#I pulled not one. not two. but THREE all nighters turning my cloudy thoughts into coherent words

[coralearei]

Yandere MBTI: Mydei

Notes:

Based on the Yan!MBTI system made by @/ddarker-dreams

MDNI -- NSFW mentioned (nothing too explicit)

Word Count: 1,032

GN! Reader

Cruel - Aware - Honest - Lenient

Cruel vs. Reverent

Mydei’s cruelty sometimes comes in the form of verbal threats candidly describing what he has planned for you if you don’t acquiesce to his demands. These menacing remarks are clear, concise, and typically quite graphic— often he’ll threaten to fracture your ribs in the composed, casual manner he uses to comment on anything else. Many times, these threats will also accompany a smirk that doesn’t try to hide his exhilaration at the thought of pushing your limits.

That isn’t to say that he isn’t all bark and no bite… Mydei tends to enact physical affliction unexpectedly, without any sort of warning. He revels in your startled movements as he wills scarlet crystals to poke their keen vertices out of the ground, watching you skittishly flinch away just for another to take shape barely centimeters in front of you. He doesn’t particularly like letting the crystals impale you— a jolt or so is reasonable—  but Mydei prefers to do anything more severe with his own two hands. His touch isn’t much worse; his gauntlets feel just as solid against your skin as the crystallized blood you’re subject to on a regular basis.

Unlike the jagged gems, however, Mydei himself is far more rough with you, sadistically poking and prodding your pleading, shaking body. You can’t do much more than beg him to have mercy, to stop, and promise that you won’t make the same mistake twice. Whether or not you learn from situations like this doesn’t matter— whenever Mydei puts his hands on you, it’s not only punishment— you become a rather fine source of entertainment.

Aware vs. Delusional

Mydei doesn’t pay much attention to your own love for him— that isn’t what he wants out of you in this relationship. He also happens to be someone who harbors feelings of hatred deep within himself, and he can’t blame you for doing the same. Nevertheless, Mydei will tear down any sort of defiance on the surface level that you direct at him— that sort of behavior can be quite inconvenient and untoward to deal with. What really matters to him is your ability to follow orders and your willingness to obey.

Not unlike a lot of other people, you’re quite terrified of Mydei. This is something he not only knows, but uses against you. But he doesn’t only rely on intimidation, he’s also prone to enjoying the threats he gives you in order to force you to submit. You always do. That’s Mydei’s favorite part of your personality, or so he claims. The way you never defy him in the end might make him less of a lover and more of a predator— which he indifferently accepts. Mydei is all but used to hatred and strife anyways.

Manipulative vs. Honest

Mydei approaches you head-on, with no hesitation whatsoever. When you first catch his eye, he decides you'll be a pretty thing to keep around-- and he wants to have you. Your willingness to cooperate with Mydei is won over as a result of his adroitness, which you know better as his ability to humiliate you. He isn’t afraid to threaten you in public, and when he does, you never turn down his demands in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. When Mydei does win you over, he makes sure to treat you accordingly, like the good little trophy you ought to be.

Regardless of the torment his behavior causes you, Mydei isn’t guilty in the slightest about what he does to you. Verbally, he isn’t quite upfront with you about it, but Mydei’s actions speak louder than his words. He was born to rule a city-state that glorified battle and bloodshed, which is what led him to brutally murder the former king of Castrum Kremnos. Mydei doesn’t justify the way he treats you, unlike the case in which he killed his father— but he doesn’t need a reason to. His hands have already been stained with so much blood, both literal and figurative, so what’s one more instance of the suffering of another that he causes?

Ultimately, Mydei feels utterly indifferent towards your happiness, though he does tend to take a great amount of pride when your suffering is caused by his own hands. When he’s done with you, he’ll admires the wounds and welts that decorate your pretty skin, knowing that your every imperfection is the product of his handiwork.

Strict vs. Lenient

Though Mydei gives you some semblance of freedom while he’s away, you know that there’s so much more on the line if you do anything that might ignite the spark of his fury’s flames. And although Mydei is easily annoyed, there isn’t a lot you can do to truly anger him.

For the most part, he doesn’t have a problem with leaving you to your own devices. You aren’t plucked apart from your own life when Mydei decides he’s going to make you his; he inconveniently inserts himself into yours instead. In the early stages of your abruptly-begun ‘relationship’ with him, he’s around you as much as possible, which is quite often for someone who spends so much time on the battlefield. Even so, in many cases you don’t exactly see Mydei, but he’s sure to constantly make his presence known. It’s almost like you can almost feel him near you, though you can’t quite place exactly where.

Soon enough, he has to go to war again. You almost feel a sense of relief knowing that you really all alone now— assuming you are, of course. However, it’s not as if you’re completely let off the hook during Mydei’s campaigns, which can span up to several months at a time. He’ll find time to visit you more than a few times, much to your disappointed surprise. Mydei’s sporadic visits do not only serve as a method to keep you in check. They’re also for his benefit; brashly fucking you helps him release some of his pent-up anger. If you happen to be out and about when Mydei returns, he’ll find you regardless— you’re never able to get far. And when he does find you and return to his residence with you in tow, you always know to expect much worse.

[molamocha]

Dance For Me

Type: Dancer!Au, Taeyong x reader

Genre: Smut

A/N&Warnings: Unprotected (sock or sleeve, wrap ur pp), it's short ik but I'm trying

Words: 4.8k

How well you handle the awkwardness of that first step decides your talent. What will you choose to willingly correct and improve for the crowd that awaits you? Streaks on the floor like pencil shavings left by an artist, muscles sore like a musician's tired fingers. Process 'til progress is the real beauty in arts.

Sweat rolls down your back as you study the others' movements, following along as you tweak the choreo to your liking. Not too stiff like the original but nothing too off that makes you look like a noodle.

"Not to name any names," your choreographer peers his eyes to the person behind you, "Taeyong." 

The group laughs, the man in question not as amused. Taeyong is wiggly, but his dancing is eye-catching; Borderline seductive, but fascinating. Just the way he flows through the music, making each move seem like one motion until the routine hits a pop. Your eyes tend to follow taeyong, admiring, and he tends to reciprocate, amused. Not that you're complaining though, but the days you decide to focus, it's jarring to notice his full on stare. 

"Stop that." You say, pausing your routine.

"Stop what?" Taeyong asks, attempting to act oblivious.

"There they go again." someone mumbles. Snickering from across the room echoes through the practice room.

You haven't known Taeyong for long, but the back and forth relationship the two of you have together is well known, even with no one really knowing how it started. The audience seems to enjoy it, though your mind hesitates to linger around the ideas and the rumors, despite your heaving contribution in allowing them to spread. It's fun to play along but going farther than that is, well, you don't really know.

"Stop flirting already, someone might get hurt one day." The team leader mumbles.

"Yea stop teasing me, I might start taking it seriously." You laugh, half-heartedly pushing taeyong to the side. 

"What makes you think I'm not already?" He grins. You groan as you shake his words off, not really able to read whether it was a joke or not as the rest of the room's yelling adds fuel to the fire heating up the room's atmosphere.

~|•

"So what's the score?" The girl next to you asks. You don't really know her name, but you know she's the center lead in this project.

"What score?" 

"The score between you and taeyong's game, or are you two just flirting?"

You scoff, "No, we're not."

"Whatever you're doing, Taeyong is winning." A voice behind you adds. You look in the mirror to see a fit figure on the other side behind you. Meeting eyes you recognize his wide friendly smile. 

You laugh a hello, "And what makes you think he's winning, Mr. Nakamoto, since you're just so eager to add input." You dramatically reply.

He makes a face in reply to your sarcasm as he sits down next to you. "What do you mean by winning?" You repeat.

"It's like the two of you are playing chicken," He says, reaching for his feet to stretch, "You almost always walk away."

"Well yea, he plays too much." 

"I can tell, could practically hear your heart beat from across the room." 

You suck your teeth, hearing a giggle from the girl next to you, "So how do I win a round?" You ask, hitting his shoulder.

"Just go farther"

"And what does that entail?"

Yuta sits up, "Whatever is needed."

You groan and he shrugs, "Look, if you're gonna be distracting at least make it interesting."

"Was it not before?" You laugh, "Hard to tell with how you all tease."

He waves you off, "Some of us are starved and some haven't slept in 26 hours." He stretches his arm to the side, "You're boring."

You snatch your bag up from the floor, "Well I wasn't trying to entertain either." You mutter, and you meant that. Nevermind how the games started, how it never ends is what's puzzling, especially with no knowledge or strong interest in your opponent. 

It's hard to get to know him, or to settle your feelings since every sentence between the two of you is 'joke' material. No matter how long you've been acting professional that day, with no hint or interest in being playful, it seems to end that way. Though, the group isn't complete without the two of you. They all say that it's lightened up since you came, but you don't know whether you should take it as friends trying to make you feel better or audience members egging for a sequel.

"I don't think I have any real interest in you." You think aloud.

 Taeyong flinches, retracting his hand that was pointed at the rag beside you, "I just asked for you to pass my towel" he mumbles, confused.

