#I’m counting requests as this too if an artist has requests open humors your ask and all you say is cool!

[xannerz]

i’ll be completely honest i’ve seen how some people receive gift art (whether as a surprise or thru a community event), and the clipped “aw cute, thanks!”-tier responses are always a little jarring to me lmao. maybe at least compliment something you like about it. i am aware that there are at least some people out there who will try to ingratiate others with gift art, and it’s pretty off-putting/obvious, but not always. Give some grace/show appreciation when you can, it goes a long way.

[deniigi]

my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

--

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

 MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

 How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

--

 @blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

--

 It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

--

 People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

--

 It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

--

 GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

 Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

 MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

 Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

--

 It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

 MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

 HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

--

 It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

 GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

 Silence.

 MM: oh no

 Yeah. Fuck.

 MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

 Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

 MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

 There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

 GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

--

 It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

 GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

--

 DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

 MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

 Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

 MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

 That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

 MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

 Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

--

 Two hours. One text.

 MM: >:/

 Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

 GL: good news?

MM: [image]

 He opened it.

 SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

 What.

 MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

 Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

 GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

 No way. Siblings were wild.

 GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

  SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

 The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

 MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

 Miles took a long time to respond.

 MM: yeah

 Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

 GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

 Oh, nice. That was a relief.

 MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

 Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

 GL: sure

 --

  [GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

 It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

 GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

 There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

 SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

 Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

 MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

 Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

 SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.  

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

 Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

 GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

 That—

Sounded kind of nice?

 GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl                                    

 That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

 GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

 Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

[mashup-writing]

Somebody else by 1975 and it is sparkles-✨

It worked out well; Park Chaeyoung (Blackpink)

--------------------------------------------------

Summary: Y/N and Rosé had decided to announce their relationship, but they were gonna be extra about it.

Requested? ☑

"I remember it all too well."

--------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶--------------------

It was the final part of Y/N's concert and while he's used to the feeling of thousands of eyes on him, what's going to follow was something that made him extremely nervous, which says a lot. Especially when he was counting on the audience for his plan to work.

At the start of his career, he had announced that he was a Transgender man on all of his social media platforms. An action that took a lot of guts, and and an action that drew a lot of attention to him. At the rising point of his career when he was questioned about it in an interview, his answer was something that made him well known figure within the industry.

--------------------------------------------------

"Now Y/N at the very beginning of your career, you told the world that you were a trans man. That must've taken extreme bravery on your part seeing as those people who are against your community- The LGBT community, can be downright nasty and ruthless in 'Expressing' their dislike. What mae you decide to do this so early on in your time in the spotlight?"

Y/N smiles in his seat, switching from a laid back posture to one that elegantly demands attention, his next words being the ones that made him an icon amongst allies and LGBT people alike. "I am an advocate of LGBT rights before I am an artist, at the very start of my career I wanted to make it clear that I didn't want bigots to be a part of my following or an avid listener of my music and while I'm a man who values my privacy, I value honesty and transparency just as much. So if you're someone who believes that transgender people are just 'Confused' or that they're a 'Crime' against nature? Then go ahead and consider me your worst nightmare."

--------------------------------------------------

Y/N had been sitting on a chair for quite a few moments now, holding a Q&A onstage before he stands up and decides to follow through with the first part of his plan. "Alright, now today's intermission, I'm going to do a cover of my most favorite song called 'Somebody Else by The 1975'. Oh and don't worry you guys, the Q&A will still continue after this cover." The stadium fills with loud screams and cheers from the people watching as he places his mic back on its stand and goes to pick up his electric guitar. The lights dim into a sunset red as the opening notes of the music fill out through the speakers, Y/N starts singing and playing his guitar as the crowd claps along to the beat.

At the start of the second verse, Y/N takes off his guitar and takes the mic off of the stand, walking back to the guitar stand, he puts the instrument down before walking back to the front of the stage and hyping the people up to sing along with him in the pre-chorus. The entrance platform that had sunk back down starts rising as a distinctly feminine voice fills the stadium at the start of the chorus. Y/N smiles widely as the stage screens show Rosé walking towards him, offering her hand. He takes it and raises their hands up, leading the Blackpink member into a twirl, the crowd has gone wild at this point and the duo are pretty sure that somebody or multiple people in the audiences are Blinks seeing the way they've started chanting Rosé's name even without Y/N introducing her beforehand.

The bridge part comes along and the two singers alternate their lines. When the instrumental hits, Rosé takes his hands and starts dancing along to the beat, dorkily smiling and roping the man into dancing along. When the final chorus comes, Y/N and Rosé sing together, motioning for the crowd to sing along and the stadium fills with the sounds of music and the combined voices of a chanting crowd.

The song comes to an end with loud cheers for the two vocalists who are now smiling widely while catching their breaths. Y/N offers his hand to Rosé and when she takes it, the two raise their hands and perform a bow. He lets go of her hand once they've come up from the bow, turning to face her before speaking. "May I introduce, Park Chaeyoung of Blackpink everyone."

The woman in question laughs, shaking her head before going to bow once again and waving to the crowd with both hands, Y/N decides to push his luck. "Also known as Rosé of Blackpink, or Rosie, or Foodsé, or Chipm-" He runs as she jokingly tries to swat at his shoulder.

The cheers continue and the two laugh with each other before Rosè speaks to the crowd. "So how did you guys like our cover?" She's answered with loud cheers and Y/N's manager signals at the two from behind the curtain, raising both his hands up. 10 minutes left, Y/N nods at him and smiles while Rosé turns her attention back to the crowd, he gives the singers a thumbs up with a dorky smile before taking his leave. Y/N shakes his head in humor.

"I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for both me and Y/N over here when I say that we're happy to see you guys loved it." Y/N turns to Rosé to agree with her statement. Y/N speaks into the mic saying that he and Rosé will spend the last ten minutes of the concert for the Q&A. The following minutes fly by with questions aimed at Y/N, questions aimed at Rosé as well as questions aimed at both come in droves, until Y/N announce that the next question will be the last one before the event comes to an end and they have to start saying goodbye. Multiple people raise their hand, and he leaves it up to Rosé to pick who gets to ask the final question. She gives her mic to a girl in the front row, and the girl states her question.

"How did you come up with the idea to have Rosé make a special appearance for a cover? Going by your latest Instagram posts before this album dropped, it seemed like you guys were writing songs together. So we were really hyped for a collab." The fan hands the mic back to Rosé who smiles at Y/N as he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come next. The Western singer brings his mic up to his lips to answer.

"There's a pretty good reason for this cover actually. 'Somebody Else' is a song that holds special meaning for the both of us, besides being our favorite song." Y/N motion for Rosé to take the lead, and she steps closer to him before speaking. "There was a point in me and Y/N's life that we didn't know where we stood. It a point we could sort of compare to the kid's game: Tag." She looks over to the man beside her, silently asking if he wants to back out of it. Instead Y/N takes her hand, interlocks their fingers and squeezes. Go on, I'm ready.

"Long story short is that I was hung up and broken hearted over this person and he was hung up over me." Collective gasps resound through out the stadium. After all, the only thing they know about you and Rosé relationship up until this point was that she was helping you write songs. You bring your mic up to your lips and speak. "The pictures on my Instagram of her looking at the lyrics I wrote? That wasn't Rosé helping me write. That was Chaeyoung reading what I wrote about her." The crowd goes crazy over the newfound information, and Y/N's pretty sure that they miss the way he referred to her using her real name instead of her stage name. But Chaeyoung catches onto it and she smiles softly at the man.

"I can't even begin to describe how thankful I am to Y/N by the way. Staying up countless nights and listening to me ramble on about being torn up, being there for me in every single way, helping me heal and doing all of this without expecting anything in return. Such a gentleman really." The crowd collectively 'Awwwwws' and Y/N hangs his head low, hiding his blush from everyone, Rosé laughs as Y/N looks at the ceiling, composing himself before speaking.

"I would never expect anything in return from you and you don't have to thank me either, I was just doing what a friend would've done at a time like that. Anyways, I stuck by her in those times all while all I could think of afterwards was how stupid the person who broke her heart was, all while I wished I was the one she had ended up with instead of them. I never even hinted at how I felt about her in those times, much less actually tell her. I promised myself I wouldn't tell her how I felt until the time was right. I didn't want her to feel guilty or pressured at all by what I had to say." Y/N looks from the crowd infront of him to Rosé before continuing "Time passed and her heartbreak had healed. But she still wasn't ready for a relationship for a while after that whole ordeal, so I kept my promise and I waited."

"When I had told my members and Y/N that I was finally ready for another relationship- That like, I was completely okay. Y/N decided to court me instead of asking me outright to be his girlfriend. Can you believe this sap?" The crowd laughs with Rosé as Y/N's jaw hits the floor, he walks away from Rosé and heads to the other side of the stage. He crouches and points to Rosé "I was being noble, chivalrous and mind you I was trying to prove that I was boyfriend material! Then she goes and calls me a sap?! I can't believe this..." Y/N lowers the mic and shakes his head in mock disbelief. Rosé doubles over in laughter before walking over to him and resting her free hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm calling you a sap because you are one. But it worked out didn't it?" She looks down at Y/N before continuing. "I gladly said yes." The crowd goes crazy, people cheering, some were jumping, and the others were speechless.

Y/N smiles, a full smile from ear to ear as he takes Chaeyoung's hand on his shoulder to bring it to his lips. "Yeah, yeah it worked out well in the end didn't it?"

--------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶--------------------

A/N: Damn writing in 3rd person is a TASK. I might never do it again, I hope this was good enough? I'm not too sure about the ending but I liked the idea of them announcing their relationship infront of a crowd instead of doing it via a social media post. So yeah.

[asthmark]

❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

“don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips. 

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”  

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: A month after Chat Noir learns Marinette's identity, they're just vibin'

Word Count: 4388 | Chapter 2/2

Notes: Written for @chatnoirinette​ through the @mlbforblm​ charity drive!  The donations go directly to Color of Change, an organization for racial justice.  I highly recommend checking them out and reblogging/donating the mlbforblm posts if you’re able!  I have two fic request slots left as of 7/17/2020, and many other talented writers and artists are offering incentives as well

XXX

Marinette glanced over her shoulder for what had to have been the thirtieth time.  Outside her bedroom window, stormclouds were gathering over the glittering skyline. What if the weather was too dangerous for Chat to come visit tonight?  Or what if he’d gotten held up with something in his civilian life?  That happened too often, though he probably spent every moment he could with her now.  It was oddly comforting that he wanted to be around her so much, even if it was just keeping her company while she worked on homework, or deciphered the grimoire, or let the kwamis out for some fresh air.

Despite seeing him practically every day, she still managed to miss him.

“He’ll be here,” Tikki said from her perch on top of Marinette’s mannequin.  

She sighed.  “That obvious, huh?”

“You almost pinned the collar to my leg.”

Oops.  As it was, the she’d bunched up the collar of Juleka’s dress all wrong.  She’d have to remove the pins and smooth it out again unless she wanted the fabric to pucker in her sewing machine.

“Sorry Tikki.  I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

She’d survived with only seeing her partner during akuma attacks and patrols for two years now.  But in these few weeks since she’d accidentally revealed her identity, she’d come to rely on him more than ever.  Maybe too much, honestly.  She had no idea what civilian responsibilities he was carrying on his own.

Well, she had a guess, but that was better left unsaid until she knew for sure.

You could always ask him, she thought for the thousandth time, but banished it just as quickly.  

A tap at her window made her jump and prick her finger.  Even startled as she was, guilty relief flooded her.  Tikki was right; he’d shown up anyway.

She sucked on the sore spot as she ran to open the window.  “You know Papa would let you in the front door.”

“But then I’d miss getting to see you in your natural habitat, Bugaboo.”  Chat Noir grinned as he swung himself in.  Luckily it hadn’t started raining yet.  She didn’t want her room smelling like wet cat.

“My ‘natural habitat’ has too many pins on the floor.”  She scrambled to pick them up before he ended up stepping on one.  His boots would have protected his feet, but he was polite enough to remove them every time he entered, even though she’d never asked him to.

At least, she’d never asked Chat.  That was one of her flimsier evidences for his identity, though.

“I like it.  It’s cozy.”  He plopped down on her chaise, which he’d claimed for himself weeks ago.  Not that she minded.  She kept that space clear for him, even when fabric and thread was piled on every other surface.

“What about your room?  Is it this ‘cozy’?”  She asked.  It was an innocent question, not overtly fishing for information on his identity.  

“Nah.  I’m not allowed to… I have to keep things tidy.”  He frowned.

Another piece towards her theory.  She’d add that note in the conspiracy page she’d webbed out in her diary.

“Oh!  I’ve got something for you!”  He untied a plastic bag that he’d hung from his belt.  “It, um, might be a little bit squished, but hopefully it’ll still taste good.”

Her eyes widened at the small box of cupcakes he presented to her.  The frosting was pale pink, with wobbly dots of chocolate arranged to look like the spots on her yo-yo.  They were a little smushed, but still in remarkably good shape for having traveled with Chat across Paris.  She popped off the box’s translucent lid, giggling at the tiny pigeon stickers at each corner of it.

He winced.  “They look terrible, don’t they?  I know I’m not as good at baking as you, but Mr. Ramier helped so I thought they might be kind of okay—”

“They’re perfect.”  She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.  “You didn’t have to make me anything, Kitty.”

“I know, but I wanted to.  Since you’re always sharing your delicious pastries with me—”

“Maman and Papa make most of those.”

“—and because you deserve something nice, and you refuse to let me buy you anything.”

Her face warmed.  Before she’d put that rule into place, he’d tried to bring her a present every time he visited.  Considering he visited a lot, that would have taken a toll on his wallet.

Unless money wasn’t an issue for him, of course.

Stop that, she told herself.  She could hardly deny her feelings for Chat anymore, but she couldn’t keep muddling them with feelings for her first crush.  Not until she knew for sure they were one and the same.

Now if only she could stop being a coward and ask him.

“W-well thanks,” she said quickly.  “You better help me eat them.”

He winked.  “Can do, Princess.”

Before they dug in, she bundled her fabric away and pulled out the Miracle Box from its hiding place next to her sewing machine.  It was the perfect spot, now that she’d learned how disguise it as an extra sewing box rather than that Ladybug-themed egg-thing.  She’d never have been able to keep that a secret.

“Who’s coming out today?”  Chat asked.  He’d sprawled on the chaise with his hands propping up his chin.  Tikki had nestled herself in his hair, eating half of a cupcake and scattering crumbs in his golden locks.  

The kwami would probably enjoy Chat Noir’s visits more if Plagg was allowed out for her to play with.  Plagg would devour all of her parents’ cheese-filled pastries, and Marinette… Marinette would have to look into her partner’s unmasked eyes and admit she was still half in love with someone else.

Unless she wasn’t.  But what if she was?  A few hardly-lucid dreams and wishful evidence weren’t proof that Chat Noir was actually Adrien.

She shook her head.  That train of thought could do donuts in her brain if she didn’t pull the brakes.

“I was thinking Kaalki and Pollen.”  She wasn’t up for any of the rowdier kwamis tonight, even with Chat helping her “babysit.”  Plus the two of them liked sweets; they’d appreciate the cupcakes.

