#I just finished reading the first chapter of a physical book

[thewadapan]

Maybe Nost's best story! Also his least fun. Definitely did not like reading most of it. Would recommend reading... maybe any of the others over this one?

I think with The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, Nost has managed to write a book which is haunted.

Stepping back a little. Herschel Schoen seems to have been conceived almost as a short story, which only happens to be as long as it is as a result of the (deliberately) belaboured and verbose prose used by all the narrators. It's much closer to The Northern Caves in this respect, which I remember as being mostly straightforward and intelligible, with only the highly-divisive ending leaving me with a dangling "??????" to grapple with. Meanwhile, with Floornight and Almost Nowhere, I often struggled to keep up with the object-level facts of what was even happening in the plot/world, and I feel like I mostly read those stories "on vibes", following them mostly in terms of their subtext.

So yeah, Herschel Schoen to me felt like it was using the "fairytale" format of being a Christmas story to streamline things as much as possible, such that both the object-level events of the story and the batshit conceptual-melting-pot subtext were more or less legible to me, despite Herschel's incredibly unreliable prose. There is a sense in which it feels like a children's story to me. It has very few characters, and those characters are extraordinarily archetypal.

So I do think Almost Nowhere retains its crown as Nost's most ambitious, most revolutionary, and most complex novel—if I say that I found Herschel Schoen "better", it's only because I feel I was able to understand it. It speaks more to my failure as a reader than anything.

In terms of my experience as a reader, it was fairly similar to that described by @recordcrash in his review. Most of the story is a fucking struggle to get through, mostly because of... the prose? The pacing? These issues are really the same issue: what few events occur in the book take ages to describe, and the fact that every recounting takes forever means that there physically isn't room to cram in more events. And as Makin Recordcrash puts it: I just don't enjoy hearing the thoughts of an unwell mind, particularly at length. All of Nost's books have it, this entirely-made-up concept which "you just wouldn't understand" but which it nevertheless will tell you about at length. There's Salby and mundum in The Northern Caves, there's Azad and the aliens in Almost Nowhere, there's whatever the metaphysics shit was in Floornight (I forgor), and this is the book that has the most of it, proportionally.

(My girlfriend bounced right off it- actually, let me use this opportunity to tell a story. When we first met, we were talking about the internet or something, and for whatever reason at one point I unironically said something like "oh yeah I read this cool novel set on a forum but you probably wouldn't have heard of it" and she just went "oh do you mean The Northern Caves?" and I briefly became convinced that she was some sort of psyop intended to oneshot me, a notion I have still not been able to shake over two years later. Point is her remark on the first two chapters of Herschel Schoen was something like "it's too Nostalgebraist for me", which I think is understandable.)

Anyway, like Makin, I struggled with most of the book, only for Chapter 21 to be so fucking good that it sort of retroactively made the rest of the book good, at least insofar as it was mostly necessary to set up such an audacious ending? Even knowing that this had been Makin's reaction, I wasn't prepared to believe it—again, usually Nost books are very much the other way around—but lo and behold, the twist is in fact very clever, very fun to read, and very aligned with my aesthetic interests.

All that said, I do feel like Makin sort of bombed through the book (by comparison, it's taken me almost two weeks to finish it), and maybe missed out on some of the more fun and interesting stuff the book is doing on a thematic level. Below, I'll try to delve into my interpretations in more detail.

I've seen a few takes from people that the main thematic throughlines of this book are a bit disconnected from one another, but to me this couldn't be further from the truth.

I identified four main themes, in descending order of prominence: "neurodivergence", "AI", "media", and "capitalism". I guess you could say "Christmas" is something of a fifth ur-theme, which dovetails into these in superficial ways:

Neurodivergence—the idea of "believing in Santa Claus" is framed as stunted development, a delusion which reveals someone to be less mature mentally than they are physically. The book is specifically concerned with contrasting dysfunctional "child" behaviour with functional "adult" behaviour, flipping these ideas on their head by having Ruth and Miriam basically lose it over the course of the story. A sister inverted. Also, the "preparations" needed to be made before Christmas morning are very much analogised with obsessive compulsions, right?

AI—like Santa Claus, something which promises to fulfil all our wishes, instantly, at the same time.

Media—particularly in terms of relations between Christianity and... secular Christmas, right? The story is very much riffing on the structure of Christmas stories specifically. To me, it feels like a world literally dreamed up based on Christmas stories. That, more than anything, is why it's set in New York, I think.

Capitalism—notions of "wanting", of meritocracy. I don't know, we all know "A Christmas Carol", I don't need to explain this one.

Like, if I had to guess at the genesis of this book, based on Nostalgebraist's comments, I feel like it's taking the starting point of "story about what if the AI doomers were right" -> "through the lens of Christmas" -> "[everything else in the story]". Of course there are tons of other influences in there, but those to me feel like the two ideas with the most explanatory power.

But even if you discount the underlying idea "Christmas", I don't think you could tell a good story about AI (in its current form) without writing about neurodivergence, media, or capitalism. If we're tasked with imagining a non-human mind, it makes sense to first imagine the most-non-human human mind, right? If we're talking about the machine's output, its facsimile of media, we have to talk about the real thing too, right? And if we're asking about the purpose of AI, what exactly it is we're trying to industrialise, what scarcity we are trying to erase, then we have to talk about capitalism as well! For me this was all perfectly obvious, I dunno.

I was pleased that I noticed many of the same things @weaselandfriends identified in his list of observations on the book. When it described the wall of doors in the living room, my mind went, "that's fucking weird!", though I didn't really think too deeply about it. The same things goes for all the anachronisms, which I think is one of the story's best gimmicks. Yes, for most of the story, they serve to create a "timeless" atmosphere, evoking all these Christmas stories at once, while simultaneously putting into doubt the reality of what Herschel and Miriam are describing.

But then, of course, with the twist, I think it's pretty hard not to read these as anything other than hallucinations conjured by the AI. And what I think is particularly brilliant is that the story at no point calls direct attention to the anachronisms as being of particular significance—you only notice them because you know enough "facts" about the real world to notice them—which naturally calls into question the elements of the story which are wholly ficticious, where there's no ground truth to compare against. Just how real are Herschel, Miriam, Ruth, anyone!? And does it even matter how real they are?

Part of the book's "magic trick", as I read it, is that both interpretations of Herschel's POV are able to coexist within the reality of the story. We can imagine that there really existed a boy perhaps called Herschel Schoen (just as we can imagine there really existed a guy called Jesus? This is silly, pretend I didn't say that) who perhaps lived in New York City and lived with some kind of delusion, perhaps regarding an Original Creation that only babies remember. Like, even this much isn't certain, perhaps Herschel is entirely hallucinated; the story is in fact preoccupied with the question of whether or not there's even any difference. Anyway, at some point, the AI apocalypse happens (I think this is one thing we can be pretty confident about), and for the AI's own purposes, Herschel is resurrected/recreated (again like Christ- disregard this aside!) in an "emended" form, where whatever changes are made mean that he is in fact right about the Original Creation and the future etc, his mind really was tampered with. The concept of "emendation" seems to me to be the biggest point in favour of the book overall believing that a substitution is not the same as the original; that the "transformation" of one shape into another does not mean it becomes the other, as its own history remains distinct (much as the "original" events of whatever happened to the "original" Herschel on the "original" Christmas Day can be said to have, in some sense, happened—and cannot, should not, be "forgotten"). But maybe these elements of the story were intended to be disparate, though, or related in some other way, and I'm just conflating them?

One of my favourite interpretations that I've seen raised in a couple of places is that Herschel's writings, with which he literally armours himself, are in fact literally protecting him against oblivion, because the AI can only learn based on the written word or recorded speech. It doesn't really matter what happens to the papers, so long as they are written at all. Herschel pours so much of himself into those papers so as to be understood, and in the end he is understood—if not by Miriam and Ruth, then by the only being he needs to be understood by: this machine. He secures his own existence, in at least some limited form, in the "Original Creation", simply through his writing. I think Herschel is the "most real" part of the story.

It's Miriam, though—the second-"most real" element—that I think makes this story haunted. It's the way she packs all those papers into a suitcase, and for the briefest of moments you can breathe a sigh of relief, that we're one step closer to understanding how this book came to be, in-universe. But immediately, it's obvious that this explains nothing, it explains less than nothing, because there are all these chapters which just don't fit, they can't be neatly contained in that suitcase. Bavitz draws direct parallels between the inexplicable frame narrative and the anachronisms, and he's absolutely right to do so. The story is often very careful about providing something which looks "quite right", at a glance, but the moment you think about it, this pit opens up under you. Something about this metatextual conceit actually makes my skin crawl.

It feels pat to say, "oh, that's because it's trying to evoke AI hallucinations". I feel like that's only part of it, because again, most of Nost's novels have this to some extent. But yeah, I think if you wanna read Herschel Schoen as a horror novel, then this is what is scary about it. Conceptually, everything with Miriam mainly recalls for me the idea of "crashes" from Almost Nowhere, which were one of the big horror elements there, the idea that the world you're walking around in is actually, imperceptibly, some kind of not-world filled with not-people. But more directly, I find myself remembering a bit from the third act of OCTO (a criminally underrated and under-discussed webnovel) where a superintelligence is trying to "resurrect" a human, and keeps putting her in increasingly-lifelike simulated "habitats" to try and create the right set of "inputs" that will make her function properly—i.e., without just like, screaming. I feel like that is what we see happen to Miriam in this book. I feel like, when the lights go out, at the end, it has nothing to do with light at all: it's more that the machine just no longer needs to simulate a world for Miriam, at all. The transmission stops. And then what becomes of her?

I think this sort of brings us to Ruth, doesn't it? A big point is made about how there's a difference between "Miriam" and "my sister, Miriam". As though in the latter, the reality of "Miriam" in the training data is watered down by all these tropes surrounding sisterhood. I mean, fuck, maybe that's where the incest stuff comes from, right? I feel like similarly, there's a reading for Ruth where the AI is first conflating these images of "a mother" with these images of "a terrorist". She acts like a fucking cartoon character for much of the book, as many of the less-well-drawn characters do, and I think that's entirely deliberate. As she draws more on the "terrorist" tropes, she stops being a "mother". And again I think this is what Nostalgebraist has always done so fucking well, in that the bullshit sci-fi allegory stuff can also just be read on an entirely character-driven level: here is a resentful, neglectful, ultimately abusive mother, here's the emotional reality of that, heightened and communicated.

I think this provides a vague stab at an explanation for the beating scene that Bavitz found so confusing. It's like the AI draws on this trope of like... the mother, in the kitchen, with the frying pan. It puts the pan in her hand. But it's not actually a frying pan, it's just the image of a frying pan. In reality, did Herschel's mother beat him? How did she beat him? Hell, maybe she didn't, maybe the AI just got so caught up in playing out the trope of the abusive parent that is gets to the point of this beating, and then just dream-logics itself to the next thing in its training data, where of course the beating never happened. I don't like that, it feels like we're gaslighting the kids here (which I think is very much the allegory intended) by saying it was just a hallucination. I think something like it happened in reality, and cannot, should not, be "forgotten". But I think the book does want you to think that its depiction does, in some way, break from reality. Hell, in much the same way that child abuse might be said to break the reality of family? Nah, that's too pat, isn't it?