"I'm just saying," 

"Well you're saying a lot." He interrupts, sounding hurt. Taeyong snatches the towel from the railing next to you before walking back to his bag across the room. There's people around, and you're sure they heard your sudden confession, but they don't show their interest.

After involuntarily hurting the mouse's feelings, and, since the day started, neither of you have been playing game you decide to throw.

"Can you blame me though?" You yell from across the room, "Hard to peak interest when it's one sided, no?"

Taeyong turns with a smile back on his face, "I find you very interesting." He retaliates, accepting your challenge, "Dare say I like you." He strides closer, a full audience anticipating with you. He trails on, "Like you, love you," he stops in front of you, his face leaning towards your ear, "Want you." 

Your chest weighs at the last part; he's treading deeper into territory neither of you have tried to entertain. The room erupts and you push taeyong off as the instructor enters the room, slightly disappointed at the mess. 

"Why is it this every week"

~|•

Waking up to a cold and cloudy dawn usually makes you sleep in, but the pop in your back from shifting your weight made you rethink that maybe it's not the day to be late. Walking in you follow a few others in stretching before practice starts. 

Stretching can probably be the most painful after a few hours of practice, let alone waking up sore. Having to massage your shoulders and legs while catering to any muscle feeling heavier than the rest. Collective sighs of satisfaction scattered around the room sounding damn near erotic, making you look up in the mirror to make sure a certain someone isn't eyeing you. 

He isn't here yet, in fact, practically no one is. Some friendly faces and a few unknown, probably late nighters that go home around this time. After declining to grab breakfast with the rest of the group it leaves you with one other person, thankfully someone you recognize. 

"Imma go grab a drink." They inform. You nod and they take one last stretch before leaving the room. As they leave, the door lingers open as a new person enters.

"Oh, you're here early." He says.

You try not to roll your eyes because, of course, what timing. "I needed the time to stretch." You reply, your tone sounding unfriendly.

You both stare a while before looking away, you continuing to stretch while he goes to a corner to drop his bag. He stands quietly in his place in a daze, messing with his bottle cap. You try to ignore his presence, hoping someone else comes in to break the ice.

"Isn't it funny?" 

You flinch, "Huh?"

"We're quiet when we're actually alone with each other," he walks over, sitting on the floor a few steps from you, "Isn't it funny?"

"Well," you sit up, "I don't have anything to say."

He opens his legs, stretching forward, "We've been messing with each other for months now and you don't have anything to say?" He laughs.

"Why are you so focused on me?" You laugh back.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asks, voice going soft.

You turn towards him, his eyes glassy and innocent, and for the first time you admit to yourself of how cute he is. His question tickles your ear, making your heart beat a little louder than usual. An answer, or at least something to change the subject, not even on your tongue. 

A knock is heard and you both turn to the door, noticing your instructor shyly glancing through the glass. "I thought I was interrupting something." He jokes, sliding through the door. You stand, chuckling gratefully at his timing.

The instructor comes Monday and Friday to check progress, take suggestions, and/or show a new song to choreograph. This is the first time in a while you were happy for his presence, but it didn't last long.

"Deadline four days away, deadline three days away." You mumble to yourself in your seat. 

Deadlines being hung over everyone's head as if that does anything. "If we miss this date, we can't extend" yadda yadda yadda. You decide to take a break since yesterday is still sore on your back, watching the other few that decided to stay and practice, one being taeyong of course. Even when you're not practicing he's a distraction, from his movements to the expressions he makes, sparks flares in your body. Even when he glances at you from the mirror you don't break away.

He walks over and reaches for the water sitting on the sill behind you.

"You seem awfully focused on me today." He smirks.

"You're fun to watch."

He leans in, "does that mean you're interested?"

Something sets off in your head, contrast to your shyness this morning, urging you to pull back. You grab at his shirt, playing a little too far, and pull him forward. He stretches his hand out to the sill to stop his fall, pausing face to face in front of you. Your teasing treading over a thin line between the usual jokes and hard flirting.

"Maybe just a little curious." 

A larger group enters the room to make the attendance more reasonable. They walk in as the two of you face each other, one looking sly while the other distraint.

"Get a room already."

You laugh, "Don't you guys get tired of the same jokes." You ask, attempting to break away from taeyong's wide eyes.

The dancer raises a brow suggestively, "Aren't you two a bit closer than your usual," he lifts his fingers mockingly, "jokes"

You scoff, letting your grip on the shirt let loose. Taeyong admits defeat by shying away, for the first time in a while, in the loud hype that's different than the group's usual chaffing. 

Even as everything settled there was a numbness in your hand from the warmth of his chest. The way his breath tickled your chin, and the look in his eye lingers in your head the rest of practice. While busying yourself with entertaining the crowd, avoiding his eyes, you swear he would've been able to hear your heartbeat.

~|•

"I'm tired." Someone announces, the rest of the room echoing their opinions on dinner as they start to crowd into a group of the starving and the people staying. Taeyong being the only one next to you for not wanting to leave to go eat yet, and the dancers rile up again with their jokes.

"So you two are staying alone again?" The dancer taunts with an annoying grin, "Maybe this time we won't interrupt." Another adds.

Taeyong waves them off, his neck going red directing them to the door while they continue. The door closes as the group leaving teasingly peeks through the glass. Taeyong pulls the shade over the door and the group exclaims before laughing and fading away down the hall. 

Silence settles in the room, even with two people still inside it. You and Taeyong awkwardly let your eyes wander around the room. The razzing never gets to you really, in fact, you've thought about it yourself. How being with the man fidgeting on the other side of the room would be, but it's more embarrassing to think about it when the person is right there, and is the only person right there.

"Um," You shift your eyes to taeyong, "So, should we go over the bridge again?" he finishes. You nod your head in agreement as you walk towards where your position, glad to do something that shakes off the silence.

The bridge of the song is still difficult to compose well with the moves prepared, nevermind adlibs. As you watch your movements in the mirror you hear snickering from behind you.

"What?" You smile. He waves his hands to excuse his laughing, "You look like a noodle." he giggles. Your face scrunches up, half hurt, half exaggerated as you mock his words.

"You either do too much or you're stiff." He teases.

You turn to him and he flinched, "You wiggle more than me." You accuse, now sounding a little offended by his criticism. 

"It's a wave not a wiggle."

"Well let's see you do it."

He scoffs, "My pleasure."

Taeyong positions himself while you reset the music. His body responds immediately to the first beat of the song, brushing and flowing through even the stiff movements. "See, right here." His chest raises as the rest of his body follows in a tidal motion. You gaze at how his hips roll through the movement, matching with the music in the background. Your mind seeming blank as several thoughts rush through your head, unable to keep one still to comprehend. The music pauses and your head snaps up to meet Taeyong's expectant expression.

"Did you hear? I want to see you now, and don't do this." He says, mocking what you supposedly were doing. You suck your teeth at him and he laughs, turning on the music.

You get into position and dance the way you normally dance. Not as fluid as taeyong but of course you have your own style. While watching yourself in the mirror you can see, out of focus, taeyong watching. His stare making your body heat up the more you focus on him.

"Ah, that's still not it." he complains, pausing the music. Approaching you, placing one hand on your side, he holds your hip as his other hand rests on your back. "Like this, follow carefully." His grip tightens, slightly lifting your hip and pulling it back as his hands travel to your waist to guide it to match the movement. 

Your heart drumming at the sudden contact, trying to think professionally as new thoughts rush in. His hand is warmer than expected. Veins poking at the surface, making it harder to suppress a blush as his hands move along with your body. Feeling like a massage while rocking you the way he wanted.

"Wait," you giggle. Taeyong tilts his head.

"It tickles." You excuse. It was a poor excuse, but it was the fastest to say that didn't result in more questions.

"Tickles?"

He thinks for a moment without letting go, his eyes seeing a little more dangerous as your heart sounds louder. His arms roam around you with his head perched on your shoulder, "I like holding you this way though." He grins, not yet settled into you. 

He's risking it, giving you all the cards. This strays far from what you two usually do to mess with each other that it's hard to excuse it as anything but flirting. His sudden stance seeming a little more alluring, feeding into the thoughts you've been having for a while now. You settle your hands over his arms, "Didn't we talk about this?" You say, not yet giving into him.

"About what?" He replies languidly, leaning into you.

"Don't tease me when we're alone, I might start believing you."

"Then believe it" He hums, swaying the both of you.

You stiffen to stop his swaying, brushing his arms from around you. "What?" he whines.

"That's not funny." You fuss, putting distance between the two of you.

"I wasn't being funny." He follows, reaching for your arm. 

He tugs at you to stop and you turn to him, waiting to shake him off. He slips closer, "Do you remember my reply?" He asks, giving your wrist a squeeze.

"To what?" You question, he doesn't answer. He stares for a moment, his eyes looking idle, and you stand across from him, waiting, wanting, expecting something. The beating in your chest you never noticed to fade comes back as Taeyong seems to scoot closer. Swiftly, he grabs hold of your face to attach your lips to his. It's short, but he pulls back, looking into your eyes for a response.