She pulled out the hair comb and glasses, and Chat Noir excitedly put them both on.  The miraculouses somehow managed to make him look both dorkier and cuter at the same time.  Maybe that was just because he was at his cutest when he was being a dork.

Tikki smiled wide as Kaalki and Pollen appeared in flashes of light.

“Oooh, someone glorious and famous.” Kaalki flew in circles around Chat Noir’s head, nudging a few of his tufts of hair with her hoof.  “You would make a fine holder.  Plagg wouldn’t be up for a trade, would he?”

Chat blushed beneath his mask, making Marinette giggle.

“Uh, sorry, but I’m going to have to say neigh to that.”

Pollen covered her laugh in her hands. Kaalki just harumphed.

“Fine.  Your sense of humor is far too unpolished anyway.”

Glorious and famous.  Kaalki might have been talking about his status as a hero of Paris, but Marinette still made note.

They fell into their usual routine, Chat Noir entertaining the kwamis by answering their questions about the world while Marinette went back to work.  The steady conversation was a better backdrop than any white noise or instrumental music playlists.  She only wished she had time to join them.  Unfortunately, she’d put off this dress for too long.  She only had a week before Juleka wa supposed to model the floral sundress at the school’s ameteur fashion show, and who knew how many akumas would strike between now and then?

Marinette was just getting ready to transfer the fabric from the mannequin to her sewing desk when she heard Pollen ask Chat, “How are things between you and your Princess?”

The pins slipped from her hand.  She barely noticed a couple pricking into her slipper.

Chat had sat up straight since the last time she’d glanced back, and the nervous yet hopeful smile on his face threatened to melt her.

“Uh—well—how are things between us, Marinette?”

Her mouth briefly forgot how to make words.  She knew what Pollen meant; Tikki and her gossiped about Marinette’s love life all the time. Maybe she shouldn’t have let the bee kwami out tonight.

“Well, um.”  Her fingers twitched nervously against the fabric of her pajama pants.  Say something, Marinette! “We’re—we’re best friends, right?”

She wanted to shove her fist in her mouth.  How many times had she died inside over Adrien calling her just a friend?  And no matter who Chat was beneath the mask, she didn't want to obscure her true feelings for him.

But his face still lit up even brighter.  “I’m your best friend?”

“Of course, Kitty.”  She sat on the chaise, scooting close to him.  Probably closer than even a best friend should, but it wasn’t like Chat was shy about personal space.  “I don’t let just anyone climb in my window, you know.”

“Awwww,” Pollen sighed while crossing her hands over her heart.  Tikki gave Marinette a knowing look, which she pretended to ignore.

Then Marinette shoved a cupcake into her mouth before she could say anything more incriminating.

Chat blinked.  She wondered if he was impressed—that cupcake had been about the size of her fist. Guess she could’ve fit her fist in her mouth after all, but at least the cupcake tasted better.

“Thesh ah really goo’.” 

...Well, she said she wouldn’t say anything incriminating.  She’d never ruled out saying anything stupid.

Chat Noir laughed.  “For a Princess, your table manners could use some work.”

She swallowed about half the cupcake.  It was really good, thick and chocolatey with a hint of strawberry.  It probably would’ve tasted better if she’d taken the time to savor it.  But the loss was worth it for the look on his face.

“No table manners allowed.  Only vibes.”

He blinked before bursting out a real laugh, fuller and brighter than the one before.  One that she was sounded strikingly familiar—especially with the backdrop of rain hitting the window behind them.

That truth cracked like a flash of lightning.

“You’ve been hanging out with Nino too much.”  He wiped a claw under his eye, flicking away a few drops of water.

It was him. It had to be him. She’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

“Princess, what’s a ‘vibe’?”  Pollen asked.

“I believe it’s like a, like a feeling,” Kaalki answered over the sound of Chat’s cackle.  “Perhaps there’s a kwami of vibes?  Or would that fall under Duusu’s domain?”

Marinette was too stunned from the whiplash of Adrien’s laugh and Pollen’s question to actually answer.

“Sort of,” Tikki interjected instead.  “Marinette and her friends sometimes talk about vibes like they’re feelings, but they also use ‘vibing’ as an action.  I’m still not really sure what that means though.  Maybe we should Google it?”

When she sat on Marinette’s computer keyboard, the desktop collage of Adrien’s photos flashed on the screen.  Marinette almost lunged for her kwami in horror, but Chat was still laughing too hard to notice.

“Princess—what’s a—what’s a vibe?”  He got out between tears.

Then he actually doubled over far enough that he toppled off the chaise—which made Marinette laugh so hard she choked on her remaining cupcake. 

Adrien was dressed in a catsuit, literally rolling on the floor laughing.  That was more hilarious than even the kwamis trying to understand teenage slang.

“Marinette?  Are you okay?”  Tikki hovered up to her face, her blue eyes filling Marinette’s vision.

She giggled again, coughing out crumbs stuck in the back of her throat.

“I’m—I’m straight up vibing!”  

With that, she too rolled off the chaise and fell on top of Chat.  He yelped before giggling again, wrapping his arms around her.

“Spare vibes, Princess?  Spare vibes for a poor vibeless kitty?”

“Ack!”  She flailed as he tickled her sides.  “Nooo, stop!  You’re stealing all the vibes!”  

“Were vibes in the cupcakes?”  Pollen whispered to Kaalki, prompting another giggling fit from both Marinette and Chat Noir.

“Maybe it’s a secret,” Kaalki replied.  “Like a code.  For when the two of them want to do… whatever this is.”  She waved a hoof towards where they were tangled together.

It was only then that Marinette realized what this would look like.  And the fact that the floor wasn’t that thick, and her parents might hear something any minute.

Not to mention the fact that Adrien was tickling her.

“I, um, need some air!”  She burst, scrambling off from his chest.

“Huh?  Wait, Marinette!” 

He reached out a hand, but she’d already bolted up her ladder and shoved open her skylight.

Which, of course, let rain dump right into her bed.  Oops.

“What was in those cupcakes?”  She mumbled, climbing onto her balcony shutting the skylight behind her.  

She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to cool the heat there.  The rain wasn’t doing a quick enough job of it, even though the spring shower chilled the rest of her to the bone.  Had she flushed her last brain cell down the toilet?  What was she thinking? 

Of course, she was stupid with Chat Noir all the time.  They’d challenged each other to handstand contests, dared each other to eat spicy peppers, even one-upped each other’s Hawkmoth impersonations.  Chat might be Adrien, but that meant Adrien was still Chat. Knowing his identity didn’t change the fact that he was her ridiculous partner.

“Marinette?”  A blond head poked out of the skylight.  The glasses were askew on his nose; the golden hair comb had almost fallen out. “If you want me to leave, I can.  You don’t need to stay out here and get soaked.”

It was a bit late for that.  Even though she had ducked under the awning, the rain was blowing practically sideways.  She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.  Why had she worn her pajama tank?  Not that it mattered; Adrien had seen her in it before.  She could hardly embarrass herself more than she already had.

“N-no, of course not!  I just thought, we were being kind of loud, and it’s late, and since you didn’t come in through the front door…”

Chat winced as he climbed out onto the balcony to stand beside her.  Just a few seconds out in the rain, and his hair was already plastered to his forehead in a wet mop.  The glasses were too splattered to see through; he removed them and the bee miraculous with his free hand and put them in his pocket.

As for his other hand...

“Well, at least use this.  It might work a little better than your awning.”

...He popped open the umbrella.  Black and slick with rain, it brought her back to a moment two years ago.  Different green eyes, but the same soft gaze.  

“Of course you’d grab that one.”  She couldn’t help smiling.  It was the only umbrella she owned, and it had been sitting by her desk, but it still felt ironic.  

She reached for the umbrella, but Chat pulled it back at the last moment.

“Wait, it’s broken, isn’t it?”  He squinted up at its underside���

Just in time for it to snap shut on his head.

A laugh burst from her like a crack of thunder.  “Come on, Ad—Kitty.  It’s drier over here.” 

He disentangled himself from the umbrella and followed her to the corner of the balcony, where the rain hadn’t quite snuck under the awning.  

“Why do you have this old thing anyway?  Looks like a piece of junk.”  He twirled the now-closed umbrella like his baton, but fumbled it under her folding chair, where it promptly exploded open.  Chat scowled.  “Oh, I see how it is.  When I want you to open, you only know how to stay shut.  But when you’re out on your own you’re ready to party.”

The umbrella rolled slightly as it began to fill with rainwater.  Marinette laughed as Chat continued to glare at it.

“Be nice to that umbrella.  Someone very special gave it to me.”  She stretched out her legs, letting her heels dangle in the puddles in the brick.  Her fairy lights reflected in the water, casting the two of them in an ethereal glow.

“Oh, really?  Should I be jealous?”  He playfully wrapped an arm around her back.  Every place he touched burned, even though she knew the gesture was just part of his jealous act.

She hummed as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“...Oh.”  She felt him deflate, though he infused his voice with fake confidence.  “Well, good.  I’m a pretty territorial cat, you know.”

Gently, she tugged on the bell at his neck until he met her eyes.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” she clarified, “because I know he’s you.”

Chat Noir’s—Adrien’s—eyes widened.  But then his gaze softened, and he shook his head with a smile.

“I should’ve known you’d figure me out.  You’ve already done it once in your sleep.”

She blinked.  “I did?  And—and I’m right?”

She’d been sure, but it was still another thing to hear him admit it.

And it was yet another thing to hear “claws in.” To see green lightning crackle over over him, unmasking Adrien’s tender face.

The electricity had barely faded before she flung her arms around him.

“Woah!”  He laughed before hugging her back just as tightly.  “You know, I think I should be jealous.  You never hugged Chat Noir like this.”

“That’s not true.  I definitely hugged you tighter after we fought the Scrambler last week.”

“Huh.  I guess it just doesn’t have the same effect when I’m covered in egg whites.  Or maybe it’s because the suit isn’t in the way now.”

She was all too aware of that.  His bare hands were warm on her back, even through her pajama shirt.  Her face was tucked in the crook of his neck, where she could drink in his scent unobscured by the leather suit.

“Sniffing me again?”  He wiggled his eyebrows.

She flushed at being caught.  Adrien her friend from school might not have called her out for it, but Adrien her partner of two years would.  Well, two could play at that game.

“Oh, like you haven’t sniffed me before.  Besides, I can’t help it that you smell radiant, carefree, and dreamy.”

He looked mortified.  “That commercial was over a year ago!  Even Wayhem forgot about that!”

“Wayhem probably didn’t watch it two hundred and fifty-five times.”

“...I can’t tell which one of us should be more embarrassed about that.”

“Probably me,” she admitted.  “What was your point again?”

“Either we both get sniffing rights, or neither of us does.  That’s fair.”

She laughed, nuzzling deeper into his neck.  “Fine.  But I probably just smell wet.”

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in, tickling the part of her hair.  “Don’t worry.  You smell perfect.”

Maybe it should’ve been an awkward compliment, but he still found herself giddy over it.

“Thank you.  You smell like cheese.”

“Hey!”  He pouted.  “What happened to ‘radiant, carefree, and dreamy’?”

“She gave you a compliment, kid. What’s more radiant than cheese?”  Plagg asked.

Marinette nearly screamed.  She should’ve realized he was there, but he’d blended into the shadows in the wake of Adrien’s detransformation.

“Plagg!”  Adrien hissed.  “Go inside with Tikki.  We’re having a moment.”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Plagg dismissively waved a paw.  “You got any cheese in there for me, Pigtails?”

“Uh—Tikki can get you some cheese-filled pastries from downstairs.  Don’t let my parents see you.”

“They’ll never know I was there.  Unless they notice a plate of those delicious treats is gone.” The kwami grinned and dove through the floor.  

Well, that was about all she could expect.  Hopefully Tikki could keep him under control.  If not, Marinette might have to fake a rat infestation.

“Sorry about him.” Adrien sighed.  “He’s always like that.”

“Could’ve been worse.  Imagine if you were stuck with Xuppu or Roarr as your kwami.”

He laughed.  “Pretty sure my father would have grounded me for life if he saw the mess.  Or he would’ve found out my identity.  Probably both.”

Chat had been there the one day Marinette decided to let the monkey and tiger kwamis outside of the miracle box.  She’d actually had to transform and use her Lucky Charm just to undo the damage.  

“Speaking of which… I knew it was only a matter of time, but how did you learn my identity?”  He asked.  “If I need to be more careful…”

She shook her head.  “It’s not that.  I… I don’t know if I can even explain it.  At first I thought it was just wishful thinking.  Ever since we spent the night at Mr. Ramier’s apartment, I…”

She blushed and bit her lip.  Getting caught sniffing him might have been embarrassing, but admitting this somehow felt more personal.

“What?” He asked.  “Is it because I smelled the same as Chat and myself?”

“Huh?  No—well, sort of?  Maybe subconsciously.”

“Oh.  That’s what you said while you were sleeptalking.”  He shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense, since… well, I’ve been dreaming about you.  Both of you.”  

She took a deep breath.  He was still waiting patiently, his hand softly stroking her back.  If he didn’t think she was crazy yet, she guessed this wouldn’t change his mind.

“You were always the same person in my dreams.  You’d switch back and forth between Adrien and Chat Noir.  “Chat” would sit in front of me at school, or “Adrien” would help me bring down a scary akuma. Either way, it was always you.

“And then I couldn’t help looking for similarities when I was awake.  I—I started writing down all the evidence I found.  The time “Chat” almost beat me at Ultimate Mecha Strike was when I started to actually believe it.  But what finally convinced for sure me was your laugh.”

She laced her fingers together in her lap to keep from fidgeting.  All of it sounded weirder when she said it out loud.  Almost like she’d been stalking him, sticking all of their casual interactions under a microscope.

“Wow,” he breathed, leaning back against the wall.  “I’m flattered that you went through all that effort, but I don’t get it.  The only reason I didn’t reveal myself sooner was because I was afraid it would put more stress on you, and you were already dealing with so much.  Why didn’t you just ask me who I was?”

She stared into his eyes, watching the pastel lights reflect in them.  He still didn’t know.  All these secrets shared, all these weights lifted, and she still hadn’t revealed the one secret she’d wanted to confess all along.

“Because…” she licked her lips, “because I didn’t want to be wrong.  If you weren’t Adrien—I didn’t want to project my old crush onto you.  You deserve better than that.  Though I guess it doesn’t matter now, since I wasn’t projecting after all, it is you and so I should. Just be able to say this.”

He blinked at her, but then his lips began to part in a slow smile.

“Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you,” she blurted before she could lose her nerve again.  “First Adrien you, then Chat Noir you, then just, well, you.  So—so jot that down.”

A startled laugh escaped him before he squeezed her tight again.

“Consider it jotted.”  He kissed the top of her head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  As if she wasn’t going to dissolve at the faintest sign of lip-on-hair contact.  “And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in love with all of you too.  So you can jot that down.”

It shouldn’t have undone her.  Chat Noir had confessed his love to her countless times.  Granted, all of those times had been before their battle with Miracle Queen, after which he’d obviously tried to move on.

But he still loved her.  She wasn’t too late.  

Maybe that relief was what pushed her to grab the collar of his shirt in both hands and press her mouth to his.

Her brain screamed, but her lips slowly figured out what to do, particularly when Adrien got over his shock and kissed her back.

Adrien. Holding her in his arms. Kissing her back.