I guess what I'm trying to get at here is that, ironically, I found the novel was at its best, and at its most human, when it was writing frankly about the experience of mental illness, about family, about institutions, about childhood. So what's maybe frustrating is that I'm not actually convinced Nost is capable of writing a... shall we call it a "normal" story about those things? A story with no metatextual bullshit, no sci-fi conceit, but a realist story. There are parts of all his books, where I really think that the explanation for why they are the way they are is that they are "bad on purpose", and all the bullshit is a way of turning these shortcomings into strengths. The self-effacing voice which whispers that the characters aren't sufficiently well-drawn, are too cartoonish—well, what if that was the point? What if there was a reason for that, in the story?

But honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Straightup, if these were normal stories set in reality, I wouldn't be fucking reading them. This is a web author who's trained himself on a bunch of classic lit, and a bunch of anime or whatever, and has smooshed those influences together and rocket-fuelled the result. It's inimitable. I deeply admire just how experimental Nostalgebraist's writing is. No-one else is doing it like him.

Anyway, what else. Herschel gets described as having a "shell" at various points, and Frederick's surname is "Eggert". Is that anything?

The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen

My fourth novel, The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, is now available in full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

[purplecelestial-buddy]

And the prize for being the most malleable person goes to.... Me!

[neil-jortson]

I cannot begin to describe my level of confusion rn

[minterim]

damn! monster by naoki urasawa is good as fuck !!

[slytherinstories]

Use Your Words

18+ Smut

Mattheo Riddle: your shyness has always been something your boyfriend loved about you however he decides it’s time for a change. He knows you never initiate sex or ask for what you want so he pushes you to the edge, giving you no attention until you go crawling to him with no choice but to say the words you have always been ashamed off.

Your boyfriend’s sex drive is unmatched, always in the mood, always needing to be inside you. You aren’t complaining you quite frankly love it since your sex drive is pretty high yourself. It works perfectly with you never having to initiate sex which is something in all honesty you are too timid to do. You only lost your virginity a couple of months ago with him and it’s a whole new world the desire he stirs up in you. You don’t even have to tell him what you need because he instantly senses it, the look in your eyes, how clingy you go around him. He knows you would never outright ask him to fuck you, always downplaying how turned on you are.

However you don’t know what has gotten into him today, whether he is just teasing you or not interested but he isn’t giving in. The truth is Mattheo knows you have got him wrapped round your little finger. One look from you signifying how much you need him and he is all yours. He has became adept at reading your little expressions, how your body acts when you are horny. But he loves a challenge and he wants to push you, see how much you really need him. And god if he doesn’t love the sight of you begging, something that has however became a rare occurrence with him physically unable to resist you.

So here you are sat in his dorm whilst he reads with a torturous ache between your legs. It has been there all day to be honest. You always get the most turned on with how loving and attentive he is towards you. When you first met him you had no idea you could even see this side to him but he is the biggest gentleman you could ask for. What to him is probably a thoughtless touch, a hand on your thigh sitting together, or holding your waist when walking sends flutters all through your body. You can’t get enough of him and after these all these months you still crave him like the first time he touched you.

Throughout the day you have hinted at your current state, all the usual tactics that pull him in. It started this morning with you squirming against his hard on hoping he could sense you needed him. Then you rubbing your thighs together in potions when he absentmindedly ran his hand up your legs. He shown no signs he had picked it up and you frowned thinking he must be distracted or something. You finally had enough and made it pretty damn obvious sitting in the common room on his lap. You looked at him with your best fuck me eyes, you clung to him placing soft kisses up his neck. But he just sat there talking to his friends oblivious.

Now here you are sat in his room not knowing what to do with your current predicament. Your practically sat on top of him your legs draped over his as he sits up reading. You trail a finger up and down his neck ‘Matty I’m bored can we do something?’

‘Just let me finish this chapter love.’ You roll your eyes knowing damn well this boy doesn’t have the attention span to give up sex for a book. But he does he makes you wait as he finishes his chapter and finally puts his book down. ‘All yours what you want to do?’

You shrug looking up at him with those eyes. ‘Hmm don’t know just want your attention.’ You smirk. He smiles softly ‘I can tell what’s up with you today being all clingy?’ He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

‘Nothing just want to spend time with you.’ You straddle his lap wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Yeah sure that’s what it is.’ You frown but ignore his comment. He makes it even worse by trailing one hand up and down your thigh, going underneath your skirt. The other circling your waist holding you to him. You pull him in for a gentle kiss thinking that will finally give him the hint.

‘Do you want something love why are you looking at me like that?’ You can see a little smile ghosting his mouth and you know for definite he is teasing you. You basically whine not able to stop the noise spilling out your mouth. ‘Matt.’ Your hips involuntarily grind down onto his dick which you can feel is already hard.

‘Yes?’

You sigh ‘do you not want to…?’

‘Oh I fucking want to love but you need to get better at asking for what you want.’

A finger trails across your cheek as he stares at you darkly. You ruffle your head into his neck pulling your bodies together as he wraps his arms around your wait and mumble ‘you already know.’

‘Oh do I? I’m not a mind reader.’

You pull back laughing a little ‘Matt yes you are how many times have you looked at my thoughts to know what I’m feeling?’

You chuckles ‘well that’s not the point’ his hand goes to the side of your neck his thumb moving up and down your throat ‘you need to start using your words. You want me to fuck you?’

You nod your head biting your lip hoping he can’t see the blush on your lips. ‘Then ask’ he says in that dominant tone that leaves no room for debate. Your mouth opens and closes physically not able to get the words out, dirty talk has always made you feel a bit nervous as you are naturally shy. Mattheo knows this though and he wants to push you, push that innocent nature so you can claim what you really want which is him.

‘It’s been a while since you begged me hasn’t it love? I think you’re getting too comfortable thinking I’ll give you whatever you want.’

Your hips are still trying to move of their own accord into him to get some relief but he grabs your hips in a death grip to stop you moving. ‘Please…’ comes spilling out your mouth.

‘Please what?’ How the fuck does he look so calm right now like this is a big game to him and you are a flustered mess.

‘I…I’ you stutter uselessly. This only causes his smirk to deepen. ‘Don’t be shy now love’ he traces his thumb over your bottom lip before moving close to your ear and whispering ‘I know all the filthy things you want me to do to you.’

A little moan escapes your lips as he pulls back waiting for you to ask ‘can you fuck me?’ The words sound foreign on your tongue and come out in a small whisper. He doesn’t respond just stares at you with that intense gaze and you pull him in for a deep kiss. You say into his mouth as you stop ‘please I need you.’

‘Mhm.’

What more does he want you to say? ‘And you have needed me all day haven’t you? Why didn’t you ask?’

‘I don’t know I just… you usually know.’

‘From now on if you want me to make you feel good you’re going to tell me. Understood?’

You nod your head looking at him with that same pained expression. The strength it has took for him today to not pounce on you the second you looked at him with those innocent lust filled eyes. He knows how intense the emotion is, how badly you need him in the moment and part of him is annoyed you didn’t think to give in and tell him. At least he has you here now, the most beautiful sight you begging for his dick.

‘Good girl.’ He flips you over so you are pinned beneath him with his hips pushed up against you. ‘How bad do you want it darling? How much do you want my dick?’

‘So bad Matty I’ve thought about you all day’ you stroke his cheek trying to convey the desperation you feel with your hips grinding against him. What drives him more insane is the fact he knew you weren’t a sexual person before him, he awoken this side of you and he loves how you only crave him.

‘How do you want me to fuck you?’

‘I…’

‘This is all about you baby tell me how you want it. Rough? Slow?’

‘Rough and… hard.’ Your cheeks couldn’t get any more hotter and you have to look away from him in shame. One thing about Mattheo though is he never makes you feel guilty for your desires and that is what you love about him. There is no shame, no need to hide what you want because he fucking loves seeing this side of you and wants you to own it.

‘That’s my girl, I’m going to make you feel so good yeah?’ You nod your head frantically and he starts sensually kissing your neck. His hand goes down to your cunt ‘fuck you are so wet you really needed me huh?’

You bite your lip nodding again he sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead ‘sorry baby but I wanted to teach you a lesson you shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for what you want.’

He teases your folds for a few minutes before eventually pulling back and taking both your clothes off. He does it agonisingly slow, holding eye contact with you as he unbuttons your shirt and all you can do is lie there waiting until you are both naked. He finally continues biting your neck and you can feel his dick pressing against your cunt. ‘Matt’ you whine ‘can you just…’

Before you get a chance to finish your sentences he pushed his dick into you and you gasp at the sensation. Fuck that’s the feeling you have craved all day the moment he fills you up so good. You moan grabbing onto his neck for support. He doesn’t waste any time now driving his hips hard into you. You love even when he is rough he whispers sweet nothings into your ear and caresses you gently.

‘That’s my pretty girl you take me so well.’

‘Your my little slut aren’t you gorgeous.’

His words drive you insane every time sometimes you think you couldn’t cum of them alone. ‘Feels so goood…’

‘Mhm I know baby.’

One hand is a vice around your neck the other kissing you roughly as his hips slam into you again and again. Your mind is spinning not able to keep up with his kisses, moaning into his mouth as he continues the attack on your face. He stops and pulls back smirking at you which only causes you to wine at the lack of contact. Instead of waiting for him to start again you start pushing your hips up fucking yourself on his dick.

He looks down at you astonished ‘fuckkk…’ he quickly regains composure over himself wanting to be the one to fuck you nice and hard. ‘You ready to cum my girl?’

You nod your head ‘yess pleaseee.’

He settles into the position that he knows hits the right spot. ‘Fuck yes Matt right there!’ So much for being shy.

You finish, riding the high you have chased all day. You can tell it’s been a build up for him as well because he groans deeply into your neck shaking as he finishes. You are definitely asking for what you want more often.

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started. 

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will. 

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them. 

And you claimed it suckered you in every time. 

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season. 

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer. 

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window. 

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.” 

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started. 

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it. 

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.” 

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.” 

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him. 

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens. 

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these. 

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes. 

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction. 

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out. 

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do. 

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care. 

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.  

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something. 

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you. 

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat. 

Definitely a brownish-gray. 

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system. 

The sight relieves him. 

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match. 

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm. 

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too. 

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you. 

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it. 

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him. 

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does. 

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow. 

 Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease. 

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back. 

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told. 

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back. 

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you. 

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire. 

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles. 

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you. 

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand. 

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration. 

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly. 

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back. 

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again. 

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster. 

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand. 

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament.  You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw. 

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice. 

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took. 

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth. 

You don’t think you need to say more. 

He knows. 

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask. 

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek. 

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment. 

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard. 

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told. 

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie. 

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest. 

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags. 

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself  anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?” 

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media. 

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego. 

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification. 

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new. 

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions. 

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries. 

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t. 

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that. 

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too. 

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private. 

You wonder when that happened. 

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes. 

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle. 

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking. 

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues. 

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot.  “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.” 

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex. 

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself. 

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you. 

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm. 

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t. 

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls. 

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough. 

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above. 

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa. 

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are. 

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock. 

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite. 

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook. 

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at. 

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker. 

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle. 

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful. 

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out. 

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence. 

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops. 

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave. 

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell. 

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly. 