"Taeyong," you breathe, he doesn't let you finish, pulling you back in for longer contact. You hold onto his arms, not sure whether to give into your urges or to pull away. The movement of his lips slightly opening your mouth, he groans as you unconsciously deepen the kiss. He removes a hand to wrap an arm around to pull you closer. Your hands wander to his side, gripping his shirt as you back into a wall. 

"Please," he breathes, "Don't pull away." 

His desperation only fueling your own as you wrap your arms around his neck, tangling fingers in his hair. The desire held hidden behind each other's games now flooding through, making you both crave to go further. Your lips feeling like not enough as his hands fidget over the hem of your shirt, slightly brushing against the warmth underneath. You tug his belt loose as you two wander around the room for a surface, barely breaking apart from each other. 

The kiss parts once taeyong is backed into a sofa, you climbing on top as he gets settled in the new position. Tops go flying as you dig for each other's skin, taeyong pulling at your sports bra before kissing your exposed chest. He unbuttons your pants, a hand shoving itself through to tease at your wet folds. You sigh, grabbing his wrists to urge him to go further. He dips in through your labia before sinking a finger into your opening.

You twitch at the feeling as chills are sent up your body, the cold air in the room spiking your skin. He probes around, testing certain spots before adding another finger to satisfy the dull pleasure from before. You moan as his fingers retrace the spots you responded to, massaging into its softness. 

You clench around his fingers when his hand brushes up against your clit, grinding down, in an attempt to gain more friction. 

"What're you looking for?" Taeyong whispers. He shifts his hand, rubbing his palm into you, "Is it this?" He breathes, smiling at your whining. He rubs in harder, quickening the pace of his fingers.

Your hips jerk forward to follow his hands. "Baby," He grabs your side, "Slow down." He laughs, trailing kisses down your neck. Parting from nipping and sucking on your neck, he watches you desperately grind on him in awe. "God you're so responsive." 

You can't hear him, rubbing yourself against his palm as he works you to the edge with his fingers. A knot begins to form at the pit of your stomach, causing a twitch in your movements despite his hold on you. Before you reach your release he stops, pulling out and you whine. The wetness of his finger brushing against your swollen bud as he takes his hand out. 

He licks at the gloss inching down his fingers before holding his hand up towards you in curiosity. Without looking back at him, you lick at his fingers, sucking and allowing your teeth to lightly drag on the digits while he watches aimlessly. 

He curses as he pulls his hand away, tugging you in for a sloppy kiss. Teeth dragging at skin as he struggles with your pants.

"God, we have no room to do anything." He huffs, tossing your bottoms to the side before helping you undo his.

"We can do it on the floor." You throw in, nowhere near being serious.

He stops for a moment, wrapping an arm around you before sliding off the cushions.

You giggle, "I was joking."

Taeyong shushes you, "You say too much."

He pulls you up to straddle him as he pulls down his boxers, sighing into your touch as you grab him while positioning yourself. You stroke him as you tease yourself with his member, hands kneading impatiently at your hips while you pucker your entrance at his tip. The both of you sighing, rolling ur heads back as you slowly lower yourself on his erection. 

He throbs inside you, letting you take over until you feel comfortable with his size before grasping your hips and quickening the pace. Taeyong fondly watching as your noises echo through the room. Your hands clawing and grabbing at his shoulders as he rolls your hips on his cock. Your body desperate for more as you begin to grind against him.

He stops you, pulling out. Your breathing slows, looking at him confused. 

"Turn around." He demands.

You turn over, being greeted by a teasing slap on the ass. You wince at the sting and the hand still latched onto your hip nudges you to hurry. You look up as you settle yourself, meeting eyes with your reflection before quickly looking down.

"What's wrong?" Taeyong asks, trailing kisses up your back, "Is it the mirrors?" 

He lifts you up by the hips before pushing himself back inside you. You lose focus, grabbing his wrist as you rest your head on his shoulder. "Don't worry baby, you're beautiful." He sighs, slinking an arm around to grab your breast. 

He pulls you in close as he begins to rock into you. Selfishly, he begins to snap his hips into you, groaning as you dig your nails in his arms for support. He uses his hold on your hip to guide you in a rocking motion, not wasting time to regain the tempo.

"Do it like how we practiced baby" he moans. His force snaps you forward, your body burning from the friction, his wet kisses tickling your nape. 

"Taeyong please," you barely cry out, unable to keep up with him, "Slower."

Taeyong listens, loosening his grip and slowing down the pace, exchanging his speed with rougher strokes. You lean forward, stretching an arm out that hits the mirror glass in front of you. Smacking noises re-enter the room, louder than the moans and groans you both are attempting to keep under control. 

Grabbing your jaw, he lifts your head up to meet eyes through the glass. "Look at how pretty you are" he rasps breathlessly, giving you a full view of yourself in the mirror. Hair messy with sweat gathered around your hairline, mouth unable to close as every thrust forces out a breath. It's almost embarrassing how exposed you are, the only thing preserving your privacy being the blinds over the glass door. 

~|•

The next few days you decide to take a break from practice. Waking up the few mornings after that night made looking into your own reflection somewhat jarring. Besides, it'd be best to keep distance until your ears stop tingling from the memory of his breath, or until the lingering feeling of his hands go away. Even then, how do you go back to normal from that?

Turning over for the nth time to stare at the time as your thoughts pace back and forth with whether or not you should just go. The break and the sleeping in was nice and all but your body is eager to move now, and it doesn't feel the same practicing at home. You're only eight hours late, you should just stay in again, right? Go tomorrow maybe.

You turn back over and away from the clock, your body feeling more and more restless to the point where laying down is uncomfortable. 

You sit up with a huff and look around for some clothes to leave with, deciding that playing keep away from yourself is nothing but tiresome.

"I just hope he's not here today"

~|•

You peek into the room seeing a few others packing up on the other side of the room. He's seated in a wrongly facing chair in the corner, head propped up on the chair's backrest as his arms loosely lace around it. He glances at you before looking away, and what a coincidence for you to show up when the others were getting ready to leave. 

As you fight with whether it was dumb to be late or come dance in the first place the others pass by you and give a short greeting before leaving. When the door closes awkwardness chills the room, taeyong's chair tapping echoing through the room.

"Are you not leaving with them?" You ask, carefully. Taeyong shakes his head. You whisper an "Okay" to yourself to end the conversation and turn away from him, glancing at the mirrors.

"You can go ahead," Taeyong offers, "I'm just sitting here."

You nod and walk over to connect your playlist to the speakers. As you start to warm up you notice the gaze from the person behind you, trying your best to ignore him.

 "Are you nervous?" Taeyong asks, interrupting your concentration.

You pause and look at him from the mirror, "What makes you think I'm nervous?"

He points to the floor and you look down, "Your legs do a thing when you're nervous, you did it the other night too." His eyes widen and he flinches from his own words. Taeyong clears his throat and you sputter a few 'um'-s before turning the music up and continuing on with your routine.

Taeyong watches for a minute before getting up himself, following your movements with his own style. Shoes streaking the floors all the while your body selfishly moves with the rhythm and melodies, leaving your feet to catch up. The rolls and the twisting, making edgy motions seem charming, this is what you've worked for.

At some point a piece of the song starts to sound familiar, almost hauntingly familiar. Taeyong slows his movements to a stop and looks over at you. You stop and look over too, meeting his eyes. The music continues, playing the part of the song taeyong insisted on practicing together. You look away and finish off the song after avoiding the waving part, and taeyong continues to watch until the song ends. There's a pause in the atmosphere that you ignore to go dig for your water bottle. 

"Act normal and I wouldn't say anything, but acting awkward makes me want to talk about it." he explains, practically announcing it. His abrupt confession makes you choke on your water and he sucks his teeth at your reaction.

He leans against the wall, "What's the problem?" 

You hesitate to reply, taeyong continues, "Was it the sex?"

You cringe at the memory, "Not specifically," You start, "Just the fact that it was here."

He gives a confused look, "I thought it was obvious that we both didn't want to wait." You stare off to think back. "Plus," he lifts himself off the wall, walking towards you, "You push me towards the sofa." He accused, pointing a finger.

 You open your mouth to say something, "Ah!" he interrupts, raising his hand to stop you. 

He settles back in his seat, rolling it closer than where it's been when you first arrived. "Are you still not going to say anything?"

"I don't know what else to say."

Taeyong frowns for a moment, "Well," he starts, jumping from his seat.

"If you're going to avoid me," he continues, striding closer, "At least," he pauses as his hands move to settle on your sides, leaning into you, "Let me give you something to be embarrassed about."

You should feel confused, you should push him away, but the memories of the other night crawl back into your head. A new feeling or neediness dances through your head, causing your chest to feel hot like before.

He nudges you, lifting an eyebrow at your mused expression. "We should leave, no?" His hands creep up your shirt, caressing the skin under it, "Should we?" he repeats, eyes looking impatient. You play with his belt loops, not wanting to answer but setting an obvious hint to satisfy his questions. He grabs your wrists and pins you against the wall, head creeping past so his lips meet your ears.