She wasn’t sure if the sound she heard was the rain or the roaring in her ears or just her internal screaming. But it didn’t matter. For the first time, they were really, finally together, no secrets or fears between them. That truth was just as sweet as the kiss.

He finally pulled back, the front of his shirt damp where he’d been pressed against her. From the wide grin on his face, he didn’t mind.

“Will I get that kind of kiss every time I tell you I love you?”

“I don’t know.”  She tapped her lips. “It might be worth finding out.”

“I love you, my La—”

She cut him off with her mouth on his.

All that time waiting, every failed attempt at confessing her feelings, slipped away like the rain off the slick balcony railing.

When the sky finally cleared, she woke to them tangled together, slumped against that same railing.  She had a crick in her neck, and she’d probably end up with a cold from sleeping in her wet clothes.  But it still felt worth it to look up into Adrien’s blissful face.  Somehow she’d woken up before him—probably because her clothes had been more uncomfortable, since his were dry where his suit had covered them.

“Are you going to give me any juicy secrets in your sleep?”  She asked before kissing the side of his jaw.

His only response was to hum and hug her.

“I guess that’s a no.”  She chuckled.  “No fair.  I shouldn’t be the only one embarrassing myself in this relationship.”

Relationship.  She could’ve exploded into confetti just thinking about it.

“Mmm… love you… m’lady.”

Her breath caught at his slurred voice.

“...Well I guess I can’t complain about that.”

She rested her head back on his chest, and let the dripping remnants of rain from the gutters lull her back to sleep.

[just-char]

5. Can I request Percy's POV for the opening scene in Chapter 2 of Homeward, where Ramsey has dinner with Percy and Molly? Or would doing so spoil the dramatic effect of later on? The scene is so well-written I feel the other POV isn't needed to understand what's going on, but it would be fun to read nonetheless. :)

Good evening. A fantastic request! I am a very slow writer, but here is the scene in full in Percy's POV. You will notice it is nearly twice as long due to the wordy and rambling nature of Percy's existence (and hence, one of the reasons Homeward is from Ramsey's point of view) and also that it is very much unedited. It was fun to explore the conversation Percy has on the phone with her mother (during which I believe you will cringe several times at both of their lack of tact and general ineptness. ) It is sort of not canon as the phone call lasts a little bit longer than it does in the actual story, but I love Liz and Arthur too much to not have fun with them when I can. Story: Homeward Word Count: 4,045

Ramsey, Percy had noticed, was over for dinner more often recently. She did not mind this. Quite the opposite. She often struggled with portion sizes when cooking now that she had to cook for more than one person (somehow, simply doubling the amount she used to make never worked out like it mathematically should have) and there was always enough to feed him. He also made for good company for Molly, who Percy suspected, despite how quiet she could be around others, loved having him over for the noise and excitement he brought to the usually quiet apartment. It was important for her to have good adult role models, and the imperfect Ramsey who was trying to make up for his difficult past was, in her opinion, a much better fit than the rambunctious Giovanni, whose moral code was vague at best and dangerous at worst. Also, admittedly, she simply liked him around, which was probably reason enough. So, no, she most certainly didn’t mind that he came over more often and would stay for dinner. It was something friends did, she was sure. Well, she was almost sure.

Today, he especially had a good reason to come over. Molly’s bedroom had been irking her lately. Percy was perfectly capable of painting walls– in fact, she was excellent at painting walls– but she was not an artist, and it was a strict difference. Although she could quite easily and quite neatly paint a green coat, or even perhaps some sort of dual coloured coat, given the proper masking tape, she could not paint bears. Molly’s old bedroom, she had noticed the only time she’d been in it, had bears on the wall. Teddy bears, specifically. And given that Molly was nearing adolescence, Percy wanted to take full advantage of the age where she would still enjoy such frivolous things and recreate them. Ramsey was also very idle, she found. When he was not working, he was drawing or sleeping from what she could gather (the latter much more so than the former) and it seemed to be putting a ‘dampener’ on his mood. Paying him to paint Molly’s bedroom (with her assistance, of course) seemed like a good way to kill two birds with one stone. Not that she would ever hurt a bird, of course. Well, not unless it was a dangerous individual that had to be taken care of. Perhaps she wouldn’t think about it anymore.

The spaghetti was a little salty. She hoped neither of them minded. It sort of reminded her of buttered noodles, which she mostly knew as a childhood treat (emphasis on treat, they were certainly not good for her) and as such she didn’t dislike the taste, but still. “Thanks again for painting my room, Mr Murdoch.” As Percy scrutinized her plate, Molly had taken to thanking Ramsey for his work. She was a very polite young girl. Very admirable. It was incredible how well-raised she was, all things considered, but Percy thought that simply spoke to how wonderful Molly was, and was not reflective of anything her father did for her.

Ramsey waved her gratitude off humbly. “Eh, it wasn’t nothing. S’nice to get out of the old apartment anyway.”

Percy chose to ignore his double negative. It was confusing, but he did it a lot and she’d managed to get used to it. She did not understand why he found it difficult to accept thanks, however. She quickly patted her mouth with her napkin (dinner etiquette was very important) so she could show her shared appreciation. “Whether it was nothing or not, we appreciate your effort.” Of course, she knew it probably was nothing to him. After all, he was an artist of very high caliber. But that didn’t change the fact he had put time and energy into doing it.

Instead of accepting her thanks, once more Ramsey chose to deflect, pointing his fork at her. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you couldn’t do it yourself.” Before Percy could debate this, however, Ramsey decided to go for two blows. He leaned in towards Molly, “Percy can’t draw for snacks,” and Molly found this funny enough. Percy watched them with interest, and then they turned and watched her with interest. Ah. Right. She was supposed to respond to that with something equally clever yet jocund, as was expected. “It’s true, I am no artist. However, I am also not a con-artist.” She didn’t quite understand what was so funny about two people mocking each other repeatedly, but Molly seemed to find it humorous and it was all very lighthearted so she decidedly went along with it (though she found her own wit was much better suited for one-line statements than battles of insults.)

Molly gasped and covered her mouth. Presumably, this was jokingly. Percy doubted what she said was all that bad. “She’s got you there, Mr Murdoch. Are you just gonna take that?”

Ramsey seemed pleased with himself. “Oh, was that supposed to be a burn?” He took a moment to think, “Heh, well, I may be a criminal, but at least I’m not a nerd.” Molly made noises with her mouth that Percy couldn’t quite decipher as she frowned. She never quite understood the word as an insult, after all, “There is nothing laughable about being well-educated.”

Ramsey apparently took her defensive statement as his victory. “Oh, I see,” he said casually, “So you can give it, but ya can’t take it, huh?”

“I can take you back to prison, Ramsey,” Percy blurted out. Oh. She had not even thought about it before saying it. Ramsey seemed equally surprised, coughing on the spaghetti in his mouth as Molly laughed. Admittedly, it felt good to be in on the joke. She smiled at him to clarify no ill will and he looked bashfully back down at his plate. She took it that this meant she had won, for once. Excellent.

Suddenly, Ramsey recovered from his defeat and looked up. “You excited to go to Marchpoint for Christmas, Molly?”

Molly beamed. “Sure! Marchpoint is really pretty, and Percy’s parents are really nice.” It was reassuring to know that Molly truly did enjoy visiting them– her parents had… overwhelming and very different reactions to the prospect of her adopting a child, and for a little bit Percy was very worried that they would make Molly uncomfortable, or perhaps regardless Molly simply wouldn’t like them. Alas, it worked out the complete opposite. Percy hesitated to use the word ‘obsessed’, but her parents were most certainly passionate in their approach to Molly in a way she wasn’t expecting. Well, her father she should have expected, but her mother? It really did go to show how the people you love can always surprise you.

Ramsey, meanwhile, seemed content to speculate about her hometown’s nature. “Heh, sounds like one a those little fancy holiday towns.” Admittedly, he was not entirely wrong. He had good sense about those kinds of things, Percy supposed. “Marchpoint,” he repeated, scratching his goatee. Very idly, Percy wondered what it felt like.

“It’s pretty fancy! Percy’s parents live in one of those big country homes with a porch and huge backyard, and all the little town shops look like they’re from the sixties. It’s so much quieter than the city.” She could not grow a beard herself, but she remembered how her father’s felt whenever he shaved it. Textured, bristly. Ramsey’s face fell. “What’d I do? I got something on me?” He looked down at his shirt to check. Hm. Apparently, she had been staring. And also not listening, as she couldn’t seem to remember what it was they had been talking about. She decidedly corrected both of those ‘faux pas’s.

“My apologies. I was…” She did not want him to feel self-conscious, “... lost in thought. What were we speaking about?”

Ramsey smiled at her cheekily. “Talkin’ about your fancy pants hometown, Sparky.”

“Ah, yes.” How could she have forgotten? “Marchpoint certainly has its charms. However, I prefer to be in the city where I am needed.” She frowned, thinking about just how useless she’d be somewhere so quiet. “Indeed, such a sleepy town has no need for my unforgiving sense of justice.”

Molly lifted some spaghetti in her fork. “It’s nice for the holidays though!”

“Justice doesn’t take holidays,” Percy reminded her seriously.

“Alright, Judge Judy, let’s not bring work to the table,” Ramsey scolded her. Percy wasn’t quite sure who Judge Judy was, but she had to admit he was right. She went back to eating her spaghetti.

Molly looked at him. “What’re you doing for the holidays, Mr Murdoch?”

Ramsey, from what Percy could tell, was not expecting to be asked this question. Percy realized she wasn’t sure what he was doing herself. “Me? Uh, nothin’, kid.” Had she never asked him? Ah. Shoot. She hadn’t. She’d try to remember to do that next year. “My family’s too far away and small to bother visiting every year. I like to keep it to myself.” Percy couldn’t pretend she wouldn’t do the same if Marchpoint was further away, but it surprised her that Ramsey, given his sensitive nature, would feel similarly.

“How practical!”

Molly did not seem as pleased with this as she was. “That’s sad, Mr Murdoch. Don’t you want to be around people during the holidays?”

Hm. Molly offered an interesting point. Ramsey was prone to bouts of loneliness. She watched him carefully as he attempted to shrug off the question. “Nah, I’m good. Not too into heavily commercialised stuff. Just another day off to me.” Percy was always the best with conversations but she was certainly familiar with interrogations and she liked to think she knew a lie when she saw one. Such a lackadaisy approach to such an important time seemed so unlike him.

“While I usually like to respect the wishes of others, I would not like to think of you spending this time alone, Ramsey. The holidays are a chance to reconnect and spend time with the people you love and care about. They are not, as you say, just ‘another day off.’”

Ramsey frowned at her, but Molly spoke first. “You should come with us to Marchpoint! I’m sure no one would mind.” Hm. Huh. Percy blinked. And then she blinked again, because for some reason the first blink hadn’t cleared her mind. She could feel her eyebrows furrowing as her brain went over the statement. Ramsey. At her family home. Staying with them. For the holidays. In Marchpoint. With her parents. She couldn’t even picture it. Molly’s quiet voice broke her out of her stupor. “Uhm, would that be okay, Percy?”

Percy gave blinking one last try to see if it would work. She’d have to give an answer– that was how questions worked. One person asks a question and the other answers, unless the question is rhetorical or sarcastic, something that was clarified by tone indicators. Molly’s question was neither, so she had to answer it. Would it be okay? Well, she’d have to ask her mother. Yes. That was the answer. She’d have to ask. “I’d have to call Mother,” she said, and then quickly to reassure them both, “But I don’t see why not.” Smile. Yes. That was a good idea– smiling made people more comfortable. She was nailing this.

Ramsey seemed upset. She was not nailing this. “Look, I don’t wanna be burdenin’ a buncha strangers all out of pity–” Well, that was simply ridiculous. “Ramsey,” she interrupted him, “would you like to come?” She waited expectantly.

He stared back at her. “I guess. I mean, if the food’s free.” A jest, she assumed, based on the wink. “But I don’t wanna come if I’m just gonna be in the way is all.” Hm. Well, she wouldn’t force him if he believed he would be out of place.

“I understand, Mr Murdoch,” Molly reassured him quietly, “I just thought it’d be nice to have another person I’m really comfortable around going to meet so many new people… But if you don’t want to, it’s okay.” She smiled at him. Hm. Percy hadn’t even thought about that. Molly was quite shy, and while her family wasn’t large by any means, they were quite loud, even for Percy sometimes.

Ramsey put both of his hands up as though he was showing he had no weapons. “Alright, alright! I’ll come if I’m able, just stop lookin’ at me with those big ole puppy dog eyes. Geez, I can’t stand it.” Oh, that was good. Ack, but it was so soon– she’d call her mother now, just in case. Her mother wasn’t fond of late changes to plans. Percy pulled her phone out of her pocket. If only they’d come up with this last week.

“Excuse me,” she said as she stood up, not wishing to neglect her table manners. The phone stopped ringing and her mother’s voice replaced the sound.

“Hello?”

“Hello, mother.” Percy looked over to the door to the hall. Perhaps this was a conversation best had in private.

“Hello, Percival.” Her mother paused. “Lovely evening.”

As Percy made her way to the hall she glanced out the window. The sky was clear. “Why, yes, it is a lovely evening.” There was a small pause as Percy closed the door behind her and walked to her bedroom. She didn’t particularly like phone calls. Well, she didn’t hate them, but she most certainly found them more difficult than a simple face-to-face conversation or a quick text.

“Why are you calling during dinner?” her mother asked gruffy.

Oh, had she been waiting for her to speak? See, if they had been face-to-face, that would have been more obvious. “Ah, yes. About Molly and I staying over–”

“What, you’re not coming anymore?”

Percy glanced at the phone in surprise. “What?”

“Is that Percy? Is she not coming?” she heard her father say in the background. Oh, dear.

“Arthur, I’m on the phone,” her mother snapped at him.

Her father did not seem to notice. “If it’s Percy, tell her I said hello, and that I’d be very disappointed if she and Molly weren’t coming up!” “Yeah, yeah.” There was a sigh. “He says hello. And that you better be coming up. ”

Percy nodded as though they could see her. “We’re still coming.” “They’re still coming, Arthur,” It sounded as though her mother had covered the mic, and then like she had taken her hand off of it again. “Okay, so then, what are you calling for?”

Percy idly placed her hand on the cool frame of her bed. “It’s just, well, I have this friend–” “You do?” She sounded surprised. Had Percy never mentioned Ramsey to her before?

“Yes.” No, she hadn’t, she realised. Odd.

“Alright, well, what about this friend?”

“He–”

“He doesn’t need money, does he?”

“What? Uhm, no, mother. He doesn’t need…” Percy paused, “Well, I don’t believe he needs money. I suppose he could.” It was certainly possible. Ramsey had obviously gotten in with bad crowds before and old habits did not die easy. It was entirely in the realm of plausibility that he had gone out and gotten into money trouble– or, alternatively, an old mistake had come back to haunt him despite his current good nature.

“Well, did he ask you for money?”

“Hm?” She’d almost forgotten she was on the phone. “Oh, no. No, he didn’t.”

“Good. None of your business then.” Ah, her mother was correct. It was rude of her to speculate like that.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“... Percival.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you calling me.”

“Oh, right.” She almost forgot what she’d called about. Her mother had that effect on people. “Yes. Well, this friend–” “Oh! Ask her if it’s Ramsey.” Ah. Her father again.

