arms around himself, less his emotions flood over like water with a cracking dam.  Your phone buzzes.  Breaking your line of sight, you look down.

*Namjoon: Are you still there? [9:32pm]*

*You: What if I am? [9:33pm]*

*Namjoon: It depends; will you finally say something this time? [9:35pm]*

Your fingers linger on the screen, unable to reply.  You sigh, and lock your phone without responding.  Namjoon could wait. You pick your pencil back up and scrawl your last remarks in your notebook. Thumbing through the pages, you see name after name of singers.  You’ve been writing a huge editorial promoting local artists for your publishing company.  Up until a few weeks ago, you sat in on dozens of performances, introducing yourself and inquiring about interviews.  But since finding your way into the booth of your most commonly frequented bar, you had only pages of him.  

Jungkook, up and coming artist can’t be found on stages...yet.  This underground singer came onto the scene last year by…

And that was as far as you got.  You would think after three weeks of what some would call stalking, you still failed to say something: An interview? Absolutely not.  Introducing yourself? Simply unreasonable. Standing within ten feet of him? You might as well be asking yourself to catapult into the sun to be lost in outer space. 

On the pages of your notebook, you professed the intimate thoughts you bore witness to:

Jungkook, mysterious boy with eyes that make want to fall into their depths with no desire to resurface. Jungkook, wistful singer with a voice dripping in anguish. Jungkook, beautiful boy who draws in enrapt audiences with a somber smile.

Pages overflow with praises and then devolve into your musings:

He looks tired today and his eyes are red rimmed.  Has he been crying? He is smiling today and his laugh is like a song I never want to stop listening to. I think he looked at me today.  I ducked down into my notebook. When he cradles himself, what is he trying to keep locked inside? What would his lips feel like against mine?

“I’ve seen you around here before,” a voice says. There are no questions as to who is talking to you. You would be able to hear that voice from miles away with perfect clarity.  Quickly using deft precision, you shut your notebook and force yourself to meet his dark gaze.  Inky dark curls frame his face with lips forming into a curious and sheepish smile. 

You want a quirky quip to respond but the words are stuck in your throat.  You barely choke out, “I’m a writer” too loudly.  More than one person turns their head to assess the exchange unfolding between you two, only to turn back to their own conversations. You fumble for your closed notebook and hold it out, hoping to mollify the rising embarrassment in your body.  “For my publishing company” you continue to struggle, “It’s an editorial on local artists.” You silently give thanks to the shaded room that hides your rose cheeks. 

His eyes widen, revealing the deep pools you desperately wish to look into to try to peer at what's inside them. With a shy look, his eyes crescent with happiness as his lips curl into a bashful smile. “Do you mean me? Are you here to see me?” He emphasizes as if in disbelief. You nod, still flailing inside your head.  “Wow...How wonderful,” he murmurs, still smiling.  You make note of the small freckle under his lip, a perfect addition to his face.  “Can I, uh...answer any questions for you?” he nervously asks.  Your mind reels.

What keeps you awake at night? Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? Is your heart as heavy as it looks? What would it be like to wake up next to you?

“Um, sure,” you cautiously respond as you retrieve your notebook you quickly shoved under the safety of your thighs when he made his presence known. “Please,” you offer as you gesture to the other side of the booth, “sit!” He slides into the seating across from you as you become very aware that you are well within the ten feet you swore you couldn’t be in.  

“But I haven’t catapulted into the sun, yet,” you whisper to yourself with astonishment.

Instead, you take in his whole persona: body enwrapped with black everything.  A simple t-shirt snuggly clings to his torso and toned upper arms.  Jeans worn with holes in the knees expose the smooth appearance of his skin underneath.  Sturdy, but well loved boots lace up just past his ankles with his jeans tucked inside.  

A pause encircles your booth, distant from the rest of the bar as if you are the only people in the room. He breaks the silence.

“Well,” he starts, “I’m Jungkook, but uh,” he chuckles as one hand rises to the nape of his neck as if to self soothe his nerves.  “I guess you might know that?” 

His nerves match your own anxiety as heat continues to pool in your cheeks.  Your notebook is open to a blank page, but you have no writing utensil in hand as your gaze is locked with his.  He is so close that you can smell his gentle scent, warm vanilla.  Another pause snaps you back to reality.  

“Write. You should definitely be writing. At least feign productivity. Literally do anything other than what you are doing right now,” Your inner voice demands.

Fumbling around in your backpack, you procure a pen and start writing.  

“Yes,” you laugh, “I do know that.  I’m y/n.” 

“Alright, y’n, shoot.  What questions do you have?”

How do you like your eggs? What thread count are your sheets Do you sleep with the fan on or off? Are you single?

“Where are you from?”

“Busan.  It’s a coastal port city in South Korea.  It really has everything; trees, the ocean, temples.” he explains.  “It also has my family, who I miss very much,” he says with a sigh.  In that moment, you see a facet of the weight that bears down on his heart. 

“How did you get into music? And why here?”