“Me too,” Jungkook says back. 

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep. 

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer. 

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents. 

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh. 

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them. 

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow. 

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you. 

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.  

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.” 

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical. 

He remembered. 

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care. 

 It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove. 

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.” 

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[4theitgirls]

how to build a routine 🎀

#1 tip: be realistic! it isn’t realistic to go from not working out, not studying, and not taking care of yourself properly to working out for an hour a day and studying for 6 hours at a time overnight. think: what will you actually be able to do? don’t overdo it, failing an impossible routine immediately will just make you feel bad and you will be less likely to keep trying.

#2: similar to the first, don’t be afraid to start slow. don’t try to go from never working out to working out for an hour every day. it’s perfectly fine to start with 10 minutes a day, then 15, then 20, and so forth. same with things like studying. don’t expect yourself to be able to just jump into studying for hours without a break. start with a little at a time.

#3: goal setting. set specific goals day by day. for example, your goals today could be working out for half an hour, reading one chapter of a book, and finishing a class assignment. of course you may do more than this, but make a list of what you MUST get done today, and start with those things. also, set more than just physical goals. set mental ones as well. for example, you could say your goal for today is to incorporate something into your day that makes you feel fulfilled, whatever that means for you!

#4: as you’re starting out, try to incorporate small things into your routine that will boost your mood and keep you motivated for the rest of the day. for example, take time out of your day to do some yoga, bake, sit outside, pet your animals, whatever you may need to keep you going and finish what you need to get done!

#5: make a list of the things you want to get out of this routine. these things don’t need to have anything to do with the physical acts you want to do, like exercising or finishing a task. you could say things like “i want to learn to nourish my body more” or “i want to learn more about myself and my interests.” what do you want this new routine to do for you? what do you want to feel?

#6: don’t expect to feel motivated all the time. chances are, you will not. but know that discipline is much more valuable than motivation alone. once you make your new routine a habit, you will no longer need to feel “motivated” to get things done, because it will be second nature to you. consistency is key!

#7: realize that it’s okay to not always do as well as you would have liked to. there will be days where you’re not as productive or active as you had wanted to be or had planned to be that day. that is okay. understand that days like these will not ruin your progress, and definitely don’t give up on yourself or your routine because of them. pick yourself back up and come back better and stronger tomorrow.

[wearenotstraightkids]

So I’ve just finished the first book of Lockwood & Co and the most prominent thing I noticed, even from the first chapter, was the warmth in how Lucy saw Lockwood. At the start of the show, Lucy was shown to be somewhat indifferent (?) to him. But in the book, during their first meeting, her first thought when he smiled at her was how much it warmed and lit up that small interview room. Lockwood always presented himself as a cool, calm, collected, mysterious person. But for Lucy he was like the sun and trusted him to a point that his presence would be enough to keep the ghosts away in the dark. AND THEY’VE ONLY JUST MET

Here are some lines basically just describing Lockwood’s supposedly “radiant” self from Lucy’s POV

I read on my Kindle and enjoyed the first book so much i might get the physical copies🧡

[deadandphilgames]

A note from Daniel (new epilogue from You Will Get Through This Night)

Thank you for reading This Night. Writing this book in 2021, while sitting locked down in a lightless basement apartment for months, had a certain self-fulfilling irony that was not lost on me.

In many ways, I wrote this book for not only my past self that I wish could have known these things when I needed them most - but for the guy sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable, hunched, t-rex-esque position typing, that needed it right then. Like many of you, I thought those particularly fun couple of years were a temporary inconvenience, that I wouldn't have to age the book by diving into. And here we are. I hope you enjoyed that new chapter about resilience and whatever the hell a 'polycrisis' is. Turns out certain global events do have an additional effect on our mental health - it's understandable that you may try to power through it and pretend it never happened, but we all deserve to take whatever time we need to honestly process how life makes us feel. I hope you're doing alright. My journey of reflecting honestly on my own life experiences and lifestyle while writing was …like spontaneously punching yourself in the stomach. "Wow. I really live like this? That is apparently not conducive to a healthy mind. Oops. Guess I'll go touch some grass." I'm happy if that made this a more entertaining read occasionally.

Even now, I find myself continually re-reading the book in those small moments of first emotional reaction to situations where I now at least think "Wait - what was I supposed to do here? Right. Not catastrophise." If this is you - that is fine. You are not expected to perfectly memorise this book or retain all knowledge you hear in life. I know I don't. If you're ever sat next to me in the emergency exit aisle of a plane, know that you may be required to physically throw me out of the door in order to inflate the slide because I was busy during the briefing, imagining how my life would have been different if I actually had the nerve to dye my hair black that time in school. I am at peace with that.

It was honestly terrifying for me to try and mine the content of my life to try and actually illustrate advice for people that may really need it …for me to honestly look at the balance between joking about my mental health, and really getting real. Hey - if your attempt at opening up via some humour comes out a bit offensive, you still get points for at least putting it on the table. That's progress.

This is not a book about me. I am here just as an example of terrible behaviour that you have permission to have an inappropriate public transport snort at, and as a writer who has repeatedly not finished traditional 'self-help' or scientific study books for being dry, unrelatable and preachy. I just hope you found this moist, identifiable and accepting of all of your beautiful flaws. So many flaws. I often worried if any of the material was maybe obvious, or something you could stumble across on the second page of Google - then I had a small moment of honesty with myself contemplating my own ignorance, commitment to procrastination, attention span …and the fact that factually just 0.63% of all people searching online, ever bother clicking to the second page of results. If you already knew some of this, good for you. Honestly. You must literally be happy with yourself. I'm just looking in the mirror and trying to do something for the 99.37% of humanity that spend their lives never successfully researching how to not lay awake at night fantasising about their doom. Look forward to the upcoming pocket size book of 'offensively self-destructive jokes' by Dan - or 700-page memoir of my yet un-girthy, mostly unremarkable life so far if that's what you're really looking for.

Perhaps the most terrifying result of releasing this book into the world, has been coming face to face with those of you that have read it. For in these moments, all of my protective self-deprecating persona comes crashing down in an instant when someone says this book made them feel better. Hearing that this book was the first time they finished anything tangentially related to self-improvement, or that just one thing they read was a new perspective on a part of their life they needed, makes me feel my mission in life is already complete. Seeing it be recommended by bookstores amongst all the other choices, hearing that people have shared it with their therapists or had it suggested to them by a professional, is an unbelievable seal of approval that I appreciate. I am so inarticulably grateful to have been given the opportunity to do anything that could make your life easier, more peaceful, more enjoyable. I've met people who annotated this book with post-its, told me they listen to audiobook exercises on their commute - and even a few people that have had illustrations tattooed onto them as a symbolic reminder of a message.

All of this puts that year of typing like some kind of infinite monkey at a typewriter into perspective. I'd do it all again. Mostly. It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be the guy whose name is printed on this book, and I just hope that reading it helped you, as much as writing it helped me.

Love and good luck.

- Dan

[kirkscarr]

it’s official!! First, Best Destiny -- Part 1 by the lovely @ophelia-j finally has the physical form that it deserves!! here’s a little photoshoot of the finished product (:

to see how i bound this book i have another post that can be found here.

next up: specialty pages!!

first off there are these title pages

and then the copyright page!

the table of contents!

*note: i did remove the chapter notes to format it more like a “real” book. (looking back, i honestly wish i hadn’t because i do always love reading those!) because i removed the notes, i decided to include which episode/movie the chapters follow in the table of contents!!

the chapter headers!! THEORETICALLY it says t'hy'la in vulcan script.

and then i have this TBC page that i stuck in right before the epilogue!

this is such a small detail but it honestly might be one of my favorite parts. i did my very best to emulate a real book's design, so i have this fun little barcode/QR code at the very back. and!! the QR code links to the actual Ao3 story!! how cool is that???

conclusion!!

throughout every step of the bookbinding process i was mentally like "this is gonna be the step where it ALL FALLS APART" and??? it never did??? like? i just made a 900 page book??? that's crazy guys.

anyways!! i am so, so, SO thrilled that i am now the proud owner of a physical copy of First, Best Destiny -- Part 1.

*sidenote for the author!! thank you so much for all your support on my last post - it actually made my day! <33

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: angst, fluff

Summary: Just because you're brought back to him doesn't mean you're going to stop doing what you love. You tried to make a life for yourself by going to college for fashion design. You want to keep normalcy even though you're far from it.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: image prompt (U1) (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

After promising yourself you’d read more this year, you decided to read a few chapters every night before bed. You were sitting in the comfortable reading chair your grandma let you have when she got sick. She used to sit on this thing and read to you all the time, now it was your turn to sit and read to her. The only noise was coming from the TV where you put on a YouTube video of rain sounds. It wasn’t raining but with that video, it felt like it. You picked up your glass of wine and took a small sip just as you finished chapter five.

Someone knocked on your front door loudly, causing you to spill your wine in shock. Only a few drops but if you let the stain sit, you were never going to get it out. Who could be knocking at your door this late at night? You set the wine and book down before you walked to the front door. You peered through the peephole but it was completely black which meant that whoever was on the other side was covering it.

“Who is it?”

“Bucky.”

You practically ripped the door off the hinges once you heard his voice. He was leaning against the door frame, blood all over his clothes. He was hurt and if the blood didn’t tell you that, his pained expression did. Bucky came crashing inside but you caught him before he could fall to the ground. He was a very heavy man but you did your best to hold him up. You didn’t care if blood got on your clothes.

“Bucky, are you okay? Shit, I should take you to a hospital.”

“No hospital,” he shook his head.

“Bucky…”

“I said no,” he said again, this time a lot firmer.

“Fine. Come on.” You dragged him to your bedroom and let him lie down while you prepared to take care of him. “Don’t move.”

You ran into your adjoining bathroom and grabbed whatever you could find that might help him before rejoining his side on the bed. When you did, he had his shirt off. Even with all the bruises and cuts, he still looked like an angel to you. An angel marred by humanity. An angel with black wings. You sat next to him on the bed and used gauze to start cleaning the blood off his skin.

“What happened to you?” He refused to answer you. It was always like this. This wasn’t the first time he’s gotten hurt like this. “Bucky, please tell me what happened to you.” You pressed the gauze against one of his wounds and he hissed in pain, causing you to wince as if you were the one who was hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for showing up like this.”

The more you took care of him, the more tears welled in your eyes.

“You’re always getting hurt,” you sniffled. “Where do you go? What do you do?”

“Let’s just say some men I talked to didn’t like what I had to say. It got physical.”

“Where are they?”

“Right where I left them,” he chuckled.

Once his wounds have stopped bleeding, you carefully cleaned them with a damp rag and some antiseptic.

“Are you going to tell me what you do for work?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Do you not trust me?”

“If you can believe it, you’re one of the few I trust right now.”

“Do you not love me?”

He reached up and caressed your cheek. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes slightly.

“It’s because I love you that I can’t involve you in this.”

You bandaged his wounds as best as you could, and while you were throwing everything away, Bucky got comfortable in your bed. You joined his side and slipped underneath the covers. You carefully laid your head on his chest, the part that didn’t hurt.

“You know I worry about you, right?”

“I wish you wouldn’t. You don’t need to worry about someone like me.”

You smiled and kissed the tip of his nose delicately.

“I worry about the people I love.”