Her mother sounded mostly confused, and a little irritated. “Who?”

“Ramsey! Her friend, is it Ramsey?” Percy found herself rubbing the frame. Smooth, glossy wood. It felt nice.

“For god’s sake– Percival, your father wants to know if it’s... Ramsey.”

“Ah, tell him yes, it is.” “It is.” The mic muffled again. “Oh! Is he alright?” “Arthur, getting this conversation to end is like trying to get blood out of a rock and you’re making it harder–” “Alright, alright! Don’t raise your voice, Liz.” Her mother audibly groaned. “Did you at least tell her I said hello?” “I already told her! Just be quiet and eat your roast beef, you big lug.” A pause. “Are you still there Percival?” “Yes.”

“Alright. Tell you what, because my dinner is getting cold and this phone call is driving me to the edge. You have three sentences to tell me what’s wrong or I’m hanging up. Go.”

“Oh, er. Well–” “That was one. You have two now.”

Shoot. Percy took a moment to think about the clearest and most direct two sentences possible. “My friend Ramsey has nowhere to go for the holidays,” she said slowly, “Could he stay with us?”

“Oh, is that it?” Percy wasn’t the best judge of tone but her mother almost sounded disappointed. There was another pause, slightly longer than any of the ones before, as though she was taking this information in. “Hm,” she said finally, “He from the streets?” Percy thought of Ramsey’s little apartment. “No.” “He dangerous? Violent? Crazy?” “No.” Ramsey wasn’t any of those things even when he was a criminal. She’d begin to make her way back to the kitchen, given that the conversation was nearing it’s close.

“Drat. Well, whatever. Sure, sure. He can come.”

Percy opened the door to the hall and closed it behind her. “Thank you,” she said quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, well. I’m not a fiend, Percival. Besides, house won’t be full anyway. You know your uncle isn’t coming up this year, don’t you?” She walked into the kitchen, where Ramsey and Molly still sat at the table.

“Yes. I know.”

“Funny, isn’t it? Son finally decides to come home and then it’s all about staying local after coming up the twenty-five years– s’not like we don’t have room for his brat either. That uncle of yours is a strange man.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway. Get lost so I can eat.” There was a slight pause. “Love ya.” Percy smiled pleasantly. “Goodbye.”

The phone clicked. Her mother had hung up. She glanced up to her company (she hadn’t realized it, but apparently she had been staring at the floor the whole time) and they stared back at her eagerly.

Molly leaned forward. “What’d she say?” Their plates were empty– they must’ve finished eating.

Percy hummed, trying to replay the conversation. “Well, first she said ‘Hello.’ Then, ‘It’s a lovely evening.’ Then, ‘Why are you calling during dinner?’ Then–”

“I think she meant, what’s the verdict, chief?” Ramsey said quickly. He looked very pink. “Er, am I coming or going?”

Ah, there he went again with his nonsensical word choice. Percy rubbed her chin. “Both options you’ve given me suggest you are allowed. Which do I pick if you’re not?”

Molly groaned. “Percy...”

“My apologies.” Perhaps she was poking too much fun. “You may come, Ramsey.” He seemed appropriately relieved.

“Yes!” Molly exclaimed, and then, in a fit of excitement that was completely unexpected, jumped up to embrace her. Percy could not hide her surprise as her small arms squeezed her. Still, she smiled, wrapping one arm around her ward and using the other to give her a small pat on the head. “Thanks Percy.” The sound rippled through her shirt. It felt very nice.

“Of course.” Hm. What time was it? Molly always did her homework at eight. Percy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you have homework to do?”

“Ack!” Molly suddenly let go and raced to her room. Percy watched her go. She was a very kind child. It was lovely how much she cared for Ramsey. It only just occurred to her that perhaps Molly was not entirely selfish in her want for him to be there. Percy just felt privileged to know her, sometimes. It felt silly, given Molly’s age, but it was true.

Speaking of Ramsey, he stood up from the table and Percy looked over to him. “Yeah, uh, thanks, Perc’,” he said softly, “You really didn’t have to.”

Percy smiled at him. He was very sweet for a reformed criminal. She could appreciate that this was probably very difficult for him. Ah, she should reassure him of his use. “I think your presence will be good for her. It can be quite overwhelming meeting new people, especially for children.”

He simply shrugged. “Eh, maybe.” He glanced towards the door to the hall and back at her. “I guess I’d better get going.”

It was always a shame to see him go, but he had his own business to get to. Expecting him to stay forever would be selfish and immature, and Percy was neither of these things when she could fight it. “Of course. Thank you for joining us, Ramsey. It’s always a pleasure.” She started collecting the plates from dinner. She’d wash them now. She didn’t like leaving dishes in the sink.

Ramsey did not leave. Instead, he took the plates from her hands and grinned at her. “Heh, yeah, well, that’s me. I’m pretty great company,” he said as he brought them to the sink. He smirked then, putting a finger to his cheek. “And I’m pretty too.”

While he did that, she made her way to the drawer to get her rubber gloves. Her aunt always said washing dishes without them made your hands dry, though, if Percy were being honest, she never really thought about why she wore them. Habit.

“Very,” she said to entertain him. “Thank you very much for your assistance.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Percy blinked and looked over at him. He wiggled his eyebrows (provocatively?) Hm.

She looked away, clearing her throat and pulling on her gloves. “How is the apartment treating you, Ramsey?” She turned the tap to run the warm water. As Ramsey spoke, she grabbed the washing up liquid.

He was leaning against the counter. “Fine. Kinda small.” He shrugged at her. “I like the TV. Free cable.”

Percy smiled, procuring a sponge from a dish beside the sink. “I’m glad it’s to your liking. Perhaps if you keep working hard, you will be able to move somewhere bigger.” She started cleaning the dishes. Pasta luckily did not stain, and it did not take long to clean three plates. When she got to the last one, she glanced over at him again. He was… still not leaving. How did she approach that? On one hand, she didn’t want him to feel like he had to leave, because he did not. On the other, she couldn’t simply say nothing, either. After all, he’d said he was leaving. Perhaps he wanted to talk to her about something? She rinsed the plate off and stuck it in the drying rack with the others. Ramsey glanced at her and she cleared her throat. “Well,” she started, “There is no point prolonging the inevitable.”

He pushed off the counter. “Yeah. Thanks again for dinner, and, uh,” he coughed, “Bringing me along for the holidays.” Percy smiled at him.

“Goodbye, Ramsey. Until tomorrow.” She turned back to the sink and began taking off her gloves, but he didn’t leave. Should she say something? Maybe he truly wasn’t alright. “Are you not leaving?” Ah, now that she said it, perhaps that was a little blunt.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just, uh..." he looked at her desperately but she did not know what to say. "Right, uh, seeya.” He gave her a little wave and she returned it, but as he left Percy couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for her lacking approach. She should’ve asked if he was okay, maybe even if he wanted to stay a little longer, talk about something. She knew he didn’t particularly like being alone– perhaps going home was hard for him? Ah. Friendship was difficult and unfamiliar territory. She knew he wasn’t doing as well as he could’ve been, but she didn’t want to freak him out by pushing him too hard.

Well. One thing at a time.

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 7

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

rating: explicit

word count: 15,443

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 7:

Eren entered the studio with more than enough time to spare. Not in any way dressed for a portrait, but on time nonetheless. Thankfully, Levi only needed to accomplish a sketch today. The attire could be forgiven for now.

Eren leaned against the doorframe, a tight golden waistcoat highlighting the man’s frame.

“I see your illness has faded, Your Highness.” Levi continued to clear his workstation as the prince sighed dramatically.

“As you commanded, artist.” Levi’s fingers stilled over the brushes. He thought about the venom he’d spewed at the prince in the bedroom. Thought about how angry he had been as he marched out of the room. The guards hadn’t paid him any mind as he shuffled back to the studio with tight fists and a furrowed brow, well-warned by Petra. The time alone had allowed him to decompress, to curb his thinking from wrapping his hands around the prince’s neck to that of a brush instead.

“Quite,” Levi muttered, returning to shuffling through his supplies. The sound of advancing footsteps bounced off the stone as Eren approached him from behind. He felt a headache beginning to swell deep beneath his eyes. One that would surely only add fuel to this infuriating fire. Bringing thin fingers between his brow, Levi pressed gently against the soft skin. Usually, he could simply will the pain away. Could push the ache into the dark abscesses of his mind to be reignited on another day. However, now with Eren’s gaze demanding attention, he was finding it hard to ignore the subtle throbbing.

“Are you alright?” The prince’s breath fluttered delicately over the back of his neck, twisting heat around the bones of his spine. And he hated it, almost as much as he despised the goddamn royal family. Hated the way Eren was able to pick and probe these reactions out of him as if he were some young girl vying to lose her maidenhead. It was unequivocally, irrevocably insane. To be nearing his thirtieth year and still acting like a young boy going through puberty. Levi could curse himself - curse the dreadful prince, as well.

He turned around slowly, cautious of the ever-growing pounding ricocheting inside of his skull. Levi expected to see a smug grin, a look of enjoyment over his suffering. He figured that Eren would be all the more pleased to find that his own drunken aliment had seemingly shifted its host over to Levi. The irony was indeed thick, Levi supposed. However, instead of a gleeful smirk and self-righteous glare, Levi found a wrinkled brow. Eyes that were normally so wide and full of pride were now narrowed and searching, darting quickly across Levi’s face. Thin lips pressed tight as Levi’s fingers dropped to fiddle with the sleeve of his linen shirt.

“It’s just a headache,” he mumbled wearily, watching the way Eren’s brows pulled a little tighter. “I’m fine.” There was a short pause, and then the prince was nodding, feet shuffling backward against the hard grey stone. The whole scene was baffling. More so than when Eren stormed into the dining room in nothing but nightclothes. The thought had his palms going sweaty against the white fabric still being fussed about between dexterous fingers.

Eren stared at him, looking one half bewildered and the other half perturbed. Finally, the man cleared his throat. “Petra knows a great remedy for those. Tastes like shit but does its job,” Eren laughed awkwardly. The sound had his toes curling uncomfortably in his boots. The prince looked away then, sparkling eyes roving over the blank open canvas. “Where do you want me?”

“The fireplace,” he said without hesitation. Levi remembered how the location had called so loudly to him. The elegant lines, the stone etched to perfection. His only hope would be that the backdrop would not upstage the prince himself. It would be a far cry, though, as loathe as Levi was to admit it.

Eren was a handsome man, a strong jaw and high cheekbones. Thick dark brows hovering over fierce wide eyes that almost verged on too large. An artist’s muse in all aesthetic senses.

The aching in his skull had thankfully drizzled off into a manageable thud by the time Eren found a spot in front of the fireplace. The man hovered there, hands gracelessly hanging off to the side. It was slightly satisfying to see Eren looking so out of place especially after being so often on the receiving end of the prince’s brash humor.

“I believe that I’m at a bit of a loss here, artist,” Eren admitted, sagging broad shoulders with a heavy sigh.

Levi looked boredly over the edge of the canvas. “Haven’t you done this before?” Eren bristled marginally at that, and Levi had to fight back a devilish grin.

“When I was twelve!” The prince’s voice cracked hilariously and a fabulous flush crept up onto the man’s cheeks as Levi watched Eren sway anxiously back and forth. He took pity on the poor soul, scoffing as he placed the pencil down on the table next to the empty canvas. Standing, Levi gave Eren an assessing look, analyzing the man’s position as he stepped closer.

“Act natural.” Eren huffed crudely at the comment, spine stiffening beneath Levi’s stare. The stance was similar to a toy soldier Levi once owned as a child, wooden limbs ramrod straight at the sides. While appealing to a figurine young boys and girls could play with, the posture was thoroughly horrid for a portrait. An artist’s muse in all aesthetic senses, Levi reminded himself. “Now you look like you need to take a royal shit,” he chided, crossing his arms against a sturdy chest.

The blush on Eren’s cheeks deepened brilliantly. “You’re being far too vague,” the prince muttered quietly, pride effectively wounded. A small part of Levi wanted to reassure the man that the art of posing for a portrait did not come as natural as one would expect. However, a much larger part enjoyed seeing Eren’s tail tucked between his legs like a kicked dog.

“Relax your shoulders,” Levi said. Eren did as much, rolling them back into what appeared to be a much more comfortable position. “Now turn your body to the left.” He watched as Eren turned on his heels, eyes now facing the Jaeger family crest posted to the wall. Levi stepped forward. “Bring your chest towards me. For fuck’s sake, not your entire bloody body.”

Eren scowled, frustration clearly nearing the end of its rope. “This is damn near impossible.” That was a rather final word for it, Levi thought. The game had seemingly run its course, and despite his gratification over watching Eren squirm, he did not want to risk having the prince storm off in a snit like before.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” he surmised, thumb stroking the underside of a pointed chin. Confidence supporting his gait, Levi strode forward until he was within arm’s reach of the prince. “Face the wall again.” He watched the prince eye him up and down warily. “Before the sun falls, Your Highness.” Eren sighed irritably as the wide gaze was once again fashioned to the vibrant green tapestry.

“Absolutely impossible,” he heard Eren mutter quietly into the air. The breath was sucked straight back into the man’s lungs, however, when Levi wrapped tentative fingers around either side of the thin waist. Time seemed to still for a quiet moment, and the prince stiffened. The skin felt red hot beneath his touch, warmth seeping through the fabric and onto the pads of his fingertips. Could feel the way the muscles moved and flexed beneath the flesh as he twisted Eren’s upper half marginally to the right. Levi dropped the clutch, satisfied when the prince held the position without being corrected. Next, he grasped Eren’s right arm, bending it at the elbow before trailing his palm down to the man’s wrist.

“Take hold of your belt,” Levi requested.

“Rather uncouth of you to assume my innocence is so easily won, artist,” Eren jested, mouth pulling maddeningly at the corners. To hear the prince describe himself as innocent almost yanked a chuckle from his throat. Almost. Instead, he gifted the infuriating bastard with a deadly glower as he dropped his hand.

“Grab the damn belt.” With the instructions delivered, Levi turned and shuffled back over to the canvas, hoping that the grit of his teeth wasn’t too audible. The expectation that the pose would be held was minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. However, when Levi looked back over his shoulder he saw to his surprise that the stance was exactly as he’d envisioned - give or take the shit-eating grin.

Moving behind the blank linen, Levi selected a pencil from the complied lot of tools to begin the sketch. It was a soft, smooth grey. Perfect for capturing lines and easily covered with the drag of a brush. For now, he only needed to reproduce the simple shapes that would eventually be reconstructed into the prince’s form.

Hooded eyes only barely reached above the edge of the canvas, his short stature dwarfed by the coarse cloth. Levi typically didn’t work on portraits so large, and if he were capturing anyone other than the shitting smiling bastard before him, Levi might be apt to ask for a stool. As it was, he would rather face the entire Shiganshina army with only his paintbrushes as a means of defense.

He worked in relative silence, save for the scratching of the pencil across the linen. His gaze flitted quickly between the man and the canvas. Rough lines began to appear, boxy shapes symbolizing hands and shoulders.

“I beg your pardon if I’ve caused offense.” The statement caused a line to go astray. Levi swore quietly beneath his breath, rubbing away the error with the side of his hand. The prince would truly be the death of him. Perhaps literally.