“Several of my friends live here in the city and they encouraged me to come out here.  I’ve always loved singing.  I flew over, started busking, and now I’m here in places like,” he widely opens his arms, referring to the bar, “this.” 

“Well aren’t we lucky?” you muse.  With laughter that bubbles from his chest, he looks away; but not before you see the fracture of pain you once saw wither away, leaving a warmth flowing from his heart to yours.  It’s overwhelming, the sensation that pours over you and you shake yourself free with a shudder of your frame.  As you bask in the final moments of his energy, your phone buzzes, and buzzes, and buzzes more.

*Namjoon: ???  [11:41pm]*

*Namjoon: Hello? Y/n? [11:41pm]*

*Namjoon: At what point do I send out the search squad? [11:41pm]*

You roll your eyes internally.  “I’m so sorry,” you say with your voice tinged with guilt.  “It’s my roommate.  He’s worried,” you groan.  It’s not until you receive his texts that you realize how late it’s been.  You’ve been here for over two hours.  

“Do you need to leave?” he inquires.  “I definitely don’t want to hold you up.  I have things to do at home, anyway that I’ve been pushing off.  Who wants to go home when there is a mountain of laundry waiting on your bed?” he says in an amused tone.  

You know you should be getting back home. Namjoon gets fussy if you're not home before midnight.  It interrupts catching up on your shows you watch together on Netflix. 

“I should be going,” you resign yourself to leaving as you slide your notebook underneath your arm and tuck your pen behind your ear.  Jungkooks shoulders rise and fall quickly in a silent chuckle.  “What?” you ask, a cautious smile taking over your features.

“Nothing! Well,” he takes a moment, “nothing bad.”  Relief washes over you.  “It’s just the pen behind your ear,” he points out.  “It’s cute; very “writer-esque” of you,” he concludes in a snooty tone as he gently pokes fun at you.  You roll your eyes.

“Well good thing I’m leaving then! I don’t need to tolerate this bullying behavior,” you fire back in a fake, huffy tone. In that moment, the ice breaks between you two.  A trickle of electricity sparks between you both in the distance of your bodies. You’re both smiling.  He motions his head towards the door.

“Let’s get out of here, then!  I’m clearly waiting on you,” he dramatically declares as he ushers you to walk in front of him. Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you shuffle in front of him and you both leave the bar.

It’s sticky outside with summer heat.  The clear sky sits above you both, moon beaming like a spotlight where you two stand. You both stand in front of the bar, holding each other's gaze to linger in the moment for the last few seconds you have.

“I’m happy you showed up at my performance.  Or, ya know, performances,” he enunciates on “performances” with a grin.  

“I’m happy I walked in on your performance.  Or, ya know, performances,” you lightly mock.  Expecting a retort from him, he instead looks away for a brief moment before looking back at you.

“I really am, though,” he whispers.

His honesty takes you over like a riptide with you flailing in the undertow as you realize how close you both are.  Moonlight captures his features, reflecting a soft gleam that flows from him onto you.  It envelops you and you close your eyes, wanting to sit in this moment; soaked in warmth and vanilla.  He abruptly steps back. “Do you need help getting home? Or are you close by?”

“Close by, just a few blocks,” you reply, disengaging yourself as your closeness dissolves by losing proximity. The tender exchange you both share weaves in and out of each other’s lives, permanently solidifies, and blips out of the physical realm; here for a moment, gone just the same, but irrevocably existing in your timelines. “It’s a short walk, I’ll get home easily.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

“Yes, God please,” you internally yell into the void.

“No, that’s okay!” you answer in an overly chipper tone, shoving your desire under mounds of pride.  It takes him off guard.

“Oh, well, uh, that’s good! Yeah, that’s great. Um,” he begins, voice strained with being unsure, “I’m going to be here again next Tuesday, if you have more questions.”

“Oh, right; my job.  The job I get paid for that I should be doing.  Great job, y/n,” you chastise to yourself.

You’re neutral, stifling the excitement.  “Yeah!  That’d be cool. I’d like that,” you say trying way too hard to downplay the response.  You start taking steps back, still facing him.  “I’ll be there,” you say coyly as a genuine smile takes over your face.  Jungkook matches your grin and your heart swoons.  You wouldn’t be mad if you go to see that smile again.  

“Next Tuesday, then?” he questions.

“Next Tuesday,” you answer.  Spinning on your heels, you start your walk home.  You make it a block before you subtly peek over your shoulder.  Jungkook is watching.  He yells.

“Just waiting for you to get home! Don’t make it weird!”

“You’re making it weird by telling me to not make it weird!” you yell back. Before you turn the corner you spin 180 degrees to give a final wave. He mirrors your gesture and the kindness takes you over.  Quickly finding the stoop of your apartment, you perch yourself as you fish out a pen and flip to the last page you wrote on.  It only reads:

Jungkook

You stare at the page.  All that talking and nothing to show for it.  In the midst of the quiet summer heat, you complete the sentence:

Jungkook-- it turns out that existing in your universe within ten feet isn’t the worst thing in the world.