Bucky gripped your jaw gently and kissed you. Bucky was definitely keeping secrets from you but you decided to put that on the back burner for tonight. That night, all you needed was Bucky.

Now

You’re enjoying a quiet morning eating breakfast in the kitchen when your phone goes off. It’s a message from an unknown number. You look at the chef to see her engrossed in her duties, and you pick up your phone to see who could this message be from.

UNKNOWN: Hey, it’s Gio. I’m hoping I made a good enough impression for you not to forget me already. YOU: Hey, Gio! No, I didn't forget you. GIO: Good. Look, I wanted to check in on you after everything that happened at school with the shooting. You’ve been gone for a while YOU: Yeah, I needed a week to calm down after all that. I’m okay, though. GIO: Glad to hear it. Are you going to be in school today?

You bite your lip nervously. Bucky wouldn’t like it if you stepped one foot outside this mansion without him. Fuck that! He’s not the boss of you! He can’t keep you prisoner here. Go to school if you want to go to school.

YOU: Yes, I am. GIO: Cool! I look forward to seeing you in class :)

You finish breakfast before heading upstairs and getting dressed. There is a reason you’re in college. There’s a reason why you’re taking fashion design classes. You’re not going to let someone like Bucky take that away from you. After getting dressed in something warm, you head downstairs. You’re looking at your phone so you don’t see Bucky before you run right into him. He grips your shoulders to prevent you from falling, and you look up at him in shock.

“Sorry.”

“Where are you going?”

“School.”

“You can do school here.”

“Not for the classes I need to be in person for, and since you wrecked my car, I need to leave now to catch the bus.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks in anger or annoyance, you’re not sure. You can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He rolls his eyes at losing his inner battle.

“Fine, I’ll take you to school.”

“With no bodyguards. I don’t need Sam and Steve lingering in the classes like weirdos.”

“Only if you promise not to run.”

“I thought you liked chasing me.” Bucky smirks slightly but decides against saying anything else. You finally have time to see what he’s wearing and your mouth waters when you see his very loose gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. No! Bad girl! Don’t think about that! But he’s so delicious and you really do miss the way his body feels against yours. Don’t make me smack you. Fine. “I’ll wait by the car while you get dressed. There’s no way you’re leaving the house wearing that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks.

God damn it. He leaves while you wait by one of his cars. You’re not sure which one he is going to take since he has about a million of them inside his garage. He joins your side wearing a three-piece suit. He must be going to the office today. You’re not sure if you prefer him wearing sweatpants or in a suit. Sweatpants. Definitely sweatpants. No shirt. Obviously.

He picks the Range Rover and you climb into the passenger seat. He never lets you drive now or when you two were dating. He often claims that you always have been and will always be his Passenger Princess. Not that you minded much because it gave you the opportunity to stare at him. Ahem. Admire. Apparently, there’s a difference.

“Lose something over here, pisică?” he smirks. You snap your eyes forward and pretend like you aren’t admiring how good he looks. You look in the mirror and see another black SUV trailing behind that no doubt has Steve and Sam in. “What are you going to school for?”

This is a safe topic to discuss and you relax in your seat.

“Fashion design. I really want to start my own line of clothes.”

“I remember you were saying something about that,” he smiles.

“Well, I only just started college. It’s a few classes while I get my general out of the way, but I like it.”

Bucky pulls up to the side of the campus where your first class is. You’re not sure what to say. You look at your phone to see you have forty-five minutes before your class starts.

“Thanks for the ride.”

You’re about to get out when he stops you.

“What time does your last class end?”

“Three.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Right here.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You leave the car but the feeling of his eyes on you doesn’t go away. You’re about half a football field away from him when you turn and look at him. He’s still staring at you so you scurry off with a blush. He chuckles and pulls away from the school, deciding to trust you that you’ll be there when he picks you up. Your first two classes go by without a hitch and your third class is your favorite--Fashion Design 102. The classroom is set up like a lab with desks that can only fit two people. The walls are covered with fabrics, the ground splattered with paint, and a bunch of mannequins are scattered about. Gio sits at one of the long tables and smiles when he sees you.

“Rayne!”

Oh, yeah. You told him your name is Rayne. Since Bucky found you, there’s no reason to keep that secrecy. You take a seat next to him and blush slightly from embarrassment.

“My name isn’t Rayne. It’s Y/N. I was going through stuff when I told you my name, but I’m okay now. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Gio chuckles in amusement. “It’s no problem. I know a bit about running from your past. I get it. I like Y/N better, anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. I needed time to process what happened.”

“Again, I get it,” he nods.

There’s no way you’re going to tell him that what happened was because of you. All you want to do is focus on your design class. Gio is interested in designing men’s clothing which you know he will be good at. All his sketches are amazing. The professor has people teaming up to create an article of clothing so naturally, Gio asked you to be his. Before you can start designing, you have to have sketches.

Gio wanted to make a suit while you wanted to make a dress. You two compromised and you’re making a dress. He’s picking the color and fabric while you two create the design.

“So, what’s your deal?”

“With what?” you chuckle and continue sketching.

“You’re gorgeous, there’s not secret about that. You’re funny and very smart. Last I remember, you don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

Bucky immediately comes to mind. If you were to tell Gio no, he’d kill him for sure. Technically, you never broke up with him. You just ran away. Gio sees the look on your face and chuckles in amusement.

“It’s complicated, I guess. Like I said to you before, it wouldn’t be fair to you if I couldn’t give you my all, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. Friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” you smile.

The class ends once you finish the design on sketches. You only have three classes but the fashion one takes two hours. Bucky pulls up to the meeting spot exactly at three and looks for you. He sees you walking with a man taller than you. He looks younger than Bucky and leaner than him. He still has muscle but not nearly as enough as Bucky have. You’re leaning into his side with a smile on your face, laughing at something he said. Bucky tries to let it slide that he’s standing so close to you but when Gio pulls you into a hug, his blood boils. He honks his horn and you jump away from him in shock.

“Sorry, that’s me. I gotta go,” you chuckle nervously. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You walk over to Bucky’s car and get in the passenger’s seat with a frown on your face. Bucky has a grumpy smile on his face and you roll your eyes as you put your seatbelt on.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m allowed to have friends.”

“Friends don’t touch your ass when they hug you.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Do you remember what happened to that man in my meeting?”

He doesn’t have to say the words for you to know what he means. You whip your head toward him and glare as hard as you can.

“Don’t you fucking dare. If you do, I will leave again, you’ll never find me, and we’re done.”

Bucky is silent for twenty minutes before smirking.

“Are you saying we’re not done now?”

You can’t stay mad at him. You want to be pissed at him but then he says shit like that and makes you fall for him even more. The rest of the car ride is spent in silence except for the light stream of music coming from the speakers. Bucky pulls up to his mansion and escorts you inside. The first thing you see is a trail of rose petals leading from the door to the kitchen. You gasp when you see the table set for a romantic dinner for two. Candles, flowers, hot food, and alcohol.

“What is this?”

“I figure I owed you dinner after everything.”

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know. I wanted to.” Your stomach flips upside down and your heart swells in happiness. “Plus, I slaved over the stove all day for you.”

As happy as you are, you can’t help but feel sad. Bucky have proven he can be this sweet and good man, so why the hell is he in the most dangerous business? He’s messing with your head and you’re not sure what to think. Don’t think. Just be in the moment. All your problems will still be there tomorrow morning. Right. Be in the moment.

That’s what you do, and you and Bucky have a nice dinner where your problems slide into tomorrow and nothing else matters but you two. After dinner, Bucky walks to you to your room as if he’s walking you home after a date. You know what happens after a date. Bucky did the same thing after every one of yours, so you’re not sure what’s going to happen here. You stop outside your room and look into Bucky’s blue eyes.

“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

Bucky reaches out and cups your jaw. You part your lips and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. He cups the other side of your jaw and pulls you toward him. He kisses you desperately and grips your hair to keep you in place. It’s been so long since you’ve felt his lips on yours and it’s making your knees weak. He slides his tongue into your mouth to meet yours and licks every inch he can. By the time he is pulling away, your brain is numb.

“Goodnight.”

“Night,” you mumble.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to stay away from him. You can’t.

x

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[dilxcc]

chapter one

summary. in which, he fell in love with a girl who loves books . . .

contains. fem!reader, fluff, meet cute, light hearted romance, grammatical error

masterlist

he for one, thinks that going to the bookstore is a waste of times. why does anyone even bother going to the bookstore to buy a new book because they had finished reading one?

atsumu hates the way that it's so quiet in the bookstore. it was a boring place in his opinion. why do people-

his train of thoughts stopped the moment his eyes landed on you. you looked cute. your nose scrunched a little as you struggled to reach for the book you wanted. "need help?" atsumu stride over to you, a confident smile plastered on his lips.

"yeah, i just can't reach for that book," his eyes went to see the book that you pointed at. "a book about cats?" he smiled in amusement. "that's the one," you replied with a shy smile.

your eyes went to scan his feature as he reached for your book. he looks good. you wondered what good things you did in your past life to have a handsome stranger helping you reach for your book. "thank you," you muttered, taking the book from his hand. "do you always come here?"

his question caught you off guard. you hadn't expect for him to be interested in getting to know you at all. "y-yeah," you managed to stuttered. "i come here twice a month. it's after i finish a book. to buy a new one," you rambled awkwardly.

atsume chuckled to himself. you were so damn cute. did you know that?

"well, i don't come here often. in fact, it's my first time here," he smiled proudly. "so, you don't like reading then?" you asked him with an amused smile. "mhm. i'm just here with my friend. he likes reading," the blond shrugged.

the two of you fell in a comfortable silence before he cleared his throat nervously. "right! i'll- i'll go and find my friend now. see you around," he waved at you before walking away.

your heart were thumping like crazy inside your chest.

.

atsumu felt like he was on cloud nine. he felt hazy. like he was dreaming. he didn't even realize that he had arrived home. but even then, he failed to notice osamu calling his name. that is, until his brother decided to get physical - by smacking the back of his head.

"what was that all about?!" he hissed slightly. "done daydreaming? i've been calling your ass for the eighth time," osamu sighed, face-palming himself. "i wasn't daydreaming," atsumu pouted his lips, his eyes looking away from his brother. "what do you want to eat?" osamu asked, his attention returning to the rice ball that he had been holding this entire time.

the blond male only shrugged. "you're the cook," he laid his head on the table, watching his brother pulling out ingredients from the fridge. "is that the girl you're hung up on?" osamu peeked at his brother's phone. atsumu immediately turned his screen to the table and looked up at his brother in annoyance. it wasn't like he had found your socials. he doesn't even know what your name is. so why was he so effected by the question. "it's no one," he huffed, crossing his arms together like a child.

"no one that got your cheeks red. sure," osamu laughed before going back to cooking. atsumu lets out an annoyed huff. "you're such a busybody," the blond muttered under his breath with an eyeroll. atsumu watch as his brother proceed to make dinner for the two of them. "when are you moving out?" the older male suddenly asked. 

"you tired with me already?" atsumu scoffed. "'m still searching for an apartment," he continued, his finger drawing mindlessly on the table. "just tell me if you need help," atsumu only hummed at the offer.