To be quite honest, he was wholly surprised that Eren even had the ability to utter words that weren’t a vulgar insinuation or an infuriating quip. An apology was definitely not considered to be a part of the man’s vocabulary.

Levi's voice failed him as he tried to conjure up a worthy response. One that would likely tell Eren which unspeakable place the man could shove the pleas of forgiveness. Instead, Levi was left to hide shamefully behind the canvas as he attempted to avoid Eren’s pointed stare.

“You simply intrigue me.” Levi’s breath caught painfully in his throat. Intrigued? He had no idea how to respond to such a claim. One was intrigued by the leaves morphing colors on the trees or the way the stars glittered brightly at night. But Levi? Intriguing? He should perish the thought.

When Levi looked up, an unyielding stare immediately sought out his eyes. “I can assure you,” he finally said, voice not quite as steely as he’d hoped, “that this curiosity is misplaced.” Levi watched as the man’s posture slipped. “As is your right arm.” The prince quickly righted himself back into position.

“How self-loathing,” Eren muttered.

Levi ignored the quip, returning to the sketch. To anyone else, the scribbles would be puzzling. A scattered mess of unconnected dots and lines. However, Levi recognized the sketch for what it was - the beginning of a potential masterpiece. The majority of the prince’s outline lined the canvas. Hands, legs, arms, and torso all sketched to represent an estimated length and width. Levi had saved the face for last. It was, without question, the most crucial element of the portrait. Oftentimes, he had been asked to substitute hands that were thought to look too old or bellies that appeared to be too fat. But the face was always that of the owner’s. He gazed at Eren’s now, noticing how the intensity behind the man’s eyes had not diminished even with Levi’s blunt rebuttal. He tried to read them, to find something within the swirling depths. Though it was unclear to Levi what he was even looking for. Sarcasm? Ridicule?

Curiosity?

He scoffed softly to himself, eyes falling away from Eren’s commanding stare.

The face would have to wait until the morrow when his head was sat correctly on his shoulders. Regardless, the fireplace still needed to be outlined into the background, something that would not require Eren’s presence.

“We are finished for today, Your Highness,” Levi said, bowing slightly. The rumblings of the headache reawakening began to whistle between his ears. Unlike the others, Levi couldn’t help but feel as if this one was well-deserved. Thinking so deeply about how Eren perceived him or what the man’s intentions were would do nothing but drive him utterly mad.

The prince relaxed, falling out of the chosen position. “Thank the gods.” Levi did feel at least a modicum of sympathy for the man. Despite his chiding, Eren had remained steady for the majority of the session. It was more than he could say for most clients. “Will you require me again tomorrow?” Levi nodded, pencil going back to work as he etched out the beginnings of the fireplace. “Good. I shall require you, as well.”

The line crooked to the side as his hand twitched.

Eren’s boots clicked against the floor as he approached the canvas. “Meet me in the courtyard after breakfast is served.” Levi looked up at the man as if he had grown two heads. In actuality, that feat might have been more realistic than the thought of Levi Ackerman campaigning with a member of the Jaeger family after breakfast. The very idea had his gut twisting in a feeling that he couldn’t quite describe. “Until tomorrow, artist.”

And with that, Eren took his exit, leaving behind a very befuddled - if not slightly captivated (though he would wholly deny it) - Levi to wonder what glorious plan the prince had in store.

[wienerbarnes]

Breathe Deeper

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,324

Prompt: “Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” (from a random prompt generator)

Warnings: murder, violence, staging a suicide, ~feelings~

A/N: cafe bustelo does wonders for you at 1 am anyway ive been trying to finish this for like two months. have a couple more ideas for these two but feel free to send me any ideas or requests and ill do em if the inspo strikes! also title is purely the song im listening to as i type this out and has no correlation to the story LOL but hey if yall like tame impala enjoy

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

A single pop is heard as a bullet flies out of your gun into the head of the old man who opened the door.

“Christ! No build up?! No tension?! No confirmation that it’s even him?!” Bucky yells as he wiggles his ear to rid the ringing from it.

You brush past Bucky and slide the gun back into the holster strapped to your thigh. You step over behind whatever his name was, Bucky’s having trouble remembering after that blow to his eardrum, and hook your hands under his arms in order to  drag him back into the empty house.

“Why is it always murder and mayhem with you? Don’t you ever just do normal person things? Eat a sandwich? Brush your teeth? Do you even brush your teeth?” Bucky questions you as he closes the door behind him, stepping in between splatters of blood.

“Nope, gotta leave leftovers for the bugs that live in my mouth.”

“That’s gross.”

“Shut up, help me lug this guy to the bedroom.”

The two of you are in a small town in Northern Oklahoma on the property of one of your ex-Hydra handlers. After a few days of researching, the two of you were able to figure out where he moved to and what he changed his name to after retiring from his prior lifestyle.

“I knew it was him from the second I saw him. You never forget.” You explain to him, both of you positioning his body in the corner of the room.

“You go clean up the entryway, I’ll finish staging over here.” Bucky offers it to you. He takes out his own gun from his own waistband and fires a single shot through the same hole you put in between the guy’s eyes. The splatter that explodes on the walls behind him are perfect, artistic almost. Bucky then starts looking around the room; in the closet, under the bed, until he reaches the night stand where a pretty little pistol lays. Not the same gun as his, but he has a feeling the police system in such a small and unpopulated town won’t bother to investigate this death as a murder as opposed to the obvious suicide that took place.

Bucky notices the small skull and octopus stamped into the side of the gun as he places it in his hands. He rolls his eyes before making his way back over to the entryway where you’re sat on the ground, scrubbing away with a rag in your hands and a bottle of bleach next to you. 

Bucky walks over and takes a seat on the loveseat positioned a few feet away from where you are.

“So, where we heading after this?” Bucky asks you, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the arm of the seat.

“Back to New York? You probably gonna be busy working on that murder case.” You glance at him confused before going back to scrubbing.

Bucky pauses before speaking again, “How do you know about that?”

“I… keep up with my fair share of news.”

“You don’t pay for newspapers nor do you have a TV or a phone; you don’t have news. Besides, we haven’t released any information to the public about anything before we get more leads. So, how do you know about that?” Bucky stares at you, eyebrows pinched a bit in the middle as he awaits your answer.

“Do you wanna stop and get some pie on the way back?”

“No. Did you see something about the murders?” Bucky ignores your attempt at changing the subject.

“You just said you haven’t released anything-”

“I don’t mean on the news, I mean in that empty head of yours.” He teases.

You sigh, “I hate when you ask me about my… head.”

“Well, you could be helping here! You can try and be good!”

“I’m sitting on the floor scrubbing an old guy’s blood out of the wood of his own house after I’ve just blown his brains out.”

“Yeah, a bad old guy!”

You get off the last of the specks of blood before standing up and screwing the cap back onto the bottle of bleach. “I didn’t even see anything about the killer, anyway.”

“So, what did you see?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Fetch me a bone here, doll.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that, dog.”

He grabs the bleach and rag from your fingers to free up your hands from carrying anything. Tingles travel up the tips of your fingers and flow up through your wrist into your chest. You glance up and make eye contact with Bucky and the dramatic puppy eyes and pouty lips he’s throwing your way. 

You stare for a few more seconds before looking away, “Check that huge pond in Central Park tomorrow. His next victim will be floating there.” You satisfy him before turning and making your way back outside and to the car the two of you took on your little road trip.

While walking back to the parked car, Bucky quickly rushes in front of you and grasps the handle before you can reach it, allowing you to get in the car while he holds it open for you. He throws you an innocent looking smile, a smile coming from a person who surely didn’t just stage a suicide. You bite back your own smile before taking a seat and letting Bucky close the door behind you.

…

When you open your eyes after your nap, it's dark outside the moving car. You slowly lift your head up off the car window and glance over at Bucky, who you now realize is on the phone with someone.

“I told you, it was a weird anonymous number, Sam. I don’t know where it came from.” Bucky speaks softly on the phone before turning his head to look at you in your sleepy state.

“All they said was to check the pond in Central Park tomorrow. I know it’s sketchy, but we don’t have any other leads anyway, we might as well try it.”

“We sounds like a lot of people, ain’t you say that to me one time? Not all of us are on vacation, you know.” You hear another deep voice through the tiny speaker of the phone against Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, man.”

Bucky wraps up his conversation as you process what you’ve heard. Bucky has lied, again, to the government, to Captain America, in order to protect you and your existence.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks before your thoughts can get too far from you.

“Fine. We’re already heading back to New York?” 

“We’re stopping at a motel for the night, but after tomorrow’s drive, we’ll get there by sundown.”

You sit up proper and stretch your legs as far out in front of you as you can, the bones crunching and popping in relief at the new position. Bucky cringes next to you. He glances at you and watches you pick at the crust gathered at the corners of your eyes, a yawn escaping you along with the last of your grogginess.

Bucky doesn’t know how he’d fully express it to you, but he’s so happy to see the person you’re growing into. Everyday a little bit more of your personality, your mannerisms, your weirdness, your humor, your ideas; everything about the real you, shows more and more. He sees this beautiful woman who, maybe a year and some ago, was walking the line of death and now sits beside him with neon green nail polish and mismatched socks and cute flower earrings adorning the curve of your ear. He stares at the tattoo on your neck, that angry red face with large eyebrows and wonders whether or not that was your idea or not. He wonders if you have any other tattoos hidden among the space of your skin, he doesn’t remember seeing any along your sides or stomach that nightmare of a night in his apartment-

“You’re swervin’.” 

Bucky clears his throat and snaps his head forward, fixing the car to drive straight on the road. Soon, he sees the promising sign, “Motel in 10 Miles,” and the two of you park in the small lot of the light orange building.

The inside smells of old people, an aged scent that isn’t necessarily bad, but makes you scrunch your nose nonetheless. No bugs in clear sight and the roof is still intact, so it should be suitable for a night of rest.

“We only have rooms available on the first floor for tonight, I’m assuming you’ll want one bed?”

Bucky's throat goes dry for a second, “Yes, that’s fine.” He doesn’t want to consult you as you look far off out the front window of the lobby, back turned to the young woman at the front desk. No matter how small a town in whatever state there is at this point in their journey, there is no risking anyone recognizing you, even if your search mission has been deemed unsolved.

A plastic card is slid into Bucky’s right hand and he begins making his way back outside and down the walkway towards their room for the night. You follow him silently.

“I call showering first, I think there’s small clumps of blood still stuck in my hair.” You tell him, flinging your backpack onto the bed, and pulling out a large sweatshirt and panties and taking them into the bathroom with you. 

While the water begins to run, Bucky undoes the blankets, looks thoroughly through the pillows and in between the sheets in search of bed bugs. Next, inspecting the lamps, outlets, and anything else that could possibly hide a camera, microphone, or any other device. He even contemplates tearing apart the carpet under his feet, but decides against the extra work. He places your bag along with his own backpack on the small table in the corner of the room and fixes the bed to not look like he tore it apart recklessly. I wonder what side she prefers-

The bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam flows out, you soon emerge with a towel wrapped around your head, large sweatshirt hanging off your frame and bare feet digging into the soft carpet beneath you. You fling the towel off of your head using momentum from throwing your head and neck forward, the towel landing on the floor in front of you and your wet hair sending a light spray Bucky feels on his warm face.

By the time Bucky finishes with his shower, the room resembles a sauna and his metal arm has gone hot. A long sleeved shirt and cotton shorts are slipped onto his body along with a pair of thick socks to keep him warm at all times. He steps out of the bathroom, using his towel to rub through his hair, and he spots you using the small mirror on the wall. 

Your legs are on display and your underwear is in sight. Bright pink with WEDNESDAY printed on the behind in bubble letters, it’s Friday, the bottoms of your butt cheeks hanging out the bottom of the fabric. The cotton hugs your body and Bucky can’t help but blush at the sight. His mother would smack him over the head if she were here right now. 

Your shirt is lifted, one of your hands holding it high on your chest where Bucky can see a slip of under your breast peeking, the curve intriguing him. Your other hand is occupied rubbing a colorless liquid along your side, Bucky focuses his attention and realizes your rubbing along the scar he left you from your stitches. The bottle on the table has a label that read Vitamin E Natural Oil. 

Your fingers seem unbelievably soft and gentle as he watches them glide along your side, massaging the shiny oil into your smooth skin. You drop your sweatshirt and gather a bit more oil on your hands before rubbing it into your hips where Bucky can see the faintest stretch marks.

“Sorry ‘bout the scar. O-on your side, I mean.” Bucky stutters out, convincing himself that his body is warm from the shower he took. 

“It probably saved my life, so I can’t say I’m sorry about it.” You respond without turning around, as though you knew he was there watching you lather yourself in oil like the beginning of a softcore porn but didn’t mind him enjoying the show.

“What’s that stuff for, anyways?” Bucky asks as he gathers his old clothes back into his bag, folding each piece before placing the packed bag next to yours on the table. Your bag that clearly does not have folded clothes, only crinkled ones. Bucky empties your bag and folds your clothes for you before neatly packing it and closing the zippers.

“Helps fade scars.”

“Yeah, but why? Scars are cool.” 

“I suppose. I’d still like to lighten them a bit. So they look better, prettier.”

“You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in the last few decades.”

“You don’t even remember most of the last few decades,” You try to joke.

“I mean it. It’s a compliment. It’s okay to accept and enjoy compliments, doll.” Bucky looks at you, forcing you to meet his eyes. You see in your peripheries as he puts the cap on the bottle of oil and places it next to your bag. A small smile adorns his face as he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel a knot form in your throat.

It’s been a long while since you’ve received any kind of love, whether that be physical, emotional, mental, or self. It’s an overwhelming feeling when someone who you aren’t actually the closest with gives you such a deep and personal compliment. 

Aren’t the closest with- this is your only friend he the only person you even know. The point is, being the most beautiful woman of the century is much different than having pretty hair or a good sense of humor.

You look away from him before the small bit of wetness can gather in your waterline.

“Which side of the bed do you prefer?” Bucky whispers softly to you, as to not break the safe atmosphere created by his sweet comment.

You clear your throat that now feels thick with tar, “The right.”

“Good. I prefer the left.”

[makeusfreefromthisfandom]

First of all i want to give a shout out to @ayumiko​ for letting me use her amazing gifs in my writing! I mean just look at them! Be sure to go check out her stuff <3 (the middle gif’s credit goes to @atticwraith)

Overlooked | Ikuya Kirishima x Reader

Anon asked: Hi! Can I request an Ikuya x reader? Maybe a reader who’s really outgoing and stuff, kind of like the total opposite of him. At first he’s kind of annoyed by them, but then he slowly warms up and actually misses them when they’re out sick from school. He goes and visits and things go from there! As a fic writer myself, I thank you so much for providing for fandoms! You’re doing amazing.

A/n: sorry if the ending is a bit tacky, I didn’t know exactly how to end it off

Genre: a bit angsty? fluff at the end

Word count: ~2k this ones a bit long

“Catch up with you guys later ok?” You waved your teammates goodbye as soon as you had spotted a familiar head of deep sea green hair.

“Hey Ikuya!” He turned around and was met with your big smile, nodding in response. You quickly made your way over to him before noticing a third party.