"Am I asking a question?" he taunts, you nod. He hums, "And I expect verbal answers, yes?" He lets go of your wrists and settles his hands back on your waist, his grasp seeming desperate.

 "Am I taking you home or not?" 

[bennydwight]

Bondmates- A FordxOC Oneshot

I’ve never put a story directly onto tumblr before, but I don’t feel right putting this on my fanfiction page until Dakota’s story is fully published, so I suppose I’ll just throw it into the ether here.

Bondmark: A distinguishing mark, feature, or otherwise occurrence for an individual hinting to the identity of their perfect match

~~~

Dakota is nearly twelve when her bondmark manifests; earlier than most, but not unheard of.

She wakes up one morning to see a stripe of swirling colour on the inside of her left wrist, a vortex of tangerine and bright purple, shifting in and out of intensity as the day progresses. She's so excited, and jitteringly nervous too, for some reason, running down to show her parents right away. They say after school they can celebrate!

She's just gotten home from school when the galaxy on her wrist washes deep, deep crimson, and she's hit by a wave of rage so thick and relentless that she's broken three plates before it ebbs. Her parents send her to bed, the celebration cut short.

In the days that follow, her wrist fades to a numb grey, and Dakota sinks into a bone-deep depression.

Her parents take her to see a therapist.

~

Twenty-five year old Stanford has accepted by now that his bondmark won't manifest.

Logic and studies show that ninety-nine percent of people receive their bondmark before their twentieth birthday, and less than 0.01 of the remaining one percent go through life without their bondmark ever making an appearance. Ford makes peace with that, just another way he's a freak. An outsider.

During a class on calculus, a song gets stuck in Ford's head. It sticks around for hours and all attempts to drown it out are futile.

It takes a week for Ford to realize that the voice in his head isn't one he's ever heard before.

~

Dakota knows two things about her bondmate:

One - They're emotionally connected somehow.

The colours on her wrist are quickly identified to reflect the feelings of her bondmate, different colours representing different emotions. If he (she assumes it's a he) feels something strongly enough, Dakota will feel it too. She starts to differentiate which are her emotions are which are his by the taste: hers are tasteless, but his leave a sour taste in the back of her throat, like she'd just drank milk.

Her therapist offers a coping solution during her first sessions. Art or music, something to make her happy when his negativity threatens to overwhelm her. She chooses singing.

She's twenty when he starts to respond.

Two - He's slightly stunted, in her opinion.

His deep emotion affects her in a way, but he ever since those first few weeks, he hasn't felt anything deeply at all. But she develops a habit of keeping an eye on the colours shifting on her wrist and singing to match them. In his sadness, she sings brightly, and the cloudy blue on her skin lightens to a more cheery eggshell. When he's anxious, she learns slow, ancient songs in odd languages. In his anger, she sings soothing melodies from her childhood.

She hopes it's because they're a bondmatch, and her mood influences him as well.

~

Ford knows two things about his bondmate:

One - They're emotionally connected somehow.

He realizes within a week that she knows what he's thinking to some degree. Her songs change to equal or balance what thoughts weigh in his head. During his exams, she sings almost exclusively in Latin, which spurns a desire to learn the language so he knows what she's saying.

He sings back once, his name and age in a simple melody, to see if they are a bondmatch, but she doesn't respond. That's alright, he tells himself, bondmatches happen once in every five hundred thousand. He's just happy to have a bond at all.

Two - She's an alto.

If her screechy attempts at a high C are any indicator. Fiddleford gets very concerned one day after he right near jumps out of his skin at the murderous scream resounding through his skull.

His initial annoyance vanishes under the next line, as she sings about how awful that note was to the original tune of the song.

He smiles for real for the first time in what seems like forever.

Fiddleford gives him an odd look, but doesn't press further, and Ford is grateful for it.

~

Dakota's bondmate is more frustrated than normal today.

The mark on her wrist has been a steady, dulled burgundy all morning, and the back of her mouth stings under the sour taste of his emotion.

She tries singing something to cheer herself up, a German celebratory song with a catchy chorus.

The taste in her mouth intensifies, and her mark is shot through with an angrier, burnt rust as his frustration turns to outright irritation.

She stops singing. It's not making her feel better anyway.

~

Ford can't concentrate.

This quantum mechanics test has been the hardest he's ever encountered thus far, and he pulled an all-nighter to study. Sleepless, running on coffee, and nerves about the test are bad enough.

Halfway through question three, his bondmate starts singing something raucous.

On any other day, Ford might meet the cheerful tune with a smile, but he's trying to focus. The moment he's sure he'll have an outburst if she continues any longer, she stops.

The test is over in an hour, but she doesn't sing again for the rest of the day.

~

Dakota is finding more and more recently that her bondmate is keeping odd hours.

She wakes up at three AM to find her wrist vibrating in swirls of thrilled lemon and inspired peach. His anticipation is tangible. What's got him so excited so late?

She sings softly, trying to lift her own spirits, but she can't stop the unwelcome thought. What if someone else is making him so excited so late?

The notes are cheerful, but the words are melancholy.

~

Ford glances up from the chess board as lilting notes drift across his mindscape in an odd, echoing quality. His partner notices his grin, gaze shifting upwards to follow Ford's, though the song seems to emanate from the very essence of the vast expanse of Ford's mind. "What's that?"

"My bondmate." Ford is pleased she's up so late, his friend has never yet gotten the pleasure of hearing one of her songs. She's picked a good one, and it serves to lift Ford's already bright mood.

"Oh yeah, that old ritual." Bill moves his pawn. "Seems a little distracting, don't you think?"

Ford looks to the 'sky', his smile fading. Maybe it is...

~

Dakota hasn't slept well in months.

What started as a few odd days, wrist fading to colours she's never seen him experience, turns into weeks of deepening anxiety, marked by tangerine spots so intense they're almost white, and an ugly charcoal gray. She gets twitchy and restless, like there's something she should be doing. The taste of his emotion starts small, but eventually she can't stand most food for the sour taste in her mouth.

She knows these feelings aren't hers, but it doesn't make falling asleep any easier.

She sings herself French lullabies, but they don't help her much.

~

Ford has to find a way to stop him.

Ford doesn't have a way to stop him.

Ford can't fall asleep until he finds a way to stop him!

His bondmate has other ideas. Her soft voice cuts through the mess of paranoia and fear in his brain, stilling his thoughts. No! He can't stop! No matter how tired his eyes are, or how comforting her voice is...

Ford falls asleep to foreign lullabies -

"Well, what do you know! Your better half is good for something after all!"

- And wakes up to three fractured ribs and forearms scored with hundreds of leaking cuts.

~

Dakota is at a conference when she first feels it.

The first surge of terror is brushed off, she's used to it by now, though she does still worry about her bondmate. But the anger that follows, so blood red it practically glows, prompts her to leave the conference hall and seek a secluded corner where the chances of her breaking something reduced drastically. He hasn't been healthy for a long time, but this time it's different.

Something is wrong.

She stares at her wrist, in its pulsing reds, and downs the rest of her champagne to try to rid herself of his sour taste. It's all she can do to stand there and feel.

Something sparks on the stripe of colour, a tiny burst of the darkest gray she'd ever seen. Rapidly, the gray overcomes the blood, and Dakota is struck by a panic that reverberates to the very core of her being.

Something is wrong!

It's brief, but the sheer scope makes it seem like the shock is drawn out forever.

Then, nothing.

It's as if the air conditioner has been shut off, and you find yourself in a house that's deafeningly silent. A constant, gentle stream of emotion Dakota has felt since she was eleven ebbed in an instant. She feels some horrific being has reached down her throat and yanked out her very core, leaving her nothing but a hollow shell.

Her boss finds her some time later, in the fetal position against the wall.

Somewhere, somehow, she registers the stripe on her wrist has gone completely black.

~

Ford doesn't have much time to think the moment he enters the nightmare realm. Survival takes precedence.

He's occupied for the next standard week trying to devise a way to defeat Bill.

It takes him a month before he has enough downtime to realize he hasn't heard singing once since he became trapped.

It takes him another three years to come to terms with the fact that he'll never hear her again.

He wants so badly to quietly break down somewhere. If Bill finds him, so be it. But he quashes the impulse. He has work to do.

~

Dakota doesn't sing for years after her bond dies.

She started singing to cope with his feelings, and now there's no reason to.

~

Ford turns and leaves without a word.

The hospitable Urarians are confused. Why would the best choir on the planet cause their guest to react this way?

~

Thirty years pass.

Dakota is humming tunelessly as she cooks bacon, but her breath stops as her chest explodes in anger.

The force causes her to stumble, grasping the counter for balance. Saliva gathers in her mouth to combat the sudden sour sensation. She can barely breathe for the rage, eyesight going blurry.

And then she can't breathe for the tears.

Because the stripe on her wrist is glaring blessed crimson.

~

Thirty years and a day pass.

Ford lays down on the couch, arm covering his eyes. He's back. He's back.

Somewhere, a song comes on, and Ford is just about to shout at Stanley to turn the radio down when his chest constricts.

The voice is in his head.

After thirty years of silence, he can no longer contain his sobs, but his grief pales in comparison to his pure relief.

She's back. She's back.

~