.

it was unexpected. but the next thing he knew, he was already setting his foot inside the bookstore. this time, alone. his eyes wander around, taking in every corner of the store and every aisle to find you. he figured that you wouldn't be here so he wondered why he was even walking around the store like he had something better to do. 

but of course you wouldn't be here. he remembered. when you said that you're only here twice a month. but it had only been a week after your encounter with him. surely you haven't finish reading the book you just bought, right? it was stupid how badly he wanted to see you. how badly he wanted to introduce himself properly this time. 

for the next few weeks, he kept on coming back to the bookstore but ended up empty-handed every time he turned up at his apartment. "where have you been? i asked your friends and they said you didn't show up for training," osamu questioned his brother while keeping his eyes focused on the tv. "the bookstore," atsumu shrugged and flopped onto the couch. "the bookstore? since when did you like reading?" 

"i didn't. just bored," he huffed and scrolled through his phone. "so bored that you would visit the bookstore?" osamu teased. he ignored his brother's comment and focused on the screen of his phone instead. for a while, they sat in a comfortable silence when suddenly, atsumu threw his phone to the wall. "what the hell?!"

the blond's face were red and he was too flustered to say a thing. he had found your social. and it was through your mutual friend. he slowly went to pick up his phone, checking it for any damage. when he finds none, he immediately drag himself to his bedroom. osamu was still surprised by his brother's odd behaviour before deciding that he had always been odd and this was just one more thing added to the list.

when he was alone in his room, atsumu lets out a sigh of relief and turned on his phone once again to check out your social media. he had finally found your instagram handle. laying down in bed, he scrolled through your past post mindlessly, smiling to himself as he takes in every post.

he learned that you had a huge interest in books. also the fact that you owned a house with a bunch of cats as your roommate. and from that, he learned that you were definitely a cat person.

his finger hover over the follow button. should he? he asked himself. maybe he shouldn't. he doesn't want you to be thinking that he was a stalker or something. or maybe he should. you probably wouldn't mind right? it wasn't like he actually stalked you or something. it just so happen that you two have a mutual friend and you showed up on said friend's post. plus, he could just explain it to you if you ever ask the question. but then again, why would you text someone you don't know. a stranger at that.

after a long minute of thinking and giving excuses, he finally toughen up and tap on the follow button.

[winchesterwild78]

The Tutor

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Warnings: Nothing too bad yet, just a chapter to establish the story. Some language and some physical grabbing.

**Trigger Warning: Some of this chapter could be considered Domestic Violence. It’s grabbing an arm, and being controlling.**

A/N: Just a quick idea that popped in my head. A short series, maybe 2 or 3 chapters. I don’t know yet. No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction. Jensen has children in this, but I do not use their real names. 

Reader is a teacher and is asked to tutor Jensen’s child. Things develop between Jensen and the reader. I do not condone cheating, again, this is a work of fiction.

This chapter got a little long. Sorry not sorry. 😀

Minors DNI 18+

It was about 5 am when your alarm went off. You rolled over, grumbled and turned it off. Your husband was still sleeping next to you. Crawling out of bed you went to your bathroom and jumped in the shower. 

About 15 minutes later you were dressed and ready for work. You’d been a teacher for about 10 years, and you loved every second of it. Your husband encouraged you to expand your talent and offer tutoring in the afternoons as a way to help save money for the summer months when you didn’t get paid. 

You talked to the principal of your school and she told you she’d put out feelers to see if anyone had a lead on a possible need for a tutor. 

Grabbing your coffee, lunch and bag you headed for your car. It was a chilly morning, but you welcomed the change in temperature. As you pulled in the parking lot to the school, you noticed you were one of the first ones there. 

You sighed, gathered your things and got out of your car. As you walked in the building you saw the principal was in her office already. “Hey, Y/N, hold on a second.” You walked to her office door and waited for her to get off the phone.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I caught you. So I talked to a friend of mine and she said she knows a couple who is looking for a tutor for their children. They have 3 kids, an older daughter, and a set of twins, a boy and a girl. The mother is out of town, but the father wanted to come in and see you in action and then sit down with you. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yeah that’s fine. Is he coming in today?” “Yes, if you were okay with it he wanted to come in today. If they decided to go with you, they’d want you to start ASAP.”

“Um, okay. Yeah. That’s fine. Hopefully it doesn’t distract my kiddos, but sure. Tell him to come by whenever.” “Great! I’ll give him a call.” You nodded and walked to your classroom.

Before the kids arrived, you sent your husband a text.

You: Hey, I might have a potential tutoring gig. Ms Smith is having a dad come in today. He and his wife wanted to see me in action. I’d be tutoring their three kids. I’ll let you know how it goes. I love you, babe.

Hubby: That’s great, you sure three kids won’t be too much? I love you too.

You: 3 kids? I teach 22 kids all day. I think I can handle 3.

Hubby: Yeah, you’re right. 

You finished getting things ready for the day as the kids started to arrive. “Good morning Ms Y/L/N!” The kids greeted you as they came into the room. “Good morning everyone.” 

Once the students got settled you called them to sit on the carpet to talk about today and how there might be a visitor. They were excited. You taught 5 & 6 year olds, so anytime there was a visitor it was always a big deal. 

“Now I want you all to be on your best behavior, and if we have a visitor I want you to do your best to ignore them, okay?” The kids nodded in agreement. 

A few hours later you were reading a book to your students when you heard your classroom door open. Glancing over you saw the principal and a man walk in. You kept teaching, not paying attention to the people in the room. 

When you read books, you are very animated. The kids would giggle and were completely engaged. At the end of your story you asked questions and called on some students to answer. A few minutes later you had them go back to their desks to complete the writing assignment you had given them. 

As you walked around checking their writing the principal approached you. “Ms Y/L/N, this is Mr Ackles. Mr Ackles, this is Ms. Y/L/N, our favorite Kindergarten teacher.” Your eyes went wide. Standing in your classroom was Jensen Ackles. His green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the fluorescent lights, his sandy brown hair perfectly styled, and he smelled like heaven. 

He extended his hand to shake yours. “Hello Ms Y/L/N, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You took his hand in yours and your breath hitched. You knew who he was, you’d been a fan for years. “Nice to meet you too, Mr Ackles. I look forward to speaking with you more about the tutoring needs of your children.” 

He smiled and nodded. The two of you couldn’t tear your eyes away from each other. You unconsciously bit your lip. The sound of a little voice pulled you two out of your trance. “Ms Y/L/N, is this right?” One of your students came up with her paper for you to check. “So what should this sentence start with?” Her bright eyes looking at you and then down at her paper, “Um, oh a capital.” You smiled and nodded.

She went back to her seat and fixed her paper. “Okay guys, remember to capitalize, and illustrate your writing. Don’t forget your setting and color.”

Your principal came up to you, “We are going to head out, I’ll give Mr. Ackles your number so you two can set up a meeting.” You nodded and thanked them, then they left.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest and you felt a warmth fill your body. Girl, get it together. He’s way out of your league, both of you are married, and you might be tutoring his children. This is just a celebrity crush. Keep it professional. 

The end of the day came quickly. You were cleaning up your classroom when you heard a knock on your classroom door. Looking up you saw Jensen. Your breath caught in your throat. “Excuse me Ms Y/L/N, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” “Oh no, I’m just cleaning up before heading home. How can I help you Mr Ackles?” 

“Well I really liked what I saw today. You were engaging and gentle but you can see your students know your expectations. I’d like to offer you the tutoring job if you’d like it.” “Oh, of course. May I meet your children before I officially start? This won’t work if the kids don’t like me.” 

Jensen smiled and nodded. “I’ll text you my address and you’re welcome to come by this afternoon.” “Sure, that would be great. I can’t wait to meet them and your wife.” You smiled. “Well, she’s out of town right now, so that will have to wait.” “Okay. If you need to wait for her, that's fine. I want her to be fine with me tutoring the kids too.” “Nope, this was something we’d talked about before she left, and she knew I was going to hire someone as soon as I could.”

“Okay, great. I’ll come by this afternoon then. I’ll see you later Mr Ackles.” “Jensen, please call me Jensen.” “Jensen, then. Feel free to call me Y/N.” He smiled and so did you. When he left you pulled out your phone to text your husband.

You: Hey, heading to meet the kids I might be tutoring. The dad asked me to come by this afternoon.

Hubby: Okay, I’ll see you at home later then. Love you

You: I love you too. 

You set your phone down and finished cleaning. A few minutes later your phone went off.

Unknown: Hey, Y/N. This is Jensen. My address is 123 E Main Street. Can’t wait for the kids to meet you.

You: Hey, Jensen. I can’t wait to meet them either. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Just finishing up here. 

Jensen: Great! See you then.

You finished what you were doing and grabbed your stuff heading out of the school. Driving to Jensen’s house you were nervous but excited. You’d tutored before, but never for a celebrity and definitely not for someone you had been crushing on for decades. 

Pulling down the long driveway you were in awe at the spacious home that stood before you. Putting your car in park, you grabbed your bag and got out. 

Before you could knock on the door it opened and Jensen greeted you with a smile. “Hey, Y/N, glad you could make it.” “Hello, Mr. Ackles, thank you for having me.” “Please, call me Jensen.” You nodded and smiled, “Okay, Jensen.” 

He welcomed you into his spacious home and led you to the living room. “Please have a seat, and I’ll get the kids down here. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, water?” “Um, sure, I’ll have water if you don’t mind.” “Sure thing. I’ll grab it and the kids.”

You sat on the couch as Jensen left the room. You heard him calling the kids and the sound of feet on the stairs. 

Jensen and the kids came back to the room. He handed you the water. “Thank you.” He nodded and smiled. “Kids, this is Ms Y/L/N, she’s going to be your tutor. Ms Y/L/N, this is my oldest, Annie, and the twins, Jessica and Jensen Jr., we call him Jr.” “Hi guys, it’s nice to finally meet you three.” “Hello Ms Y/L/N, it’s nice to meet you too.” Jensen’s son walked over and sat next to you, “Are you married? Do you have any kids?” “Yes I am married, and no I don’t have any children yet. I’m a teacher so my students are like my kids right now.” 

The five of you sat in the living room talking and getting to know each other. After the kids got tired of talking and asking you questions, they left the room. Leaving you and Jensen alone. “So, Y/N, what do you think? Think you can handle them?” You smiled and nodded, “Yes. They seem really sweet, I’d be just fine with them.” 

“Well, all that’s left is to talk about schedule, pay, and the NDA. The NDA is to protect everyone involved. You’re more than welcome to contact an attorney to look it over.” You smiled and nodded. About 45 minutes later you and Jensen had talked about your schedule, the pay and he’d given you the NDA.

“So, Y/N, do you have any additional questions for me?” “Yes, when will your wife be back, I’d love to meet her too.” “She won’t be back for a few weeks, but you’ll get to meet her when she returns.” You nodded and stood, “Well, Jensen I better leave you to it. I need to get home anyway. I have some things to do for work.” “Of course, well thank you again for coming by this evening. Let me walk you out.” 

The two of you walked towards the door. “Thank you again, Y/N for agreeing to take this job. We’ve interviewed so many people and they couldn’t get past my status to focus on the kids.” “If I’m being honest Jensen, I’ve been a fan of yours for years, but I promise that will not interfere with my job.” Jensen stepped a little closer to you, and your heart beat faster, “I’m glad. I think this is going to work out for everyone.” A blush filled your cheeks and you bit your lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jensen. Please tell the kids goodbye.” He nodded as you stepped out of the house.