“Oh, hello to you too Hiyori.” Your smile was returned with a little wave of his own. Teeth clenched, because we know he’s internally screaming

“First name basis huh?” Hiyori asked tartly, however a smile still present on his features.

“No need to be so uptight! We’ve all been given a name for a reason, so we can be called by it! By the way we’ve all been acquainted long enough.” You nudged Hiyori slightly in return, glancing at Ikuya, who just cared about making it to class on time. “Which is why I’m constantly telling you two to also call me (f/n)!”

“Hmmm.” Hiyori gave you a closed eyed smile before picking up the pace to catch up with his friend. I’m telling’ ya, internal screaming.

“Hey you two! Wait up!”

Students shuffled into the classroom, you took your usual seat next to Ikuya. You were taking notes when something had caught your eye. “Woah! You’re a really good artist Ikuya!” You leaned in next to him, pointing at the little doodles on the edge of his paper. Instinctively, the boy grabbed his notebook, blocking it from your view.

“T-They’re nothing.” He stated simply and went back to writing, this time with a protective arm shielding his work.

“...you could just take the compliment you know..” you muttered looking away. You felt a tap on your shoulder, making your eyes light up, only to find that it was just another classmate asking for help. You sighed and leaned over behind Ikuya to try and explain the problem.

The bell rang not too soon after. You and Ikuya began gathering your things, fingers brushing slightly in the process. You had managed to stumble out a sorry, but found that the boy was already halfway out the door; oblivious to you, with a small dust of pink hinted on his cheeks.

The next few days were the same, school work, friends, volleyball (yes you play volleyball k? I was watching haikyuu. I couldn’t help it), more volleyball, and failed attempts at a conversation with Ikuya.

“Hey Ikuya! Check it out! There’s a new cafe that’s opened nearby, some friends and I are gonna go check it out, you wanna come?”

“No, sorry I’ve got plans.”

Each day made your heart sink even more, along with the pile of stress, schoolwork and volleyball weighing on your shoulders. Nevertheless, you put on the same bright smile, known to everyone around you, and kept on.

“(L/n)?” Your face lit up at the sound of the familiar voice to your right, “...my eraser rolled over, can you reach it?”

“Huh? Yeah sure!” You gave him a smile and bent down, holding your hand out slightly before something struck you.

Why? Why do I feel like I need his attention? Why am I so pathetic? The realization was like a stab, penetrating deeper and deeper.

“(L/n)?.....(l/n)?....are you okay?”

You broke out of your trance and reached for the eraser, “S-sorry.” You placed the eraser in Ikuya’s hand, who was now looking at you with slight concern. You were silent after that, paying mind to your own work, failing to notice the boy next to you glance at you with worry.

The rest of the day consisted of you dwelling in your own thoughts, ignoring the calls of your friends and teammates. Skipping practice, you went straight home and sprawled out on your bed. Picking up your nearby volleyball, spreading your fingers into a setting position, you began gently tossing the ball up and down with hundreds of thoughts beginning to cloud your brain. Ikuya was never one to hide his annoyance, you knew that. But maybe you did talk too much, and maybe some of your friendships were forced. Were you trying too hard? Were people, unlike Ikuya, hiding their annoyance? Your insecurities that you thought you had left long behind, came flooding back. You shut your eyes tightly, thinking that would make the thoughts go away, as you drifted off into a deep sleep.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm pounding at your head, and made your way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, you took a good look at yourself in the mirror. The thoughts of last night still swirling in your head, making it feel like it was going to explode. Suddenly you felt something rise at the back of your throat, as you scrambled towards the the toilet and let it all out. The throbbing sensation on your right side became more prominent, the lights around you making it worse.

A couple of hours later, you thought you had heard your phone ring. Quite a few times actually. Great to know people care about me, you thought sarcastically. You decided to stay home with all the lights off and the blinds tightly shut, every movement or thought pulsating your head further. You couldn’t remember exactly when, but you had eventually passed out on the couch, failing to hear the sound of your front door opening.

“(L/n)?....” Ikuya had suspected something was up with you these past couple of days. Although the facade you had built around you might have fooled another, you had been around to constantly bug, not that he really minded deep down, for Ikuya to realize you were acting different.

“(L/n)!” Ikuya panicked, his eyes adjusting to the dark space, to catch a glimpse of a limp silhouette passed out on the couch. He quickly came to your side, checking to make sure you were okay.

H-huh? You slowly began to wake to a hovering dark figure with amber eyes looking over you in concern. Ikuya?

Ikuya quickly backed away, face flushed and glad it was dark, once he had realized you were awake. You however, took a moment to just stare at him, headache or whatever forgotten.

Am I hallucinating? Why is Ikuya here?

“....you weren’t at school and your friends were saying how you weren’t answering any of their calls....you’ve been acting weird for the past couple of days....so I came to check on you...” Even in the dark, you could see the glimmer of his cat-like eyes.

Wait? He noticed?

“I also brought you the notes you all the notes and assignments you missed...your captain was pretty pissed off too...” He moved forward, hesitantly resting his hand on your forehead before moving to his bag to take out his notebook and some other papers. “You don’t feel all that warm...are you sure you’re not just skipping?”

Has he always been this talkative?

He stopped and turned expectantly, waiting for your reply. Before you could even think about opening your mouth, another surge of pain made its way, with you clenching the right side of your head in pain.

“M-migraine...” you managed to barely get out. Instantly, Ikuya was at your side, crouched down, back facing towards you.

“We should probably get you somewhere you can actually relax first.” He kept his pink-tinted face forward, waiting for you to climb onto his back, which you did without complaints. You warily pointed a finger in the direction of your bedroom, as he slowly made his way and rested you gently on the bed, before awkwardly standing off to the side. You pointed with your eyes, still in pain, to the edge of your mattress. After a few minutes of silence, you began to make sense of your situation.

“Why’d you come here Ikuya....?” You propped yourself against your pillows, head hung low to hide the blush creeping up your neck and cheeks.

Ikuya was silent for a bit before whispering ever so slightly, “You were more quiet than usual for the past week....I got worried....”

You were barely able to catch the last part as your eyes widened, before lowering back your gaze. “Shouldn’t you be relieved though? I’m not being annoying or a nuisance to you...”

Ikuya’s head shot up as he suddenly lunged towards you. “I don’t-,” before composing himself, “I don’t think you’re annoying...I actually like when you talk to me...” again, the last part barely above a whisper.

“Ikuya...” Another tinge pain shot up throughout the side of your head, as you let out a small whimper.

“D-do you need some medicine?! Where’s your cabinet?!” You let out a giggle, before it turned into full blown laughter, headache completely forgotten. Ikuya looked at you confused while you wiped the corners of your eyes. There was something about your disheveled, humorous state, that made Ikuya feel a complexity of emotions suddenly stir inside of him. Soon, and he had no idea why, he started to laugh along with you. You paused and took in his image, the feelings in your own heart becoming more evident.

“....here I was thinking you hated my guts...” you murmured softly, shaking your head, but then instantly regretting it. “But, I already took some medicine not too long ago.” You paused again, but this time more seriously. Despite the painful state you were currently in, you still couldn’t ignore the gut feeling in your stomach.

“Ikuya...you are aware right?” Ikuya was now also looking directly at you. “...aware how I feel about you...” He froze, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised. He could no longer deny the growing feeling in his heart either. He blushed and looked away,

“...I feel the same way about you too (f/n)...for a while now...”

He said it softly, but you were just able to catch the last part as your eyes were now bulging out of your sockets. He caught a glimpse of your expression before suddenly backing away, as if he had said something wrong.

“W-what is it! W-why are you looking at me like that.”

“That’s the first....first time you ever called me by my first name...”

And for a while now? Maybe you really were oblivious.

By the look on his face, he had just realized this as well, but crossed his arms anyways, avoiding eye contact.

“It is your name you know...of course I would call you by it...” Your body moved before you had time to process what you were doing, and soon your cool hands met warm, as Ikuya gently sat back down, face now red, but still avoiding your gaze. Just as you were about to say something, a familiar sensation danced it’s way back, as you squeezed your eyes shut, removing your hands from Ikuya’s to clutch onto your head.

“Here lie down...” you obeyed, bracing for the next wave of pain, only to be met with slender fingers running through your locks, massaging in place once they had found their destination. You relaxed under Ikuya’s touch, eyelids becoming heavy.

Ikuya smiled to himself, scooting closer and watching your brows slowly unknit, as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber. ~

[smilexcaptainx]

Doritos Interview | Chris Evans

? request an imagine ?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Hemsworth!Reader

Request: I just got done watching the Dorito interview with Evans and Hemsworth, and I automatically got an idea of the reader being the little sister of Chris Hemsworth and is secretly dating Evans. Can I get an imagine where the reader is also part of that interview and the interviewer brings up a question about the pictures of her and Evans out and kissing and Hemsworth is like “What? When did this happen?” I love your work, they satisfy my need for Chris Evans writing content. Thank you!

A/N: I’m glad to hear that I’ve got the content you were searching for! I hope you enjoy!

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 612

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"The good news is we’ve got food here because, the human Dorito is in the house.”

The interviewer, Josh leaned back to seize a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. One humorous comment from your brother later, he was handed the chips and he opened them effortlessly. You were sat on the other side of Chris Evans, someone you had been secretly dating for a few months. It has certainly been tough hiding something so special from someone who was special to you. Growing up as the youngest and three older brothers, you’ve had a lot of protection given to you.

Chris Hemsworth would be the most overprotective for you, especially when it came to the guys that you dated. You’ve been through many heartbreaks through your life, but you trusted that Evans was the one to make you believe in love again.

“Now that we’ve got you all hooked with the food, how about we start with the first question, which is for Chris Evans.” he emphasized, looking down at his phone. “Chris, thousands of your fans have been wondering if the photograph of you and [Y/N] kissing in in th—”

The uneasy chuckle fell from your brothers lips, interrupting the speaker. Your big brother slid a chip into his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing in question and expressed in a curious tone, “What?” in a sense that he hoped he heard the interviewer correctly. Immediately the eyes of your lover enlarged when he had realized that the relationship between you and him was about to get exposed. Worst of all, in front of your most protective brother.

"Did you not see the pictures Hemsworth?” josh asked, raising his eyes up from his screen. “I have them right here if you want to see them.”

You awkwardly clear your throat as you felt the suspicious blue eyes of your brother glare at you before leaning in toward Josh to see the photo. You hadn’t been this embarrassed in front of him since the night of Sophomore prom. You sneak a few glances to see his reaction, which varied from raised eyebrows to swiping the phone out of Josh’s hand to zoom in and observe the picture closer.

“I don’t believe my eyes,” his thick Australian accent loudly resonating through the air. “when were these pictures taken?”

“Only a couple of days ago.”

Your brother snapped his eyes on you. “This is where you were instead of game night?” he accused in utter shock. You respond with a slow, blamable nod while Evans was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I knew you didn’t like bowling enough to do it on game night!”

“You like him though, don’t you Chris?” you ask, hoping for an answer you wanted. “I promise you brother, he is the one.”

“[Y/N] is the one,” your sweetheart instantly agreed, placing his hand on top of yours. “I give you my word that I’ll love her with all my might an—“

“Oooh, mate, don’t give me that image,” your brother groaned, squeezing his eyes, his face scrunching in disgust. Everyone in the room softly chuckled at his reaction. “[Y/N] isn’t wrong though, I like you. I trust you, which means,” your big brother huffed, inching closer to your honey. “if you break my little girl’s heart,” he spoke intimidatingly with a poke on his chest. “the next thing to happen won’t be pretty.”

“That doesn’t scare me,” responded your lover confidently. “you know why? Because I’m never going to break her heart. She’s too precious to me to lose.”

“Awe, babe,” you cooed, leaning your head on his shoulder with a smile. “I love you so much.”

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[sarahwroteathing]

English 284 (1)

Word Count: 1495

Summary: Your proposal to teach a new class combining art and literature is accepted... under one little condition. (College AU)

Warnings: Language

A/N: We’re doing impulsive writing again because it worked well the last two times. Oof. Here we go again, folks. Image is of a painting mentioned in the chapter: “Ophelia” by Sir John Everett Millais. (Source)

Steve’s Perspective .

“Fellas, it’s happening!” you said, shoving the door of the lab open with your hip, laptop balanced precariously in your arms.

“Seriously? I changed the code yesterday! How did you get in here again?” Tony complained, letting his head fall forward onto the table with a dull thunk while Bruce scoffed.

“You changed it to my birthday, smartypants. Besides, my ID is still authorized on the card reader. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy my company.” 

You pulled a spare chair over to the table where Tony and Bruce were working, planting your own laptop primly on a stack of battered notebooks. Bruce’s probably. Tony abandoned paper ages ago. 

Despite the token protest, Tony was actually your closest friend at work, a pairing that completely baffled your colleagues. The specific brands of eccentricity displayed by English professors and Engineering professors didn’t tend to mix well. But the Dean of Studies, Pepper Potts, had recommended befriending Tony on your first day, and his quick humor and ostentatious confidence had effectively drowned out the imposter syndrome that plagued you during your first semester teaching. You’d met Bruce Banner only a few days later, and sharing lunches in Tony’s lab in the basement of the Engineering building had solidified into sacred tradition by the end of your second week. 

“Did you hear back about the new course proposal?” Bruce asked.

“Yes! I got the email notification on my way over here, but I haven’t opened it yet. Tony, tell me your wife isn’t going to break my heart.”

“We don’t talk about work at home. But I read your proposal, and it sounded… Well, I wouldn’t take that class, but it sounded like something Pepper would be into.”

You squirmed anxiously in your seat, logging into your email with a deep breath. You’d worked on this course proposal for the better part of a month, editing and re-editing the syllabus at least a dozen times. You had titled the course “The Painted Word.” A full semester class studying famous myths, plays, poems, and novels and the works of art they inspired. 

The idea formed when a picture of Sir John Everett Millais’s “Ophelia” i had sparked a lively debate among the students in your Shakespeare seminar. You’d spent the next week researching artistic representation of iconic characters and stories, and when you’d given a few of your classes the soft pitch of the course, you’d acquired more than enough signatures on the interest form to issue a formal request with the Dean of Studies. Being met with such enthusiasm had lulled you into a sense of security and excitement. In your mind, the course was already set in stone. Which is exactly why the email on your screen landed like a gut punch. 

“She said no?” you asked faintly, your eyes scanning and rescanning the first sentence. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm and the care and attention you put into your work, I do not feel that I can approve the course as you’ve submitted it.” 

You blinked owlishly but made no move to intervene when Tony snatched your laptop from its place in front of you. Bruce rolled his chair to read over Tony’s shoulder, and they wore twin expressions of puzzled displeasure which would have made you laugh if not for the current state of your professional goals. 

“She didn’t say no! It’s conditional approval,” Tony corrected, his expression clearing as he reached to roll your chair closer to him. “Look.”

I’m intrigued by the course description you’ve laid out here, and it certainly has no equivalent in our current course catalogue. I think we would be remiss to limit the course to the English Department and encourage you to consider an interdisciplinary approach with the Art Department. If you’re willing to collaborate with one of their professors so that students can benefit from the expertise of both relevant disciplines and gain credit with either department, I’d be happy to approve the course for the spring semester. I’d recommend getting in touch with Steven G. Rogers. He has taught a number of interdisciplinary courses during his time here, and I believe he would be a helpful resource for you. 