Dakota lowers her hand. "My wrist changes colours with what he's feeling."

They peer closely at the gentle pink etched onto her skin, just a shade grayer than her usual complexion. She smiles at their interest. Neither of the twins have their bondmark yet, and Mabel was practically bursting with excitement at meeting someone whose mark was physical. She'd asked to see it nearly as soon as Dakota sat down. Bondmarks are precious to some people, but Dakota has never been shy about sharing hers.

"How do you know what he's feeling?" Dipper asked, one hand on his chin. So much like his great uncle.

"Lots of practice," she answers. "This pink colour shows up when he's generally content. And see this?" She points to an olive streak slowly circling the perimeter of the mark. "He's a little under the weather right now, but it's small enough that it's only at the back of his mind and doesn't bother him much."

"And you can feel him, too?" Mabel asks, her grin like the sun.

Dakota laughs at her enthusiasm. "Only sometimes."

Dipper and Mabel perk up for a second, eyes darting deeper into the Mystery Shack, but Dakota is distracted. "Ah! See that?" The twins turn back just in time to see the blood orange starburst fade back into dusty pink. "He just got annoyed at something. But now he's okay again."

The twins make joined impressed sounds. Dipper looks at her with those huge doe-eyes of his. "It must have taken a long time to learn everything he's feeling."

"It did. But he's worth it."

~

Ford catches the sneeze in one fist, but it jerks the rest of his body enough to startle Mable. She turns from where she sits on the floor, knitting in her lap and back pressed against Ford's shins, and gives him a look. "Are you getting sick, Grunkle Ford?"

He sniffles. As much as he hates to admit it, but he can't lie to that face. "Maybe a little. But it's not too bad. I hardly notice it."

The frantic pen scratching on Ford's right stills. "Would you say you're a little under the weather, but it's small enough that it's only at the back of your mind?"

Dipper's words elicit a little gasp from Mabel, and he looks back and forth between the twins, blinking in confusion. Dipper stares back with a raised eyebrow, and if Mabel smiles any wider her head will split in half.

"Er, yes, that's a concise way of putting it. Why?"

Dipper goes back to scribbling in his journal, but a ghost of a smile haunts his face now. "No reason."

Ford looks to Mabel. She's turned back to the tv, but there's an excited pull to her shoulders. In a brief moment between commercials, when the screen goes dark, Ford catches her reflection and her grin has not faltered one bit.

~

Dakota can hardly breathe for the claws wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms against her chest. She tries to stay calm. Wild animals could sense panic, and she's no troll expert, but she didn't doubt the hulking beast could sense something from her. The stripe on her wrist swirls charcoal, a colour she's barely seen since the incident thirty years prior, and she wonders if her own fear is feeding back to her bondmate.

She whispers a silent apology to him, wherever he may be.

The troll opens its mouth to drop her inside, but Ford bursts from behind a stalagmite, blaster raised. "Let her go, you hairy heathen!"

She can feel the resonating determination pulse through her chest, and by chance she glances at her wrist again. The charcoal ripples outwards, arcing through with rings of rich wine. Ford fires once, twice, at the beast, and Dakota is so transfixed by the spreading wine colour that she doesn't feel herself falling until she's hit the ground.

The troll retreats, whining, and Ford makes sure it's gone before rushing to her side, hands hovering over her. Never actually touching her. "Are you alright? Is anything hurt?"

She can't answer. Can't do anything other than stare at her wrist. The stripe is shot through with mist and gold.

"Dakota, answer me!"

She says she's fine, smiling to reassure him, but she can't ignore the rapid beat of her heart. When he verifies her safety for himself, she asks. "Ford, what are you feeling right now?"

Though initially taken aback, Ford recovers quickly with a soft smile. "Relieved."

The gentle lavender on her skin proves it.

~

Ford has a lot of catching up to do in terms of music, and Dakota seems to be the right person to help with that, but he finds himself bashful when she asks his favourite songs since so many of them are out of date.

They spend an afternoon not monster hunting, as usual, but sitting in his parlour with a laptop, taking turns showing each other songs. He feels a little better with his music choice after Dakota reveals her own odd tastes in foreign music.

He feels like he's heard some of them before.

~

Dakota stares at the gentle pattern of dusty pink and brighter rose on the inside of her wrist. She's found her bondmate, she thinks. But he hasn't given one clue as to whether she's his too. Or not. Or even if he has a bondmark. It's an unspoken rule that one doesn't ask about another's bondmark unless the information is supplied willingly, and Dakota hates the thought of relinquishing her budding relationship with Ford because she's impulsive. He might not even have a bondmark.

If he doesn't, that's fine.

She doesn't want to think about the other option.

~

Ford settles into bed with a happy sigh, ready for the evening end. It has been an increasingly delightful part of his day, as he finds his bondmate has been singing some of his favourites every night. He wonders if she has a connection to his music too, or if it's just a common interest. Either way, being lulled to sleep by those songs has become something to look forward to, and it's been a consistent concerto every night for nearly two weeks.

He shifts under the covers, closing his eyes.

But sleep doesn't come.

Because neither does her singing.

~

Dakota is hyperaware of Ford's presence next to hers as the Pines family (plus her, plus Mabel's friends, plus the handyman and the cashier) participates in their weekly movie night. She can't concentrate on the movie, too focused on her wrist and the uneven pulses of navy blue and slate.

She leans over and whispers, "Ford, what are you feeling right now?"

He thinks about it for a moment before answering.

She wonders why he's lying.

~

Ford can't concentrate on the movie.

Another week without a peep from his bondmate has sent him into a deep-seated worry. Has something happened? Is she okay? Not knowing is driving him to madness.

When Dakota leans over and whispers the query, he doesn't question it. She's been asking it periodically for a few weeks now, and he's chalked it up to nothing more than a new habit. She's staring at him with an expression he can't place, rubbing one thumb up and down the stripe of colour on her wrist. It seems active, but Ford can't tell what colours burst forth from her skin in this light.

He's often wondered at her bondmate. He doesn't know what the colours represent, but he knows they're very important to her. He's caught her staring steadfastedly at her wrist for minutes at a time, but hasn't asked. She may just not have found hers yet. Or, a more unpleasant possibility, she might be harbouring a dead bond.

His time in the portal flows back to him. He wouldn't wish a dead bond on anyone.

But he can't assume, so best to keep away from touchy subjects. He gives her the best smile he can muster. "Happy and content."

Her face makes him regret lying.

~

Dakota can find only one explanation for this.

The unthinkable has happened, and her bondmark is unrequited.

It's rare, rarer even than bondmatches, but occasionally a person manifests a bondmark towards a person who does not reciprocate. It's awful, its psychologically damaging, but Dakota has lasted this long without her bondmate and she can continue doing so. She's lucky enough to know him well as a friend, and cares about him enough not to bring up the fact of her bondmark, and if he finds happiness in the end isn't that all a bondmate could ask for?

She convinces herself of this, convinces herself she feels better, but not even every song in the world could make her feel better. So she doesn't try.

~

Ford is so distracted by his mounting worry that he doesn't even realize it's raining until his glasses are coated in fat, wet drops.

Next to him, Dakota shrieks, though he thinks it may be in delight. He's glad. There was a period of time where they barely saw each other, and when they did, Dakota seemed more subdued than normal. But whatever is plaguing her seems to be wearing off, and he's immensely glad. He's missed his friend.

Just like he misses his bondmate.

She hasn't sung to him in over a week. There have been silences before, but never this... heavy.

He and Dakota rush into the Mystery Shack, sopping wet and laughing, though Ford worries his sounds slightly flat. If Dakota notices it, she doesn't mention it.

She tosses her camera bag on the table, then heads upstairs to shower off the downpour. Ford smiles until she vanishes, then lets it drop. He likes Dakota, but not even her company in monster hunting can replace the comfort he never realized he got from his bondmate's songs.  

Dakota starts singing from upstairs, and Ford frowns. Slaps the side of his head with one hand, metal plate giving a dull clang as he does. It sounds like he's hearing two slightly different variations on the same song. Is he picking up interference...?

His heart stops.

No.

But yes.

He's in the Mystery Shack gift shop before he can realize his legs are moving, out of earshot from the upstairs shower. He knows the song that's being sung, knows where in the verse Dakota should be, matching up perfectly to the version he hears in his head.

It matches.

His legs are moving again, thudding rapidly up the stairs to pound on the bathroom door. He feels like he's going to laugh, or cry, or throw up.

Dakota opens the door in her shorts and tank top, still drenched in rainwater, the steam from the shower rising up and framing her like an angel walking out of heaven's clouds. Her left arm rests on the door, giving Ford a perfect view of the churning colours on her skin.

It looks exactly how Ford feels.

 END

[shurisneakers]

espresso [8]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, angst (????), pining lol

A/N: surprise bitches i’m back but will disappear soon again for months at a time this is my entry for the exuberant @viktordrago‘s writing challenge (it took me like 20 minutes to find you kumi i2g) thank you to the best beta @samingtonwilson love u and our cinema boi  the fact that i had to fuckin gif this myself shows how desperate i am

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 7 || Espresso Masterlist

Everyone has probably met that one person who is very different from the rest. Someone so profoundly boring, you had no idea you’d rather watch a tap faucet drip for eight hours straight than to ever be within a feet of them breathing.