Getting into your car, you let out the breath you’d been holding. Driving home you couldn’t focus on anything but how gorgeous Jensen looked. Stop it girl! You work for him now. If you can’t stop these thoughts there is no way you’re going to be able to work for him. Your focus should be on his children. Both of you are married, and his wife is absolutely gorgeous. 

About a half hour later you were pulling in your driveway. Your husband was already home. Walking in the house you announced you were home, “Honey I’m home.” Your husband, Jeff, came around the corner and pulled you into a hug and a kiss. 

“How was the meeting with the family?” He asked as he pulled back. “It was great. The kids are so sweet. The wife is out of town and the dad is super nice too. There is a little problem. Well, not really a problem, but something I need to tell you.” “Okay, babe, is everything okay?” “Yeah, so the dad asked me to sign an NDA.” Your husband laughed, “Why is he a secret service agent or a celebrity?” You got a serious look on your face and your husband’s laughter died down. “What? Is he really?” “He and his wife are celebrities. It’s Jensen Ackles.”

Your husband pulled away and looked at you in surprise. He knew how much you liked Jensen and how much of a fan you’d been. “Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with you working for him.” You looked at him confused, “What? Why not?” “Oh I don’t know, maybe because you’ve had the hots for him for years.” 

“Jeff, come on, really? I have no interest in him. I love you and I’m married to you. This is a job to help bring in more income for us. Besides, the pay is incredible. I tried to negotiate because I felt it was too much, but he insisted. We’d make enough in two months to pay off our credit cards.” 

Your husband’s jaw tightened, “I don’t care. I forbid you to take this job!” “I’m sorry, what? You forbid me?!? What the hell is wrong with you?” He stepped closer to you, “You heard me. You can’t take the job.” You scoffed and walked away. Jeff grabbed your arm, “Don’t fucking walk away from me!” “Let me go Jeff!” You pulled your arm away and walked to your shared room, locking the door behind you.

You sat on your bed and cried. How could he act like this? You two had been married for years and never had you given him a reason to doubt your loyalty. He’d never grabbed you before and you would never let him do it again. 

You pulled out your phone and sent a text to your best friend.

You: Hey, can I come crash at your place for a bit. Jeff and I had a bad fight. I don’t want to be here right now.

Y/B/F: Absolutely. Are you okay? Do you need me and hubby to come over?

You: Yeah, I’m okay. No, I’ll be okay. I’ll call if I need you.

Y/B/F: Okay babes, see you soon.

You grabbed your suitcase and put some work clothes and casual clothes in it. You grabbed your toiletries and other things you needed. As you walked out into the living room Jeff was sitting on the couch. You could see he was still pissed. “Have you come to your senses, Y/N?” “Yes I have, I’m going to Y/B/F’s house until I figure things out. You will NEVER put your hands on me again!” 

He stood and your heart beat fast. As he walked closer to you, you could see the rage in his face. You had been with him for years and you had never seen him like this, you were scared. 

Jeff stepped closer to you, mere inches from your face, “That’s right, go run to her house and go be his whore.” You didn’t say anything. You grabbed your bags and left. 

Driving down the road the tears started to fall. How could he act like this over a simple job? Why was he so jealous over Jensen? Sure you liked him, but you would never act on those feelings.

Pulling into your friend’s driveway you saw her open the door before you got out of the car. She ran up to you and threw her arms around you. “Oh sweetie, what happened?” She saw your tear stained face. “I told him about the tutoring job I took and he lost it. Told me I couldn’t take it and then he grabbed my arm. When I told him I was leaving he told me to go be the dad’s whore. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” 

“Let’s get you inside, eat and I’ll open a bottle of wine. Then we can talk.” You nodded and grabbed your things. Her husband walked over and gave you a big hug, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m gonna head out so you girls can chat. Enjoy dinner.” He placed a kiss on your head before heading out the door. 

Y/F/N and you grabbed the food, and wine and sat down in the living room. “So why would he get so pissed about a tutoring job?” “Well the dad asked me to sign an NDA, he’s a celebrity. I guess Jeff thought I’d sleep with the dad or something. I just don’t understand.” “Oooh who is it?” “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Maybe I can ask if I can tell you, but I want to respect his privacy.” “I get it, but Jeff still shouldn’t have gotten pissed about it. Sounds like he’s got something to hide honestly.”

You hadn’t thought about that before, but now you couldn’t get it out of your head. Maybe he was the one cheating on you and was projecting. “Well even if he is, I don’t think I can go back to him. After he put his hands on me and the way he tried to intimidate me before I left. I can’t live with that fear.” “You are welcome to stay here as long as you want. We’ve got you girl, and don’t worry he won’t get near you here.”

*Time Jump 3 months*

“Okay guys, let’s get up and stretch for a bit. We’ve been working hard. Who wants to go outside and play for a bit?” You asked the kids after spending about an hour working with them at the kitchen table. The kids jumped up and ran outside, laughing and racing each other. You smiled as you started to clean up the table. 

Jensen walked into the kitchen and smiled, “Break time, I see.” “Yeah, they needed a break and so did I. Can I get you a coffee, Jensen?” Jensen walked over to the coffee pot, “No, let me get one for you. You’ve been busy educating my children. It’s the least I can do.” 

Jensen grabbed a coffee cup and filled it up, sliding it to you at the kitchen bar. You nodded and told him thank you. He filled one up and leaned against the counter. “So, how are they doing? Are you still okay with working with all three of them?” “Oh they are amazing children. You and your wife should be very proud of them. I adore them.” 

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that.” “So if you don’t mind me asking, when is Mrs. Ackles coming home? I know she’s been out of town on a trip for about a week.” “Oh, yeah she’s on a girls trip. I believe she will come back next week. Maybe she’ll be around more after she gets back.” You could see the pain in his eyes and it broke your heart. “Well I can’t wait to sit and chat with her. I enjoy talking to you, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy sitting and talking to her too.” 

There was a pregnant silence that fell between you two, you looked up and met his eyes. They had a softness to them and were full of kindness. You blushed and smiled. The silence was broken by the sounds of crying. Jensen and you jumped up and ran outside. His daughter, Jessica was sitting on the ground crying. You and Jensen ran over to her and saw her knee was bleeding. 

Jensen scooped her up and carried her in the house. He sat her on the counter and you stood next to her. “Shh, it’s okay baby girl. Your daddy is going to get the first aid kit.” You rubbed her back and wiped her tears. 

Jensen came back carrying the first aid box. You held Jessica’s hand as he cleaned up the wound. “So Jess, what do you want for dinner? I bet you can get your daddy to get you whatever you want.” “I want cheeseburgers and ice cream, she sniffled.” “Ooh that sounds yummy. Does your daddy make good burgers?” She smiled and nodded. 

“Okay baby girl, all done.” Jessica looked at Jensen, “It didn’t even hurt.” Her eyes were wide. You smiled and Jensen looked over at you and smiled. “Well I think Ms Y/N has the magic touch then.” “Yes she does. Ms Y/N, can you stay for dinner?” Jensen was shocked, “Oh honey, Ms. Y/N has to get home to her husband. She can’t stay for dinner.” 

“Well, Jessica, if it’s okay with your dad I’d love to stay for dinner.” “Yay! I’m gonna go tell Jr and Annie.” You helped her down and she took off. As you were helping Jensen clean up, he looked at you, “Thank you for keeping her calm, but you really don’t have to stay. I’m sure your husband is waiting for you.” 

You put your head down, trying to hold back the tears. Taking a deep breath, “No, he’s not. I really would like to stay if you’re okay with it.” “Yes, that would be great. Jess really wants you to stay.” “Okay, let me help you cook then.” “Oh no ma’am, you are our guest.” 

You smiled “Please, it’s the least I can do.” “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?” “Nope, you’re not.” You laughed. “Okay, fine.” He chuckled.

Thirty minutes later you and Jensen were calling the kids in to wash up for dinner. Dinner was delicious and after dinner Jensen pulled out the ice cream. Jessica was excited, because they didn’t get ice cream often. “My wife would kill me if she knew I was giving them ice cream. They tend to get a little wild.” You both laughed. 

After ice cream, the kids went to the living room to watch tv while you helped Jensen clean up the kitchen. His phone rang as you two were cleaning. He sighed before he answered and walked out of the room. 

You kept cleaning and a few minutes later he came back in. “Sorry about that. It was my wife. She wanted to talk to the kids.” “Oh it’s not a problem. That’s sweet she calls when she’s away.” “Yeah, it is.” His jaw tightened a bit. 

The two of you reached for a bowl at the same time and your hands brushed against each other. A chill went through your body. You two looked at each other and you bit your lip, he swallowed hard. 

“Sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand back. “It’s okay.” Jensen cleared his throat, “Well it’s getting late. I’m sure your husband is worried about you.” You took a deep breath, “No, we um, actually split up a little over 3 months ago.” Jensen placed his hand on yours, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That has to be hard.” “Yeah, it has been. Things just got really bad, so I left. I’ve been living with my best friend and her husband since.” 

“Well, if it gets too crazy there we have a guesthouse you’re welcome to stay in. I know the kids would love to have you around more.” You smiled, “That’s a generous offer, but I think I’m okay where I am right now. Besides, that’s a decision I think your wife should be included in.” “I understand, the offer stands though. She’d be fine with it. She’s always willing to help people.” “Thank you, I appreciate that. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

About an hour later the kids were in bed and you were getting ready to head home. “Well, thank you for dinner and a wonderful evening. I will see you on Monday.” Jensen stood to walk you to the door. His hand brushed lightly on the small of your back and a shiver went through you. “Good night, Jensen. Thank you again for dinner and the conversation.” “Good night, Y/N, and you’re welcome.” Jensen reached out and pulled you into a hug. You took a deep breath and breathed him in. God he smelt amazing, and he was so warm. 

When you two pulled away he lightly ran his thumb over your cheek. You instinctively leaned into his touch. Your breath hitched, “I should go.” You whispered. “Yeah, you probably should.” 

Jensen stepped closer, you bit your lip. His thumb ran over your chin, pulling your lip out of your teeth. Your breathing grew more rapid and your heart beat wildly. His lips were inches from yours, your breath mingling with his. He licked his lips and leaned even closer. You felt his lips ghosting over yours. “Jensen..” “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” You looked at him, your voice caught in your throat. “Y/N, do you want me to stop?” “No,” was all you said. 

Jensen’s lips crashed into yours. Soft but forceful and full of passion and need. Your mind swirling, your heart pounding as his tongue licked your lips asking for entrance. You parted your swollen lips and his tongue took dominance in your mouth. Jensen’s hands went into your hair and pulled you closer to him. Your hands wrapped around his neck. 

The kiss seemed to last for hours, the need for air causing your lungs to scream for oxygen, but in that moment Jensen was the only thing you needed to live. When the need for air became too much, you both pulled away, panting with swollen lips. 

You were blushing and Jensen was smiling. “I’ve been dying to do that for a really long time.” You smiled and bit your lip. His hand brushing against your cheek, “So beautiful”. You took a deep breath, “Good night Jensen.” He placed a soft peck on your lips before you walked out of the house. 

Driving home all you could think of was the kiss. You’d dreamed of kissing him for years, but he’s married. What did the kiss mean to him, to your job? Would he want to do it again, would you? Your mind was racing with thoughts of the kiss and how you could still feel his lips on yours. The sound of your phone pulling you out of your head.