“She doesn’t think I can handle this on my own?” you asked, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I have a Ph. D, dammit! I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” Bruce said, reaching around Tony to squeeze your shoulder. “She just wants to open up the class a little more. You know the college has been pushing for more interdisciplinary classes.”

“Who the hell is Steven G. Rogers, and why does she think the sun shines out of his ass,” you muttered grumpily, determined to hold onto your bitterness just a little longer. 

“The sun couldn’t possibly shine out of his ass with the stick he keeps up there,” Tony said mildly, shocking a laugh out of you.

“Oh, God, tell me I won’t be stuck teaching with a stuffy old grump for a whole semester.”

“I’ve never had someone ask me to lie to them before. This is a weird feeling. Takes the fun out of it, almost.”

“He’s not that bad,” Bruce protested. 

“How do you both know this guy? I’ve never heard of him before in my life. This is - ” 

You broke off with a sigh, reclaiming your laptop and searching the faculty directory. 

“Why does this stupid website never have any pictures,” you complained, scrolling through his profile. 

“Be grateful. It would only make it worse for you,” Tony said with a smirk before smacking your hand away from the keyboard. “Wait, wait, wait! Does that say ‘Gentle Yoga?’ What the hell does that mean?”

“Yoga but in a sweater? On a pile of pillows and he braids your hair after?”

Tony snorted and started to respond, but you clapped your hand over his mouth immediately.

“Shut up. I heard it as soon as I said it. Don’t make it worse.” 

“It’s just low impact yoga. Lighter stretches. For people who don’t feel comfortable or able to do standard level yoga. We usually get a few students with sports injuries or disabilities.”

You and Tony both turned to look at Bruce, staring in silent shock for a few moments before speaking.

“...Did you say we? Why did you say we?”

“Bruce, do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, pushing up from his seat and crossing to his bag on the other side of the room, very pointedly ignoring you and Tony who were frantically scooting after him in your rolly chairs. 

“Bruce!” 

He had pulled out his phone and was typing something, but he pivoted to block your view when you tried to peek.

“I’m texting Steve to see if he has any open spaces in his teaching schedule next semester. You’re welcome.” 

“Why do you have his number?”

“Because we take turns teaching gentle yoga, which I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out at this point, so drop it. And Tony has his number too by the way.”

“What?”

“Judas.”

“I thought you said he had a stick up his ass?”

“Well, the stick is sometimes useful, okay? And he’s not the worst person I’ve met. After a few whiskeys, he even approaches fun.” 

You let out an incredulous laugh, abandoning your chair to pace the length of the lab. 

“So you’re saying I should give this guy a shot?” you asked, massaging your temples against the stress headache that was starting to creep in. 

Bruce’s phone chimed quietly.

“He says he has an open space. Should I put in a good word for you?”

You wandered back towards your laptop, looking wistfully over your syllabus. 

“What are the chances this class will still be recognizable after his input?” you asked mournfully.

“You can change your mind and say no if you disagree with him. Find someone else,” Bruce said with a shrug. 

“And he’ll pull his weight?”

“He’ll pull all the weight unless you strongarm him out of it,” Tony said with a laugh. “Look, Pep knows what she’s doing. If she thinks you two would work well together, she’s probably right. Her last recommendation turned out alright, didn’t it?”

“You keep trying to lock me out of your lab,” you pointed out half-heartedly, but you gave a nod to Bruce who immediately started typing. 

“Yeah, well. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“He said to send him the syllabus and let him know when you can meet to talk about it,” Bruce cut in, tucking his phone back into his bag. 

You let out a deep sigh, nerves already fluttering to life in your stomach at the thought of having to pitch this class to a colleague again. 

“What are the chances this turns into a huge disaster?” 

“I’d say about 50/50. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

“Tony!”

“What? She asked!”

---------------------------------------------

Alright guys, what do we think? Are you into it? Excited? How do you think the meeting will go? Do you wanna read more? Let me know! Asks, reblogs, and replies make the world go ‘round!

Part 2

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[samwrights]

I Don’t Care - Punk!AU [Kuroo]

Me: *hits a milestone* I should give back to my community by fulfilling requests *posts an Elixir chapter instead*

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your kind words and patience regarding my abrupt hiatus last week. I’m gonna be on a slow roll for awhile with Grandpa Frenchy’s passing and me resuming my normal-ish life as work goes back to regular hours and school will be resuming in less than two months. But I’m gonna do my best to feed y’all when I can.

Remember that if you’re confused with what’s going on, that’s probably because this is the second installment of Kuroo’s Elixir route and need to read the first part which can be found here. Also, artwork is not mine so if we can find the artist, please let me know so that they can be properly credited!

Lyrics that are bolded are sung by Kuroo, while lyrics that are italicized are sung by you and if they are both, they are harmonized.

WARNINGS: Language, implied nsfw, mentions of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~2.9k

Song used: I Don’t Care if You’re Contagious by Pierce the Veil

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

The ball was in your court. That was what Kuroo had said to you last night. What that didn’t entail was the two of you christening every room in your little one bedroom apartment into the early hours in the morning. It shouldn’t have surprised you at all that Kuroo had a quick recovery time; after all he was a cocky little shit and apparently for good reason.

You were going to need to send apology baskets to your neighbors at some point when this was all said and done.

The ball was in your court, he said, and that somehow brought you to the following afternoon with you and Kuroo laying naked in your bed. Both of you were awake, you knew that, yet neither of you wanted to say anything to break the silence. Neither of you needed to—you were both finally home. Nestling yourself further into Kuroo’s blackened chest is what pulled the guitarist from his wandering thoughts, coercing him to look down at your shifting body. “Not comfy anymore?” His voice is thick with sleep still, and probably raw from dehydration.

“Trust me, I am. But we should probably go get ready.”

“Ugh,” the raven haired man groans, “right, we have a show.”

“Yes, honey, we have a show. Time to go make all twelve of our fans happy for thirty minutes.” He laughs heartily at the jab before pulling you on top of him in the most platonic way. Well, as platonic as you could be when you both were completely naked. You take the opportunity to look at him fully. Though his eyes were darkened from the lack of sleep, Tetsurō Kuroo was every bit as pretty as he was the day you’d met him ten years ago—even if his skin was now covered from neck to toe in black and white and bold-colored works of art and you could fit a single digit through the stretch of his earlobes. If anything, it added to his charm in your eyes.

Subconsciously, your fingers travel down his throat, just grazing over the three traditional style roses that cover it, before dancing over the skulls on his chest. As they trace over one of his pierced nipples, he lets out a grumble that’s a mixture of pleased and in warning. “You start playing with me, I’m not gonna stop.” And after last night, you knew that he wasn’t kidding.

“Fine, fine.” You concede, retreating in the form of resting your head on his chest. Silence fills the two of you again, allowing you to recount yesterday’s events that didn’t involve Kuroo impaling you. “You broke up with Nanami.” It wasn’t a question, but he answers it as if it were.

“I did,” there’s suspicion and trepidation in his voice, as if he’s weary of the direction this conversation is going. “What about it?” Searching for reassurance, he winds his arms around your waist, simultaneously goading you into continuing your statement.

“Nothing, I just...” you aren’t even sure what you’re trying to say at this point. “I just feel like a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours and I still need to process everything.”

“I can help if you need me to jog your memory about anything,” Kuroo’s tone is polite—sweet, even—and entirely contradictory with the thrust of his bare hips into yours.

“Tetsu, I’m being serious.” You deadpan, pretending that you didn’t feel that tiny spark in your core from the movement. Last night he may have been able to coerce you with touch, and even more in the long hours into the morning, but you weren’t going to be fooled again. At least not right now.

“I am too.” He adjusts himself slightly again so that he’s cradling you, eerily similar to last night, with you pulled over his lap. Despite the lack of clothing, there’s no humor or deviancy on his face—he’s completely calm and self-assured. “I know this situation isn’t ideal and this definitely isn’t the way I ever pictured us being together,” the sentence doesn’t go over your head—you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some sort of pleasure to you, “but all that matters to me is that you want this as much as I do.”

You knew what this was. Kuroo was giving you the chance to back out—to move forward without him if you so desired.

But what was the point of living life without your best friend? Lacking a cohesive thought, you rested you head on Kuroo’s chest once again, letting the guitarist’s steady heartbeat bring ease to you. Maybe you were going about this all wrong. For the last ten years, it had taken everything in you try to mute the feelings that you had for Kuroo, or attempt to pass them off as a deep respect for your guys’ friendship. But that wasn’t what this was anymore; this was your guys’ relationship. “It’s a learning curve,” you start slowly, “but I’m willing to try and make this work if you are.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, babe.”

The two of you move about your day in a way that’s exploratory for the two of you—like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other. In a sense, that was an accurate depiction. Your guitarist makes it a point to make the both of you the first meal of the day, complete with setting the table and even doing the dishes. Showering together for the first time was odd, to say the least. It was an intimate form of learning and exploration that neither of you had ever thought the two of you would be able to bask in. After having lunch and getting ready for the show tonight, to which you learned that Kuroo had brought clothes with him in the event he did end up staying over, the two of you took his car over to Terushima’s house.

“No fucking way,” Terushima balks at the sight of you two briefly sharing a kiss as he holds the passenger door open for you while your other two bandmates are loading up the van. “He finally confessed! Makki!” The drummer calls for his best friend who’s walking out the door with two guitar cases in his hand. Without needing much context, the bassist quirks a brow in yours and Kuroo’s direction.

“You finally told her?” Is all he asks.

“You all fucking knew about this? Man, fuck you guys.” The incredulity in your voice earns a chorus of laughter from your bandmates.

“Dude, I don’t know how you didn’t figure it out sooner. The way he used to talk to you at work wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Makki is laughing, grinning even, despite his usual deadpan attitude. You try to think back to any particular instance, but nothing was as obvious as the rest of Elixir was making it seem. Sure, Kuroo was rather touchy and there was more than one case of his fingers touching your waist from behind while you took orders or made drinks. But there isn’t anything that he said that would necessarily incriminate him—

Oh.

“Now she remembers.” Kuroo jokes. He’d left your side at some point, when you weren’t entirely sure, to help the boys finish loading up. “Told ya, [name], I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Gross, you guys are so cute, it makes me sick.” A roll of Teru’s bronze eyes are accompanied with the slamming of the back of the shoddy vehicle. Knowing it was going to probably be a minute or two, the drummer flitted off with Makki to do god knows what, probably off to go kill a blunt if you were being honest, in preparation for the evening, leaving you to curiously gaze at the cracks in the concrete driveway with a cigarette between your fingers.

“There’s no way you meant that back then.” Your voice isn’t accusatory or judgmental—merely flabbergasted as your guitarist leaned on his car right next to you.

“I did and I still do,” is his response, pulling his own Marlboro Red between his thin lips, “I’ve been saying it since day one and I never stopped saying it for ten years.” His bulky arm comes to wrap around your shoulders, nearly swallowing you due to the difference in stature. Yet, despite his sweet words, something wasn’t adding up.

“Kuroo, you never said anything to me besides that one time you told a regular that I was your future wife.” He shakes his head slightly, a laugh rumbling audibly in his chest as he rolls up the jersey fabric of his long sleeves. Pressing his knuckles together so you can see them clear as day, he responds with,

“Homesick was for you, because you always said how being together felt like home.” And suddenly, you feel like time was regressing as he begins to point out the subtleties you never noticed previously. “All of the roses are for every time I swore I was going to confess,” you knew for a fact that Kuroo had seven roses littered along his skin: three on his throat, one on each hand, and one on each of his pecs. “the lipstick marks are from ‘Contagious’ because I wrote it for you. I’ve been saying it since day one, [name].” 

“Wait, you wrote ‘Contagious’ for me?!” At that admission, you weren’t sure whether or not you should have been pleased or disturbed. There were themes hidden in the song that could be viewed as romantic, but overall the song was quite morose and not to be considered a love song at first glance. Maybe that was the point.

“Oh, baby, you’re so dense it hurts.”

“So how’s everyone doing tonight? We feelin’ good? Feelin’ the love?” You ask into your microphone after the four of you had completed the one fully acoustic song, “A Part of Me”. Who knew that Hanamaki had such a romantic side to him? It was cute, considering the lax man typically didn’t show much emotion except when he was performing. “So, we’re gonna keep the love theme going—“ your eyes dart over to your guitarist who is grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the pieces were finally coming together in the sense that you knew.

You knew that he was dead set on making good on every promise he’d ever made to you and Kuroo was going to make this known to every fan in the rather large audience tonight as he interrupts your spiel. “I wrote this one a few years ago for someone I’d been pining after for years so if you’re in the same boat that I was in, make sure you tell them you love them.” The guitarist chimes in, his goofy, wicked grin only growing wider. “Love you, [name].” The proclamation does not go amiss by you, your bandmates, nor your audience that housed familiar faces that swore up and down they wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. But neither you nor Kuroo noticed the aforementioned stranger—only noticing the sly, subtle grin the two of you exchanged before the guitarist gave a shrill whine of his instrument that started the song.

Even before realizing this song was...written? Dedicated? However you viewed it, this song was for you and before that knowledge had even been made known to you, you’d always found it to be a strange, enticing verbal dance between you and the guitarist. You and Kuroo often teetered back and forth like a seesaw, bouncing between lines as he intended when he wrote it. It only charged the chemical static between the two of you further now that you understood who it was written about.

Bury me in the bedroom where I I can sing you to sleep all night

Considering the nature of the song, Kuroo and you had your eyes locked on each other’s to make sure the two of you were keeping time and tempo with the other. Or at least, that was what you were supposed to be doing. But with the way the guitarist’s hazel eyes were dancing with amusement and comfort like he was aware of some joke you had no idea existed.

I’d rather kill the one responsible for falling stars at night

It amused you, to some degree, just how all over the place this song was. And while you had known that back when it came to fruition, the air was different now. It was wild and fun and laced with underlying feelings that left you feeling alive much like the last twenty four hours had. Though the hesitance that first presented itself yesterday was no longer there—you believed everything Kuroo had said. The years of pining, the futile attempt to move on, even the way he marred his skin as a physical representation of his dedication to you—you believed it all.

Last night she recited every reason she’s fine

In a way, it made you feel a little silly. Silly in the way that you had felt you hadn’t been able to trust your best friend after all these years, like you couldn’t tell him you had been homesick for him. Keeping up a facade for all those years had only served to hurt and distance the two of you for no reason. Now, the two of you were going to heal, going to focus on rebuilding that home as soon as this show was over.

You sing while I drive

Not once did it go amiss, the way Kuroo glanced at you, hazel eyes flickering back between you and towards the barricade in the audience to your right. At first, it seemed nonchalant; like it was an attempt to engage with the crowd as he typically did. But Kuroo was always meticulous and calculating with his actions, and that lead you to glance in the same direction while you sang your respective lines in the second verse.

I would rather spend my life Vacations in bed with you like drunken summer kites

So that’s why he was looking over there. Funny, considering Nanami had explicitly said that she was unable to make it to the show because of some piss poor excuse of her fabricated brother coming back into town. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an awkward situation. But it wasn’t your fault she had been caught in a lie, nor was it your fault that Kuroo had decided to break up with her last night. Well, okay, maybe it was a little. But it wasn’t your fault she felt the need to grace the audience with her present after saying she wasn’t going to show up. It wasn’t your fault she was red in the face as she glanced at the on-stage chemistry between you and her now ex-boyfriend.