That would be Vision.  

Vision talked like he had a thesaurus up his ass, smelled like mothballs, and had ideals much too similar to a less-funny, almost less-human Dwight Schrute.

“Hey birthday boy,” you excitedly hushed into the phone at midnight.

“Hey there,” he replied softly so you could nearly feel him smile through the phone.

“How does one more lap around the sun feel?”

“More or less the same. Hold on.” He paused for a second. “Yup, I feel normal.”

“You’re a bore, Bucky Barnes. You’re supposed to be excited or something,” you could hear Nat and Clint giggling about something in the room adjacent to the kitchen where you’d snuck to call Bucky.

“It’s just another day, my dude.”

“It’s your birthday!” you protested, filling up a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

“Meh.”

“What do you have planned?”

“First off, bold of you to assume I thought I’d live this long to actually plan something,” he snorted and you could hear papers shift under him.

“How edgy.”

“Secondly, I’m sleeping till noon and I’m seeing you today,” He cleared his throat. “You all, I mean. The group.”

“Sounds ideal.” You took a large gulp of water before leaning on the counter.

“What about you?”

“Currently; an all nighter with Nat and Clint to complete assignments.” your eyes flitted to the doorway which you realized had gone quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “Other than that, I got nothing else to do other than your birthday thing.”

“Oh yeah, funny story by the way,” he laughed nervously. “I forgot to remind you that your next date is today.”

“Bucky I still don’t get it,” you straightened up immediately. “Today’s your birthday, why would you set me up today?”

“You’re busy through next week and then you have midterms after that,” he defended himself weekly. “And besides, relax. He said it’s an afternoon thing. He’ll drop you off before it starts.”

“Who is it?” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Jarvis; also known as Vision.”

You were silent for a moment as his name registered in your mind. “Why have you forsaken me this way?”

“Just give the guy a chance,” he chuckled, before yawning. “And remember, be at my place by five.”

He checked his rearview mirror again before turning his head back to the road.

You didn’t know if he was doing this on purpose, but he was driving at the slowest imaginable speed and you thought you’d reach the café faster if you just got out and walked.

He also happened to speak as slowly as he drove. “Can’t take my eyes off the road, you know. Road safety is a number one priority.”

“The world simply would not turn without capable drivers like you,” you murmured, sinking back into the seat that smelt vaguely of hospital-grade disinfectant.

The chances of you dying in an accident with him as a driver was much smaller than you dying of old age in his car.

He didn’t speak, a look of concentration as he made a turn at the curb, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“I thought Vision and Wanda were a thing,” Nat remarked, peering over your shoulder and into your phone when Bucky texted you. Regardless of the content of said text, you smiled anyway when you saw it was from him leading her to completely invade your privacy.

It was just a stupid meme anyway- something that he thought would be an apt goodnight message.

“Wanda doesn’t even remember him.“

“Ouch,” Clint winced from beside you. “That’s gotta hurt the dude in the feelings.”

“Assuming he has more of an emotional quotient than a potted plant,” you muttered grabbing your pencil from under Clint’s hand.

The three of you had assignments due next week, which you decided to do together over many cups of coffee and energy drinks.

“I’m gonna fail this stupid fuckin’ thing. We had to do a meta-analysis of this stupid novel and all I’ve done is watch the fucking movie,” Nat groaned, burying her head in the sheets right by your leg. “I can’t believe I paid a school thousands of dollars, which I don’t have, just to write a meta-analysis, which I haven’t done.”

“Get up, c’mon. You can do this,” you said, nudging her with your foot. She swatted it away, choosing to lie there.

“Nat, I’m too broke to make it rain at the strip club you’ll work at if you drop out. Come on. Let’s get this grade.” Clint rolled his eyes, prodding at her with his pencil.

“You’re so mean, Clit. I’d never invite you to my place of strip anyway.” She raised her head to pout at him but rolled over nonetheless to sit up straight.

“Strip club. And I told you to stop calling me Clit.”

“Whatever.”

As you pulled into the coffee shop eight hours later, you reached over to open the car door only to have him damn near hiss at you.

You reeled back in surprise, watching him shake his head vehemently and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“It’s dangerous out there, especially with those zero-traction shoes. Over 17,000 people die annually because of slipping and falling. Twenty percent to thirty percent of people who slip and fall will suffer injuries like hip fractures, or head injuries.”

”Zero to a hundred real quick, my friend,” you stated, nevertheless not moving. “I know it may not seem like much to you, but I do know how to walk. Been getting enough practice all my life.”

“This is a matter of life and death, Y/N. What if you slip on the sidewalk and crack your skull open? I’d be the one who would have to account to the officers about the lack of awareness when it comes to winter treading and it wasn’t fun the last time it happened,” he said, all in one breath, his head moving side to side furiously.

You stared at him, unable to form any words. Absolutely nothing.

He got out of the car, one foot at a time before slowly standing up and assessing his surroundings. Finally, he took one step forward before pausing and doing it again until he finally reached the other side of the car to open your door.

Wonderful.

“Be careful, don’t jump out too fast,” he commented, holding his hand out to you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It was made very clear to ensure your safety at all times. James was very, very–“ he looked like he struggled to find the words “—fastidious about it.”

“Oh?”

“Say, Y/N, why exactly is Barnes setting you up with such… specimens?”

“He asked if I needed help in finding someone ‘dateable’. I agreed.”

“Your reasoning being?”

“Why not?”

“Excellent logic.”

“I was bored, Clint. He looked like he genuinely wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t he just set you up with himself?” Clint twirled his highlighter around his fingers. “He missed a great opportunity to pull the greatest plot twist of the century.”

“I really don’t think-“

“It’s probably not the best plot twist. He’s making it pretty obvious with the whole intense staring and heart eyes and writing on your cup thing.”

“Okay, first of all, there is no heart eyes or intense staring or- wait, what writing on my cup thing?” you caught yourself mid-sentence.

“Clint!” Nat hissed, glaring at him.

Clint looked between Nat and you for a few seconds before letting out the most apathetic and monotone, “Oops.”

“You just ruined it, you shit-eating fuck hammer. Bucky’s going to kill us both and then himself when he finds out.”

The place Vis took you was actually decent. It was the nicer of the two coffee shops in town, the other one being where Bucky worked. Still, something was missing and soon you felt yourself missing the chipped tables and fake plants of the other joint. You liked it much more than the pristine white walls and cold plush chairs here.

“Can we get a table for two? Preferably away from the noise-“

You glanced around to pinpoint what noise exactly he was talking about but came up blank.

There were two people in the shop.

“-And away from the sunlight?”

It was cloudy outside.

“Also, could you reduce the heat, please? It’s rather suffocating.”

It was winter.

“Do y’all have tables in the restroom?” you asked blankly.

He blinked at you, expressionless, “The restroom is a goldmine for germs and particles of fecal matter. Surely you know that, Y/N.”

“I just- it was a-“ you sighed. “Okay.”

The waitress however was a sweetheart, and you made a mental note to leave her a good tip before you left. She led you to a quiet corner, meeting all of Vis’ demands before leaving you alone with the menu.

“I think I’ll just go with an Americano.” Lord knows you needed it after last night.

Vision let out a tsk of disinterest, eyes scanning over the card tediously.

“Coffee can damage your liver, increase your risk of osteoporosis, and increased blood pressure. Especially the concentrated form in espresso shots.”

“Oh bother, well, I’ll just have to take that chance.“

“I prefer tea; rich in oxidizing properties. It’s also a wonderful material for composting,” he continued, ignoring your statement. He snapped the card shut, smiling knowingly at you.

The both of you gave your orders before returning back to the non-existent conversation at hand.  Vision chose to keep his hands on the table in front of him. It felt like he was about to give you The Talk. He looked straight into your eyes, never faltering or looking away.

“So,” you dragged out the word, pressing your lips together when he didn’t respond or shift his stare. “What’s u-“

“Do you compost?” he asked suddenly, not breaking eye contact.

“Compost?”

“Yes.”

“I would, but I can’t-post.” You grinned at him, expecting a laugh or at least a groan.

“I compost,” he said stoically.

“That’s great, Vis. What else do you-“ you tried to veer the conversation in some other direction because you had a very good idea of where this was heading.

“I have my own compost. Have you tried making one of your own?” he asked simply. “It’s very simple.”

“I gotta say, buddy, I’m not wildly passionate about it right now.”

“Do you want me to tell you how to make one?”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

You screamed internally, smiling at him nonetheless.

It was 4:40. You’d be out of there soon enough.

“Why would you tell her that?!”

“What the hell are you both talking about?” you demanded, shoving your things aside and sitting up straight.

“How would I know she didn’t know?” he ignored you, instead answering to Nat, who was beginning to look somewhat like an angry parrot.

“Jesus Christ, will someone just tell me what don’t I know before I start throwing hands?”

“The shit James writes on your to-go cup every time you show up at his workplace.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you nearly shouted to match their volume.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen them! They’re so glaringly obvious, he might as well be sticking neon signs declaring his love on them.”

“I have never seen any of what you’re talking about except the ‘Mario’ he writes.”