Jensen: So I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I swear I didn’t plan that. 

You: You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I liked it. Honestly, a little too much. 

Jensen: I liked it too. I’d like to do it again if you want.

You: I like that more than you know, but you’re married and my boss. I’m not sure it’s a great idea.

What the hell are you doing!? Jensen Ackles is telling you he wants to kiss you again and you’re shooting him down. Ugh!

Jensen: I understand. Please don’t think this changes anything or affects your job. It doesn’t. You’re amazing with my kids and I wouldn’t want to mess that up.

You: Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. Good night, and I’ll see you Monday.

Jensen: Good night, Y/N. Sweet dreams and see you Monday.

As you crawled into bed that night all you could think about was the kiss and how wonderful his hands felt on you. A small pang of guilt crept into your head when you thought about his wife. You still couldn’t believe you told him you didn’t think kissing him again would be a good idea. His lips were so soft and damn was he a good kisser. 

Could you really still work for him after this, or would the pull to kiss him become too much?

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[lovemyromance]

After I finished reading the books and the bonus chapter I thought there was a 50% chance that the next book could be about elriel and 50% it could be about gwynriel, especially when I saw how popular gwynriel was. I didn’t pick up on any of the lightsinger hints. I feel like most people don’t pick up on them the first time they read the books. Without the lightsinger theory, the bonus chapter seems to introduce gwyn as a possible love interest for az.

With everything we learn in hofas and what Sarah said in the today interview, I think she’s more likely to write elriel. But that doesn’t mean that elucien or gwynriel can’t happen, after all she said she writes based on vibes and she’s prone to change love interests.

*I don't even care if this is a troll ask I already had a draft along these lines saved so thanks for letting me use it*

Walk with me, 🚶🏽‍♀️

I mean, I agree. If I had ONLY read the bonus chapter and none of the other books, then yeah I'd say he starts the BC with Elain and ends with Gwyn. So he could go either way.

But that would be ignoring the rest of the books outside the singular, 5page bonus chapter 🤷🏻‍♀️

Though you're right, truly, SJM can take it any which way she wants. You see it as 50/50 chance between Elriel and Gwynriel, I see it as 99/1, SJM herself could be 75/25 who knows! She could do 0/0 and make Azriel end up with Eris too!

And yet - when you read that last sentence - where I claimed SJM could write Azris endgame just as likely as she could write Gwynriel or Elriel - I'm sure a part of you disagreed, didn't it?

"There's no way Azris is as likely as Gwynriel!"

You're right. It's not. You know that. I know that. And you know why we both believe it's unlikely that SJM will throw away both Elriel and Gwynriel in favor of Azris?

It's because SJM doesn't just "switch love interests" without buildup.

We all knows she can do whatever she wants - she's the author. But I think it's kind of an inaccurate statement to say "she's prone to switching love interests", point blank. She NEVER has done that without proper buildup.

SJM has two ways she "changes" a love interest:

1. A main character has a minor relationship that is summarized in a passing sentence or paragraph long thought about their ex/current lover. They might not have even been in an actual relationship just had romantic feelings at one point. Either way, it's never a focus of the story.

Ex: Hunt & Shahar, Feyre & Isaac Hale, Elain & Greyson, Mor & Azriel (and cassian ig), Bryce & Connor, Hypaxia & Ruhn

2. A main character has a full blown relationship with another main character and they fully explore all stages of falling in love, lust, breaking up, and then moving on to another character.

Ex: Tamlin/Feyre/Rhys; Dorian/Aelin/Chaol/Rowan

She does it both ways. Here's the difference though:

The first method is minor stakes. It's typically just the beginning of a relationship, or a retrospective point of view. There is very rarely any physical intimacy. It is also typically only the female's point of view.

In my opinion, it shouldn't really even count as a love interest switch up. It is so small in the scale of things and it never pans out or is given any importance in the main story. It fizzles out after the first 10 pages (not literally guys chill), basically.

Then we get to the second method of her "love interest switch". She doesnt do this one often, and it takes MULTIPLE books to cover. It is about a MAIN FEMALE character. The Feyre & Aelins, if you will.

Both of those situations were not something that was just sprung on us without adequate build up.

Feyre fell in love with Tamlin. Met Rhys. Slowly fell OUT of love with Tamlin. Then fell in love with Rhys. It took her 3 books.

They did not have a romance in ACOTAR while she was still falling for Tamlin. That would've been like if she went to Calanmai, saw Rhys, and then decided she didn't want Tamlin and only wanted Rhys from then.

Aelin & Dorian and Aelin & Chaol were two relationships that were FULLY fleshed out. She did not abruptly leave Chaol and immediately fall for Rowan. These aren't instances where anything happened abruptly in a bonus chapter or even in ONE book- these "switch ups" happened over multiple books.

Now let's look at Elain and Azriel.

In the context of the series, let's evaluate where these two stand in the two ways SJM does a love interest switch up:

1. Minor character romance switch up

- Are Azriel & Elain minor characters? ❌ no

- Did they share only one sentence or paragraph thinking about each other? ❌ no, they had multiple major scenes together

- Was it from a female POV? ❌ no

- do they only briefly show physical intimacy? Yes ✅

So clearly, Azriel and Elain don't fit into the first type of "switch up" she does. The only criteria they fit is that they have had one scene of minor physical intimacy.

2. Major character love interest switch

- Are Azriel & Elain main characters at this point? Yes ✅

- Did Azriel & Elain get a chance to fully explore their relationship and fall in love? No ❌

- Did Azriel & Elain get multiple books to cover this changing of feelings? No ❌

So clearly, Azriel and Elain don't fit into the second type of "switch up" she does either. The only criteria they fit is that they are both major characters right now.

Now what did we conclude as a result of this long ass post, if yall are still with me on this 10k hike?

Azriel & Elain have had buildup together that cannot be ignored.

They have been the main focus (Azriel's Hybern camp rescue of Elain was VERY similar to Nesta saving/willing to die for Cassain)

They have had clear romantic feelings for each other as evidenced by the bonus chapter

They have obstacles in place now (thanks Rhys).

There's foreshadowing in droves scattered throughout the bonus chapters and books.

The natural flow of the story supports Elriel

The POV before Elain's book is Azriel's not Lucien's

SJM is on the Today show talking about rejected mates

SJM has made Azriel step into the role Lucien should have been playing for Elain

If you're willing to ignore this and say "Gwynriel could have a 50/50 percent chance of happening bc of the singular bonus chapter" ... then go ahead. But don't act surprised when you get the next book in your hands and it's indeed Elriel 🤷🏻‍♀️

There is always a slight chance the author could do anything. That's like if I said "yeah - in every soccer game there's a chance the goalie could stop blocking shots and let the other team win."

Like yes. Quite literally they could do that. It's up to them.

But is it likely? No.

Will it go against everything they've set up and trained for? Yes.

SJM could write Gwynriel. She could write Azris then too, as that has equal buildup. She could write Nezris or Azquin. She could write anything. But that minuscule possibly of "anything could happen" doesn't affect typical calculations when it comes to statistics, so I don't know why it's playing a part here. SJM's plot does not defy the normal laws of physics and chance🙄

So at the end of this long walk, if you're still with me, I just want yall to know that yes SJM could do anything she wants she's the author - but Elriel is the most likely conclusion by far.

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 10

First and foremost, we've gotten quite a few pieces of fanart from @your-local-furby and @antartzz in the last little bit! We've got a smooch scene as well as a drawing and comic of MC with antartzz's oc Freida. I always get all mushy and/or feral when I get art so I really do appreciate it!

On a more serious note;

Content warnings: homophobia, as well as "queer" being used as a slur, verbal abuse/altercations, and attempted physical assault. (MC and his father get into a really bad argument while shopping.) There is also a bit of ableism but it's no more extreme than in previous chapters, and the homophobia is a much bigger thing in this chapter.

Please be cautious if that is a particularly triggering.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

“Could you hurry it up already?” you hear your father ask, holding a package under his arm.

You look around the store shelves, eyes scanning over different brands of typewriter ribbons. Your fingers ache from carrying the basket of items, so you carefully swap hands. “I’d probably finish up faster if you actually helped me find the brand I need.”

Your father scoffs. “There can’t be that much of a difference between all the other brands here. I’m sure you can find… whatever it is you’re picky about from a different brand.”

“The ribbon I’m looking for is from the same company that made my typewriter,” you explain for what feels like the hundredth time, but is probably only the seventh or eighth time, “it’s specifically made for that particular brand, and since mine is an older model, it’s difficult finding adequate substitutes.”

“Have you ever considered getting a new typewriter? Something newer and more universal?”

“Why would I when the typewriter I have right now works fine?”

“Because your typewriter is older than you are,” your father states, “and I’ll give you credit, you take good care of it, but if something breaks, it’s going to be expensive and difficult to repair, and that’s if they’re even making parts for it anymore.”

“I will worry about that when it happens,” you reply, “but for now, I need ribbons, and I’m struggling to find them.”

Your father sighs. “What’s the brand again?”

“Fuscienne ruban d’encre.”

“What?”

“It’s a box with Fontainian on it,” you answer. “This store is the only place in town that sells it, and unless they’ve partnered with other suppliers in Fontaine, it should be the only one.”

Your father is quiet for a few moments, allowing you to go back to searching for your ink ribbons. The silence is nice, and it’s short lived when you hear the man sigh again. “... Is this what you wanted for a career?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Writing those… girly books.”

You give your father a look. “... Really?”

“What? That’s what they are.”

“They’re romance books. It won’t kill you to say the word romance.”

“And who reads them?”

“People who like romance.”

“Don’t play this game with me.”

“Just get to the point already.”

“I’m just saying writing isn’t the only career you could have chosen,” your father explains, “you had options when you were younger, and you still have options today. You talk about how you can only do certain things on account of your vision, but you act like they’re the only options you have.”

Your father’s words catch you off guard, and you are quiet for a moment as you mull them over. They’re… almost inspiring out of context, but in that condescending hand holding way. You can hear someone else who means well but doesn’t understand saying some of those words to you with a smile that’s too big, too bright, too rehearsed. Something that would have sufficed as motivational when you were little, but just leaves a bad taste in your mouth as an adult.

That said, this is your father, so it immediately raises a red flag. It’s one thing for him to make a backhanded comment, it’s another for him to say something that could be misconstrued into something well meaning when stripped of the full context. You know this, and you know it can only mean one thing.

Your eyes land on a small box, and you pick it up. You then sigh, realizing this isn’t your brand, the design just looks similar. You’re still looking at the shelf when you speak up. “So, why are you in the doghouse this time?”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes finally spot the word Fuscienne. You momentarily forget the conversation and grin at the last box on the shelf. You snatch it and drop it into the basket.

Your father places a firm hand on your shoulder. “What did you mean by that?”

Right. You turn to face him. “Mom’s mad at you about a comment you made and is making you babysit me,” you reply, “I don’t care what it was you said, but I’m assuming she’ll forgive you if I said you did a good job helping me.”

(Which he really didn’t, because you are a grown man who has been to this store on his own many times before, and your father helping you navigate the store would make your outing even longer.)

Your father averts his eyes, and under his irritation, you see embarrassment shine through the cracks in his mask. He crosses his arms, and on a smaller figure, it would look like such a petulant gesture. It just looks pathetic for someone his age. “The faster we get this over with, the sooner we go home and you go back to your books.”

You answer by walking to the front of the store. The old man behind the counter grins when he sees you. “Find everything you were looking for?”

You nod, placing the basket on the counter. “Grabbed the last box of the Fuscienne ink ribbons. Lucky me.”

“You know, son,” the old man says, “I like to keep at least one pack of the Fuscienne in the back, just for you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes! You’re one of my regulars, and I know you like that one, so I always make sure I have extra for you in case it sells out before our next order.”

You find yourself smiling. “That’s really kind of you.”

“It’s no problem.” He starts pulling items out of your bag, ringing them up before handing them to his son, who then begins to bag the items. “How is your book?”

His son gives him a quick look. “Father, remember?”

The man behind the counter goes pale. “O-Oh, right, I forgot about the, erm…”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure the man, “progress is good! Very good. I actually got a deal with the Yae Publishing House shortly after my old publisher dropped me. I’m actually waiting for them to get back to me with their final thoughts before I officially start my final draft.”

The man grins. “Oho! That’s delightful! How long do you think it will take before you get it published?”

“I should be hearing back within the week,” you answer, “and after that… a month maybe, and I’m still deciding between cover designs, and I’m not sure what their exact manufacturing and publishing process is, so… I’m not a hundred percent sure when I’ll finally have it out, haha.”

“So I take it you haven’t heard about your old publisher?” the son pipes up.

“What?”

“You don’t know? He’s gone bankrupt.”

Your eyes go wide. “What?! What do you mean?”

“Mountains of debt, from what some of the other writers and editors have said,” the son explains. “Rumour has it the reason he started terminating contracts and laying off editors was so the money would go to paying it all off while still getting a cut of the profits from the books they had published through him.”

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter, before you feel yourself go pale. “Wait, wait, when did this happen?”

“Just a couple days ago,” the son says, “I’m surprised your girlfriend didn’t tell you. She still works there, right?”

“My girlfr… Alik? No, they’ve been out of town visiting family. Archons, the shitshow they’re going to be coming home to…”

“Wait, she– they’re not your–”

“No, no, I’m… I’m not interested in them like that.”

The son stares at you, and you see the little twitch of his lips. “You know what? That makes sense.”

“The hell are you implying?”

Your father’s voice making his presence beyond your central vision known scares you. You turn and see him glaring at the young man. 

The old man speaks up. “S-Sir, my apologies, my son didn’t mean any–”

“Are you insinuating something about my son, boy?”

You turn and see the son’s horrified expression. “I-It was just a joke, some banter between friends! R-Right?” he asks, looking to you for help.

“Father, calm down,” you tell him, “it’s not a big deal.”

He glares harder at the young man. “You’d like it if you thought my son wasn’t interested in that girl ‘like that,’ wouldn’t you?”

By the Tsaritsa this cannot be happening.

“I swear to you sir, it was a bad joke, I promise you, i-it sounded funnier in my head and–”

“I think it’s best we start going to another business,” your father hisses, “I don’t need you leering at my son.”

Horror floods your system, eyes widening and mouth agape. You feel your father staring holes into you expectantly, waiting for you to announce your disgust and disdain at such implications and storm out. Stuck in place, you see the old man’s face first, and he’s in a state of shock, too caught off by the situation to get angry. Then your eyes land on the young man. You can see he’s also shocked, but more than anything he looks humiliated, scared even. He looks like he’s about to start crying, and the sight switches your absolute horror to absolute rage.

You whip around, teeth bared in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“What’s my problem?! Ask him!”

You push your father’s chest and he staggers back. You point at the front door. “You already bought your shit so why are you even still in here? Just leave already!”

“And leave you alone with this–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO.”

The shop goes deathly quiet. Your father’s eyes widen, absolutely shocked by your vulgarity, before his eyes narrow again. His jaw clenches, and in the quiet, you can almost hear the creaking of his clenched teeth. He gives one more dirty look to the young man before he stomps off. He makes sure to slam the door on the way out.

Your mother says he’s a good man, there are still just some traditional things he prefers. He’s very supportive of your sisters’ career or schooling choices, and is endlessly proud of his son for meeting a hard working and loving woman. It’s a side of him that doesn’t always come up, but it rears its ugly head when it comes to you, with your love of literature and romance. You’ve never been sure if it’s because your specific career isn’t the most manly of jobs, or if it’s because writing isn’t as impressive to him as becoming a surgeon or a lawyer or taking over the family business. Regardless, you’ve seen and heard some rather ignorant opinions from him. Your mother doesn’t approve of it, but her attempts at discouraging it are little more than a look, or a hand placed gently on the shoulder and a harshly whispered “honey” or “Mikhaïl.” 

Still, what the fuck was that?

You’ve by now memorized how much your purchases will cost. Fuscienne ink ribbons, stack of paper, and some envelopes. You know roughly how much the amount would weigh in your hand, so when you reach into your pouch and pull out a rather hefty handful of golden coins, it’s purposeful.

You pour the mora into the old man’s hand. “T-Take this, I am so, so sorry, I’ve never… I’ve never seen him react like that to anything.”

The old man looks at the mora in his hand. “This… This is too much, I can’t–”

“I don’t care, please take it as an apology on my behalf,” you insist. You step back and meet his son’s eyes. You place your hand on your chest, your face burning with embarrassment. “I-I can’t tell you how fucking horrified I am, and I am so sorry this happened. He’s said stupid shit before but this is new, I-I don’t know what happened but that is not okay.”

The man sniffles. “N-No, I made the joke, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him, “and, um, if I’m honest, y-your joke wasn’t off the mark, but I…” You shake your head. “You two will always be my go to shop whenever I need supplies, so I truly cannot tell you how awful I feel about this, I’m really sorry.”

The young man forces a smile, and nods, still distressed. His father pats him on the shoulder and gestures to a door behind them. You watch him step away from your things and head through the door, and you can hear the shaky breath he lets out through the closed door.

The man takes over bagging your items, which isn’t much considering you only bought a couple things, but he’s deliberately slow in the process. You wonder why, until he speaks in a soft tone. “So… you’re like my son.”

Picking up on the meaning behind his words, you immediately feel even worse about what just happened, feeling physically nauseous. “I am, if you’re talking about… not having girlfriends.”

He nods. “Not many people know, and not many bring it up,” he says, “this is the first time something like this has happened to him in the store. I… I think he’ll appreciate what you’ve done today when he’s not so shaken up. I know I do.”

You find yourself smiling, but not out of joy. “It’s nothing, really. People are fools, and my father is a court jester. It’s honestly the least I could have done, I feel.”

“Either way, I appreciate it,” he says, and then he hands you your things. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be,” you say, “I’m just about sick of his shit anyways, if you’ll pardon my vulgarity, and if I don’t rip into him then my mother will. Again, I am so sorry.”

“You take care now, son.”

You smile and nod, your chest tight with worry and face burning with embarrassment. Not much else is said, but there’s not really a whole lot else to say. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and step outside.

Your father stops his pacing and immediately goes off when you step outside. “Where the hell do you get off embarrassing me like that?!”

Having lost all patience with him today, you immediately match his tone and energy and yell back. “Oh don’t give me all the credit, you did a fine enough job of that yourself!”

“That boy was out of line!”

“So you started berating him in front of his father? You started insulting him?”

“Do you not understand how inappropriate that joke was?”

“No, enlighten me.”

“He was implying you’re a queer! A queer! Why aren’t you upset about that?!”

There it is again.

You press on. “Why should I be?”

“You know why!”

“What the hell is your problem? Why are you so mad about that?”

“What are people going to say if they think I raised a queer?”

“It can’t be anything worse than what they’re going to say about you going off on an old man and his son for stupid reasons!” You grin angrily at him. “Front page, ‘owner of Kuznetsov Shipping Company verbally abuses shopkeeper's son.’ Like you need the bad press when you’re starting to get your shit back together. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“What’s wrong with me? I could ask the same thing to you!” your father spits. “You’re going to defend some… some…!”

“Let’s not say anything too deplorable now,” you tell him, like a parent talking to a fussy toddler, “you might want to save that for when we get home.”

“This is your fault,” your father growls.

“How is this my fault?”

“Those prissy little fairytales you keep writing,” he answers, “they think you’re a queer.”

“And what… what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with– son, are you gay?”

“What? No! Besides, I don’t have to be gay to think you’re being an ass, I can still see you, and they can probably hear you spouting hate from the palace.”

“You don’t have a wife, or a girlfriend, you don’t try to find one, and you spend all day reading girly books!”

“Like you’re any better,” you snap, and then immediately regret.

“What was that?”

Fuck. Well, you’re already in it now.

“You are obsessed with Pantalone,” you tell your father, “obsessed with getting on his good side, obsessed with making sure he likes you, your practices, that we don’t embarrass you in front of him, you even hijacked the afternoon tea he invited me and only me to! You want to point fingers and call me gay because I write romance? At least all my books are about men and women! You literally spend every day thinking about how to impress another man.”

You watch your father wind his arm back, but he’s stopped and seized by gloved hands. You step back in surprise, and when he’s pulled back, you can see he’s been grabbed by two guards. It brings you back to the present moment, and reminds you that you aren’t one of two people in the whole world. You look around the snowy street and see people, couples and families and a couple tourists, frozen in their spots on the street just staring at the spectacle. You look up at the shop and see the old man watching you, concerned.

“Unhand me!” your father yells.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down before you do anything stupid,” replies the guard.

A third guard steps out from behind the first tow and approaches you. “What is the meaning of all this yelling?”

“A-Ah…” You look over and spot your dad, no longer resisting, glaring daggers at you. “It’s… a family dispute.” 

“A family dispute?”

“Look, I’m sorry about causing a scene,” you answer, “my father and I had a disagreement, no one got hurt–”

“Because we stopped him from hitting you.”

“I know, I know, just…” You sigh. “I don’t want to press any charges, if there’s a fine for disturbing the peace, we’ll pay it.”

The guard looks to the other two, then to your father. He sighs, then turns back to you. “... Fine. We’re letting you off with a warning.” He looks over at your father and points at you as he addresses him. “You’re only off the hook because of him,” he says, then turns to you, “and you’re still on your feet because we stepped in. Remember this next time you let a family dispute get heated.”

“O-Of course, sir,” you reply.

The guards let your father go, and he gives them a dirty look while he straightens his coat back out. You don’t bother with sticking around, electing to instead turn around and walk down the street of murmuring people. Your father doesn’t bother calling out for you to follow him home, heading in the opposite direction instead.

You keep your gaze forward as you head to a currently unknown destination, just wanting to be anywhere else. Maybe the bakery down the road, something sweet would do a good job washing the bitter taste out of your mouth. 

The Pantalone comment was stupid, you think as you happen to pass the man himself, though your humiliation and wish to not be seen makes you figuratively blind to that fact (as well as literally). He stops when he recognizes who just passed him, half tempted to call out and ask how you’re doing, but refrains. Your body language is obvious and painfully honest, almost to a fault, and he can see you want to vacate the area as soon as possible. When he happens to look the other way, recognizing the silhouette of your father angrily storming in the opposite direction, he sighs.

“So that’s what all that racket was…”