“That’s only one side. Haven’t you seen the other?”

“No! Why would I?”

“He writes really cute messages on them,” Nat said quietly. “Some of them are normal stuff, like “I hope you have a really beautiful day” the others are like small bits of poetry that I think he writes.”

You stayed quiet, trying to absorb this information as much as possible.

“It was pretty clear that he didn’t want any of us-“ she glared at Clint who finally looked a bit guilty –“to tell you.”

“I genuinely thought you knew. He’s been doing it for months now.”

“I didn’t,” you muttered, sinking back. “That explains the weird thing he does whenever I throw away one of the cups.

“You what?!” Nat screeched, leaping to her knees. “Why would you throw them away?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know!” you defended yourself, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I literally found out about them thirty seconds ago.”

“Can you imagine how shitty he feels?”

“Now’s a good time to stop.”

“Just watching the girl you love throw away things you’ve made an effort to make?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“And that would be intimidating if you were… well, intimidating.”

“So once you finish one layer, you move onto the next and so on and so forth.” Vision stirred his cup for what seemed like the twentieth time and at that point, it was much more interesting than the shit coming out of his mouth.

He had been speaking for composting for what felt like a good hour, not allowing you to get a word in sideways about any topic that would be infinitely more interesting than this.

“Y/N, did you hear what I said?”

“What?” you jerked your head when you heard your name. “Oh, yeah.”

“Did you like a part in particular?”

Fuck.

“Loved the part about the… layers.”

“Layers are really the key to this whole thing, if you don’t have enough-“

“You know what has layers?” you said quickly, sitting up straight. “Onions. Ogres are like onions. What is your favorite movie?” if you had to hear him speak about soil and manure one more time, you were going to drown yourself in your tears right then and there.

You could feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, but you didn’t bother answering it before putting it on silent, feeling like you at least owed him basic etiquette.

“I’m not done,” he said blankly, “Now, as I was saying, layers really bring out the-“

You bring your hand down on the table a little too harshly but quickly cover it up with a smile. His voice faltered slightly before pausing when you looked at him expectantly.

“I don’t have a favorite movie. I think they’re all too dependent on suspension of disbelief. There is no true realism. None of them truly cater to what I want.”

“You’re a film major.” “So I can make films that capture the true essence of-“ he inhaled deeply before gesturing with his hands “—everything.”

The same waitress from before asked you if you wanted a refill, to which you agreed, Vision doing the same. You fiddled around with your cup in silence for a while, not knowing how to continue.

“Do you want to hear my idea for a script?”

“Sure.”

“It starts with a twenty minute shot of the ocean. Just lets you get into the tone of the movie. Then the next shot is of a horse stable. Then the next is of a wilted meadow. Then an opening door. Then an unruly bed. Then-“

“That sounds great, but what’s it about, Vis?” you emphasized, hoping to speed things up.

“I’m getting there, but please remember this desire for narrative has been fed to you. Without narrative, we truly push away from the comfort films provide and embrace a reflection of the world around us,” he insisted. “The next shot is a branch. Then a towel. Then-“

You nearly banged your head on the table.

“A church. A running tap, just to introduce motion, you know, to get things moving-“

“You need to make a move. Tell him you know about the cups.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

It was 4am and all of you had collective taken a break from whatever it is that you were doing around thirty minutes ago and were now just laying there, waiting for the caffeine rush to wear off.

“Why not?”

“Why do you care so much, Clint?” you asked, slightly irritated.

He moved his hands to rest on his abdomen. “I don’t. It’s just agonizing to watch.”

“Don’t watch then.”

“Fine I’ll date him then. I’ll get him to write me love letters too.”

“Go for it,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe I will. I’ll ask him out today, just watch me.”

“Don’t let him break your heart, babe,” Nat encouraged him.

“He’d have to reject me to do that.”

“Why on earth would he ever do that?” she poked at his cheek, watching him grumble and shove her away.

“I think he and Dot are a thing,” you said suddenly, facing the ceiling.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look too invested.”

“They hang out a lot now, did you know?” you continued, ignoring Clint.

“You should ask him. Set the record straight.”

“I think I’ll keep all my feelings to myself and then die, thanks.”

“Just tell him, man. It’ll make your life much simpler,” he rolled onto his stomach to look at you. “Sweetheart, I love you, but all this pining isn’t helping either of you. Tell him, and if he likes you back, great. If he doesn’t, well, at least you’ll know, right?”

“That’s easy to say, but try doing it yourself.”

“Oh I did. The first one rejected me straight out, and it fucking sucked balls, but I could move on. Sometimes it’s better to take that chance.”

You were silent. You couldn’t believe you were actually considering what he’d said.

“Alright fine, here’s the deal. If I can gather the guts to ask out Bucky, you’ll have to do it too.” Clint held out his hand for a handshake and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Fuck outta here. You’d do it without any regrets.”

“True, but you look like you need a push and I’m offering you one.”

“I appreciate it Clint, but it’s never going to happen. I’d rather choke.”

“I’m not gonna force you, but just think about it. It’s all about a leap of faith.”

The three of you remained in silence before Nat broke it, giggling to herself.

“Are you going to ask him out though?”

“Hell, maybe I will. Five o’clock, right?” Clint looked at his watch.

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna do it, watch me.”

Five.

Five.

Five.

Fuck.

You suddenly broke out of your train of thought and scrambled for your phone, interrupting Vision’s marvelous idea for an Oscar winning script.

Your heart stopped beating altogether.

It was nearly 6:30 and there were nearly twenty unread messages and around ten missed calls illuminating your notification bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed steadily before standing up, your chair scraping against the floor behind you.

“Is something wrong?” Vision asked delicately, still clearly immersed in his thoughts.

“We need to leave now.” You pulled out enough cash to pay for your share, tugging your jacket back on hurriedly. “Now.”

“Why?”

“I’m late. I’m really, really late and we need to go now.” You had no idea that much time had gone by, scolding yourself for not keeping track of how long you were there.

“Alright, but are you-“

“Now, Vision.” You glared daggers at him until he relented, paying his amount and walking to the entrance at his own pace while you were nearly running.

From Becca:

Where are you???

From Becca:

We’re waiting for you to cut his cake

From Steve:

Hey, are you on your way?

From Becca:

McFucking Dot is here why tf is she here who invited her and why is she so touchy with bucky

From Nat:

I swear to god if you’re off making out w/ that boy instead of being here

From Wanda:

hey, we just cut the cake without you, hope you don’t mind. Where are you??

From Becca:

Someone “”””””accidentally””””” spilled their drink on dotzilla she’s all wet now

From Becca:

I can say with 80% accuracy that it wasn’t me

From Nat:

Becca just spilt her drink on Dot what the hell

From Clint:

Dot just left the room to go change because this dumbass turd just poured beer over her. now’s my chance

From Becca:

Yo where tf are you

From Nat:

We’re just sitting around, watching a movie. Are you showing up?? Why aren’t you answering our calls? Is everything okay?

From Becca:

Clint just asked out Bucky wtf sdjhgdkjfhgkdjfhg

From Clint:

I asked him out. he rejected me. I think I’m gonna keep trying

From Nat:

Clit’s bribing Bucky into saying yes

From Clint:

He said no im leaving this bullshit party

From Becca:

I just told Bucky you’ll be running late are you even showing up where are you

From Bucky:

Date going well? Hope you’re safe. Saving you a piece of cake 🍰

“Can you drive a little faster, please?” you urged him, furiously responding to everyone’s texts as quickly as you could.

“I’m already going as fast as I can,” he replied, driving at almost half the speed limit.

“Sweet Jesus,” you breathed out, running your hands through your hair. “Alright Vis, detour. Drop me off at this address.”

__

You didn’t wait to catch your breath as you ran up three flights of stairs to his dorm room, hands repeatedly slapping against the door.

A minute later it swung open, revealing a slightly panicked Bucky.

“What the-“

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so fucking sorry. I lost track of time and I didn’t even realize, it was entirely-“

“Woah, hey- hey it’s okay. It’s okay. ” He opened the door wider, a mix of confusion and concern on his face. “Take a second to catch your breath.”

As you did, you noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt that had no business looking that good, grey sweatpants, and his hair was pulled into a half bun, having grown longer due to months of not trimming it. He looked beautiful.

You took a moment off of staring at his stupidly attractive face, and beyond his shoulder into his dorm. You could see the empty beer cans littering his living room, the clear signs of a party.

“Everyone left?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago.”

“Shit, Bucky-“ You sighed, frustration evident in your voice, feeling your heart sink. “I never meant to miss this, I promise.”

“I know you didn’t, don’t worry. I see you almost everyday, Y/N, it’s definitely okay to miss one evening.” He laughed lightly, shifting his weight to his other shoulder.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Like I said, it’s just another day.” He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing too big.”

Stop staring at his fucking chest.

“I bought you something,” you blurted out, tightening your grip on your bag. “A birthday present, I mean. I bought you a gift. For your birthday.”

Stop mumbling, you big oaf.

“Y/N,” he complained, “We talked about this. You didn’t have to-“

“It’s a journal,” you interrupted him, scrambling through the contents of your backpack to find it. “Each page has a question. 365 days, 365 questions. I mean, theoretically, it doesn’t work for leap years but, you know, this coming year isn’t one and I-”

You finally grabbed hold of the brown, leather bound book, pulling it out with ease and holding it out to him.  He looked back at you without a word.

“And I know how much you like writing, I just thought it’d be nice to look back on how much you change or how much your thoughts change over the year.” You pushed it forward gently, urging him to take it. He held onto it silently, running his fingers along the pages before flipping open to the first page.

You keep records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them. If you want to Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education, it’s history.

You watched him read it, his eyes widening slightly once he realized where the excerpt was from.

“That’s- that’s from-”

“The Catcher in the Rye. Yeah.” You shifted uncomfortably when he fell silent again, staring at you without a word.

Great.

“I know it’s stupid and nowhere near anything you’ve gotten me and I can get you something else-”

“I love it.” The look in his eyes made you want to melt. “So fucking much.”

“Really?” You couldn’t hide the surprise from your voice.

“It’s probably one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever given me.”

“There are some really stupid questions in there, like about memes and stuff because I thought you’d like it, but the rest are relatively normal.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” He blew a few strands out of his face, letting his hands fall to his side. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead he shut it again.

It was probably the silence that ensues that made your fight or flight instincts take over because the next thing you realized is that you had both your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, earning a small ‘woah’ from him.

It took him about a second but he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer, if that was even possible, dropping his forehead into crook of your shoulder. He smelt of fresh laundry and cinnamon and you couldn’t help the breath that escaped your lips. You could feel his breath tingling your neck and the warmth he exuded seeping in through your sweater. It reminded you of home.

You unwillingly pulled back, stuffing your hands back into your pockets awkwardly. “Happy birthday, James.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, biting his lip. “I, uh, saved you a piece of cake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Finally he shook himself out of whatever he was thinking, moving and holding open the door invitingly. “Do you- uh- do you want some?”

Just tell him you like him, for the love of God.

“James I-“

“Bucky? Do you know where the tissues- oh hey Y/N!” There was no mistaking who walked out from Bucky’s bathroom. Bucky whipped his head around, confused, before who it was registered in his mind and he turned to look at you again.

“Hey Dot.”

“We missed you today,” she chirped, approaching the doorway, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” Something was amiss about her before you finally caught on.

She was wearing his shirt.

Oh.

“Um, I better get going.” You swallowed. It felt like you were missing something crucial. Why would she be wearing his shirt at his place?

“Wait, I thought-“ he furrowed his eyebrows, straightening up.

“It’s getting pretty late, I gotta go.” You half-smiled, pointing behind you to the setting sun. “Maybe some other time.”

“At least let me drop you back. Let me just grab my keys-“ he turned around, ready to walk back into his apartment.

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, taking a step back. “I could use the fresh air.”

“It’ll be dark out soon.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, continuing to walk backward before waving at him. “I’ll catch you later, Buck. Bye Dot.”

“Y/N-“ he tried again but you just waved again before spinning on your heel and walking off, waiting till you were out of eyesight before fumbling for your phone and calling Nat to come pick you up from his dorm because sure, you may be feeling like shit, but that didn’t mean you were going to walk home in the middle of winter, alone.

Leap of faith, my ass, you thought.

Leap off a fucking cliff was more like it.

Part 9

[silvanavarela]

lol (literally)

long time no see people!!!! a lot has happened since we last caught up. some expected, some unexpected. temperatures dropped from the 90’s to the 20’s. i began to understand (& enjoy?) american football. i got a job. but the biggest change was that i moved— 900 miles away from where i had been living for 10 years, to be exact. so life’s been pretty crazy. new people, new places, new vocab (“y’all” slips out sometimes,, thanks texas), new routines & new norms.

but overall, it’s been pretty alright. i think pretty alright is pretty good for being in high school, with sports and classes and SATs and ACTs and GPAs and APs and all the other acronyms. it’s been pretty alright— but i get the occasional pit in my stomach when i think of my old school, all the friends i left behind, and the place i never thought i’d consider one of my homes. it snowed there this week. the football team is going to the state championship. big things are happening. seniors will be graduating soon, going out into the real world. lots of big things. but i have new friends here. friends who get up early to go running with me and recommend new netflix shows and DM me funny things on instagram. high school football in texas is an experience on a whole other level. and last week, the weather was in the 70s.

all isn’t perfect, but all is well.

anyway, now that we’re caught up i’ll get to the point. we have 3 weeks of classes between thanksgiving break and winter break. that’s it. 15 days. light work right? but to be honest, thanksgiving break felt a little more like punishment. the second we got back to school it was like our teachers were making up for lost time. here’s a test and three quizzes and an essay and don’t forget about that project due on wednesday!!!!!! we’re down to one week before winter break, and the past two weeks have not given me a second of down time. it’s been H E C T I C. between work and school and the inconvenience that is sleep, i feel a little like i’ve been running a marathon while holding my breath. freshman year me would’ve had multiple mental breakdowns, pulled 4 all nighters in a row, and gone into full panic mode. sophomore year me would’ve considered doing the work, decided against it, gone to bed early, and said “my grades do not determine my value. and if i don’t get into an ivy league so what i’ll still go to college and get a decent job and live a decent life” (side note: grades DONT determine your value & not getting into an ivy league definitely doesn’t mean you won’t live a good life ((if anything it means you’ll be less in debt)) but the key is EFFORT. always try. that is what defines you.) but this is junior year me. a lot has changed. among the changes: my coping mechanisms and reaction to stress. yeah, sometimes i don’t do my homework until the class period before it’s due, or i opt for sleep rather than getting a head start on that essay that’s in the back of my mind. generally, i’ve been doing my best to stay on track but not push myself unhealthily hard. and when it gets too hard, i laugh. that’s it. i laugh. i don’t know why or when this happened, but in the last two weeks, every day i’ve found at least one thing that made me laugh so hard i literally cried and my stomach hurt and i had to sit down. no one else around me thought it was that funny and they all probably thought i was really weird. but i felt great. the stress i’d been overwhelmed with dissipated and my worries suddenly seemed irrelevant and the endorphins released from laughing (scientific fact!!) made me feel like i could do anything. i was well aware that i was going to have 5 hours of homework that night and 4 quizzes the next day but that just made me laugh even harder. life is funny that way. it’s like a runner’s high without having to run 6 miles.

everyone deals with stress in different ways and it’s not until this year that i think i found a healthy (albeit strange) way to manage it, but my point isn’t necessarily exclusive to academic pressure & due dates. life moves quickly. one day you’re in high school, the next you’re in college, and then you blink for a little too long and you’re wrapped up in a career. life. moves. quickly. and if you don’t roll with the punches, the punches are still gonna keep on coming. so what i’m trying to say, i guess, is to enjoy wherever you’re at in life. find joy in the little things. when you find something you love doing, don’t let go of that. don’t let yourself get too busy & lose it. and if you no longer enjoy something you used to, that’s okay. as you change, your interests will change. find something new. something that makes you laugh until no sound comes out and you can’t breathe. for just a few moments in the day, let go of your worries and forget about your to-do list and genuinely enjoy your day. because day by busy day, eventually you’ll realize your whole life passed you by, and you spent it caught up in the “big things” rather than making the most of the little things. the little things that fill the gaps between running errands and reaching word counts and everything you have to do. the whole “can’t see the forest for the trees” thing. you have no boss, no teacher, no coach holding you accountable for doing the little things for yourself. you can go through the motions, live life as a routine. no one is going to give you a bad grade or bench you or fire you.

but filling in those gaps is what makes life go from black and white to full high definition color.

YOU are accountable.

and YOU are deserving.

the little joys in life, the tiny victories, those are what you’re going to remember 10 years from now. 20 years from now. they will be the sunshine on your cloudy days, the flowers in the forest you don’t want to miss.

find the silver lining.

find the humor in the bad.

find a little hope, somewhere, anywhere.

find the good.

find the light.

and on those especially hard days when you can’t,

be a little moment of happy for someone else.

be the good. be the light.

you know that cheesy saying about realizing the little things were the big things?? i’m not one for trite quotes, but i have a feeling that it’s true. and that scares me. it scares me to think that one day i may look back and wish i could do it all differently. so i’m going day by day and i’m laughing. wrong turns happen, bad days happen. but i’m laughing. because no matter how many mistakes i make, i can’t imagine wanting to change anything about a life spent celebrating the good around me, a life spent cherishing the light.