To live in life and die

None of that even mattered anymore, and Kuroo made sure to reassure you of that by the silly way he’s grinning slyly as the end of the song nears. For a moment, you look at each of your bandmates to see if they were watching, paying attention to the telepathic messages going on between the four of you.

I don’t care if you’re sick

Hanamaki, though he’s wearing his typical glassed out look, is reciprocating a languid smile—one you were all too familiar with. Makki was the kinda that had your back regardless of the situation, and he made sure his expression reflected it often.

I don’t care if you’re contagious

Looking back at Terushima, you can see the snark and the itch to fight underneath his sweaty, glistening skin. As if he knew what the hidden glances between you and Kuroo meant; as if he knew some shit was about to go down and he was all over it.

I would kiss you even if you were dead

And finally, you glance back at Kuroo as the two of you harmonized the final bridge. Calm and cocky as ever, with red lighting serving to be nearly ominous. Though, it only made the reds of the roses on his skin shine more and serve as a reminder—they were for you. All seven roses from his neck, to his chest peeking from underneath his black tank, from his shoulder to his hand.

So if we’re heading there together you can sing all night

It served as a reminder that no matter what was to come after the show, the two of you would face it together. Even if that meant confronting the entire awkward Nanami situation that you knew was coming. Not that you minded—you were ready to defend Kuroo and yourself from any impending onslaught.

I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin ‘Til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention

As Kuroo belted out his favorite stanza, he locked eyes with you, turning his body to face you entirely. Amusement danced in his eyes, not that it ever left, but this one was painted with something more. Painted with love, painted with lust, painted with home. The guitarist took slow, steady steps matching the rhythm of his words and letting the bass and drums overtake the sound as he grabbed his mic off his stand—an action you mirrored with your own microphone in hand until the two of you were face to face with the reverberation of his last played note floating in the air.

Kiss me while I drive

The song ended with a pronounced yell coming from Hanamaki and yourself before Kuroo places his microphone back on his stand; all but rushing over to you and choking your face in his large, tattooed hands and slatting his lips over yours. In front of everyone—in front your band, your fans, in front of Nanami. He’d made his proclamation in front of everyone and nothing had ever felt more right.

[ Besitos « I Don’t Care » Misery Business ]

Need to start from the beginning? You can check out the prologue [ here ]

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[oldsoldierr]

The Carnation ~ Part 6

summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?

art critic!bucky x artist!reader

word count: 1.7k

series masterlist

The sound of a gun cocking snapped him back to reality. A low, sinister voice followed.

“Hey, James. How’ve you been?” 

It was husky and haunting. Bucky felt the cold metal of the gun muzzle against the back of his head. He slowly put up his hands.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he growled. He heard an apathetic chuckle behind him.

“Well I do.” he felt Brock get closer to him. 

“You’re gonna do what I want and you’re going to like it,” he snickered.

“Just kill me already. I’m not going to play your game,” Bucky retorted aggressively. 

“Oh I think you will.” The brunette could hear the smile in Brock’s voice. He heard some shuffling in the back seat before a paper was slipped into his lap, face down.

“Flip it over.” Brock shoved the gun harder into Bucky’s skull. He begrudgingly turned it over. He regretted it immediately. 

There, on the page was a picture of his sister in her kitchen. Bucky moved to cover his mouth. She was smiling blissfully, with no clue she was being photographed. Brock could shoot him, but he wouldn’t allow him to touch his sister.

“Why are you doing this?” he breathed. He knew Brock’s answer.

“I’m not letting you ruin my reputation. I worked hard to get where I am, and you’re not going to try anything. Now, you can take my offer. Or,” Brock equipped a faux sorry voice. “You can kill your lil’, poor, baby Becca. Your move Barnes.” Bucky took a sharp breath.

“What do you want?” The brunette looked into the rear view mirror to Brock grinning like a maniac. 

“You’ve got a lot of questions for a dead man.” He leaned in close. Bucky could feel the heat from his ex-manager on his ear. 

“I have only one request.”

Brock continued in a menacing whisper. With every word he said Bucky felt like he was losing more and more oxygen. The simple sentence felt as if it was an eternity. When Brock finally pulled away, he only said six words.

“You’ve got a week. Bye now.” he opened the car door, and disappeared into the night. 

It was as if he was never there, but the single Polaroid of his sister taunted him, reminding him this wasn’t just a nightmare. Bucky sat completely alone, soaking wet, with not much more than thousands of strings of thoughts choking the air out of him.

He just wouldn’t accomplish Brock’s request. But the thought of his family’s blood on his hands was so much stronger. How did he get into this shit? He let his forehead fall onto the steering wheel in defeat. 

~~~

On the first couple days after, Bucky had been confident he could avoid any of the outcomes. There had got to be, there HAS to be, there always is. But days kept going by, faster than he could fight. His hope for an easy solution, or pretty much any solution, dwindled and was diminished, like a small, pathetic flame. 

Before he knew it, it was the morning of the seventh day since that night. Bucky had slaved for hours trying to find some way, some loophole, out of this but he just couldn’t find one. The deadline was approaching quickly and he didn’t have much of a choice. 

He sat in his dim living room mulling over his very limited options. Bucky looked like a wreck. His hair was greasy and tangled, his eyes were sunken and dark, he looked like he could’ve just gotten out of a cave he’d lived in for 100 years. He hadn’t been able to get any sleep for three consecutive days. 

He had done nothing but think but he still came out empty handed. There was nothing he could do. 

Bucky would have to do what Brock wanted. He put his face in his palms as a sob wracked his body. He shuddered in silent tears. They slid off his cheeks and landed on his carpet. 

Bucky would have rather been dead than be him at this instant. No matter what he did, someone would die tomorrow. Everything felt heavy. 

All he ever wanted was to be an art critic, his dream job since he discovered it. He supposed this was the price. Everything had seemed so perfect, too perfect. He should’ve know. Bucky laughed without humor and took a sip of beer from the bottle. He couldn’t have imagined being in this situation in his worst nightmare. Yet he was still here. 

That was Bucky’s last thought before he collapsed onto his couch and blacked out almost instantly. 

When he regained consciousness it was the evening. Bucky checked his watch. It was 10:43 pm. Only a little more than one hour until Becca would be killed. It was a ticking time bomb with no way to disable it. 

He had a decision to make. In the end, there was only one choice. He had known it all along but it was still endlessly painful. Even to think about it made him feel like his heart was getting cut out. 

“I guess it’s time,” The exhausted looking man mumbled. Life was far too long. 

He reached for a single pistol placed at the end of the clear glass coffee table. The last resort. Bucky grasped it with a shaky breath and slid on a black leather jacket. 

He walked out of the apartment. He got in his car and began driving. He drove as slowly as possible. Maybe that would delay what was about to happen. 

He tried to admire the outside world, one he might never see after this. Every tree, bug, person, building. The things he should’ve appreciated more. His destination was now only a little more than five minutes away. Bucky could barely breathe. His arms felt numb. 

Four minutes.

Three minutes. 

Two minutes.

One minute.

He saw the building coming up. The pit in his stomach grew. Bucky swallowed. If he had stood up at that moment his knees would have buckled. He felt like he was going to pass out but pulled up to the building anyways. He didn’t even bother to park, he just left it there in the middle of the parking lot and climbed out. 

He padded his way to the front door. It was locked but Steve had given him a copy of the key before he left. Bucky inserted the key and stepped inside. 

The halls were echo-y but not too large. What was though, was the staircase. It seemed to go on forever. Or maybe that was just what it felt like at the time. 

With a huff Bucky started his way up. His steps felt heavy. Each one boomed of a man who didn’t have any more strength left in him. He passed two floors, barely registering it. All he knew was what would happen at the third one. He was there the next minute. The adrenaline was catching up to him. 

Down the hall he saw the one person he wished to avoid as long as possible. You had come home for a quick change of clothes before leaving for some food. You came out of your apartment and fiddled with your keys a little before locking your door. 

You went to keep walking but instead you saw a certain brunette man who had missed his usual visits to the art studio. You figured it was because you had slept with Sam. You still felt guilty. You had been trying to contact him and explain but he never picked up or responded to any of your many texts. 

This seemed like the chance you’d been needing to make amends. You were a tad suspicious of why he’d come to your place, or how he even got in but you brushed it off. 

As you got closer to him you realized how terrible he looked. He could’ve been a walking corpse. His eyes were swollen and red like he had been crying. 

“Bucky!” you ran towards him. “Are you okay? Gosh, come here--” You stopped dead in your tracks. 

Bucky had pulled out a gun from his pocket and was pointing it straight at you. You felt all your air leave your lungs. A silence rang through the hall.

“...Bucky?” you breathed. Your confusion laid out on your face. The man in front of you looked as if he might fall apart at any moment.

“S-stay where you are!” He threatened, tears brimming from his eyes. You were still processing what was happening. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, fear creeping into your voice. He attempted a smile. It wasn’t ill intended though, it was one of those charming lop-sided grins that you liked, but this one felt different than the rest.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, full of remorse, ignoring your question.

“He-he said he’d kill my sister if I didn’t--” He took a breath. You took the opportunity to step toward him hesitantly.

“Bucky, we can figure this out, just please put the gun down.” Your words only made him hold on harder to the handle. He cocked the gun.

“Don’t get any closer to me.” He told you. His eyes were sad and mournful. He looked broken.

“Please,” he begged.

“Okay,” you held eye contact with him. “I won’t.” 

He interrupted, “I never meant for you to get swept up into this, I--I just wanted to have a normal life for a little bit, but--” his lip trembled. “--but I shouldn’t have. Now you're gonna hurt for it and I--I’m so sorry. You’re an amazing person, you always figured out a way to make me laugh and--god--your talent, it’s unbelievable. And I know it doesn’t mean much now but, I just needed you to know that you have been the best part of my life--for a while now--and I’m so lucky to have found you. Visit me in hell, if you get the chance.” Bucky breathed out a chuckle.

“D--don’t talk to me as if this is goodbye. We can still change this, we’ll find a way!” you searched his face for anything that could tell you that this was just some mean spirited joke, but it wasn’t there. 

Something else seemed to change in his face though you couldn’t quite place it. Bucky’s finger quivered on the trigger, a single twitch away from firing. He gave you an earnest, reassuring look that was contrary to the rest of his body.

With a shaky breath he continued. “I love you.”

He pulled the trigger.

only 2 more chapters(probably)! thank you for the support on my first series! i’m really bored so if anyone wants to hit me up feel free! 💕💕💕

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[whumphoarder]

Flying Blind

Summary: Tony’s never been one to turn down a mission. Even when he can’t see shit.

Word count: 2,194

Genre: light whump, humor

A/N: Happy birthday @awesomesockes!! Hope you enjoy! Thanks @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta-reading and ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

It starts, as bad things in life so often do, with a series of headaches.

Having been prone to migraines since adolescence, Tony doesn’t think much of them at first. As long as the pain in his head and the slight blur to his vision are content to stay ‘irritating’ rather than ‘debilitating,’ he doesn’t complain. He pops some Advil and chugs a few glasses of water, which doesn’t exactly help, but doesn’t not help either. Pepper’s always harping on him about being chronically dehydrated anyway.

Truth is, headaches are so common for Tony that it takes an embarrassingly long time for a man of his intelligence to connect them with all the squinting he’s been doing lately. Or how he’s having to stand a little further back from his holographic images than usual so that he can make out the letters. Or how he’s had FRIDAY increase his screen font size from eleven to twelve. And then thirteen.

It’s simple: Tony’s going blind.

Well, alright, fine—not blind. But old, which is arguably worse. Vision is the first to go after all, and then it’ll be his six-pack, and his memory, and his hair, and before he knows it he’ll be tuning in every afternoon for a new episode of Jeopardy and soaking his pearly whites in a cup of Polident.

Anyway, that’s why, when Tony realizes he might possibly need glasses, he doesn’t request an appointment with SHIELD’s in-house optometrist, nor does he ask Happy to drive him to the unassuming private office downtown that he contacts instead. He just drives himself—which seems like a fantastic idea until he steps out of the office into the blinding brightness of the spring afternoon to find that he cannot, in fact, see shit.

“Well this sucks,” he mutters, blinking multiple times in an effort to clear his watery, stinging, freshly dilated eyes. His vision is so blurred that he trips over an unexpected half-step and only barely manages to avoid face planting onto the sidewalk. He slips on his high tech sunglasses. “Up the tint by fifty percent,” he commands under his breath. The glasses darken immediately and Tony sighs in relief as the strain on his eyes eases marginally. “Now where’s the damn car?”

A route to the parking lot illuminates before Tony’s eyes. He grunts sharply, squeezing his eyes shut against the flash of pain. “Verbal, FRI!” he hisses. “No visuals, just words.”

“Sorry, boss,” she says, and the lenses revert to dark. “Fifteen paces straight ahead, then a sharp right.” Tony starts moving cautiously forward, eyes focused on what he can make out of the ground. “Would you like me to contact Mr. Hogan or Ms. Potts to pick you up?”

Tony pauses. On one hand, he can barely see—there’s no way he should be driving. But on the other hand, the Audi has so many upgrades and added safety features that it basically drives itself. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure that if he calls Happy or Pepper at the moment, he’s never going to hear the end of this.

“...Or perhaps an Uber?” FRIDAY suggests helpfully.

“Nah,” Tony decides. He taps the housing unit on his chest and the nanotech instantly encases him. “Just keep feeding the meter. I’ll take the Iron Express.”

There’s a hint of disapproval in FRIDAY’s voice. “Given your current condition, I would strongly advise against operating any sort of heavy machinery.”

“That’s why I’m not operating it,” he retorts. “You are.”

“Still, I must caution you—” The AI’s voice cuts out abruptly. “I have just received an urgent incoming message from Captain Rogers,” she informs.

Tony’s heart sinks. There’s only one reason that Steve ever uses the emergency override channel, and it’s definitely not to shoot the breeze. “How bad is it?”

“A wormhole has just opened up over Staten Island. Scronquad are invading as we speak,” she reports. “All the Avengers have been ordered to assemble.”

“Fantastic,” Tony groans. He briefly considers sending an empty suit from the Iron Legion in his stead, but then nixes that idea when he remembers that none of his spare suits have the exact same color scheme as the current model. Steve is nothing if not detail-oriented—probably the artist in him. He’ll notice in a heartbeat.

He heaves out a sigh. “Alright, set the coordinates, FRI.”

“Boss—” the AI begins to protest, but Tony interrupts with, “Override code: 6673.”

FRIDAY goes silent. The helmet materializes around him, the HUD lighting up automatically.

“Gah!” Tony yelps, squeezing his burning eyes shut tightly. “What’d I just say about the lights?” he complains. “No lights!”

“Sorry, boss.” The display goes dark, leaving only a heavily tinted view of the fuzzy world around him.

Tony engages autopilot and blasts off before he has time to change his mind.

X

As far as hostile aliens go, Scronquad are about as annoying as they come. They’re anywhere from eight to twelve feet tall, their scales are a hideous shade of maroon and green, and each one of their ten writhing tentacles oozes a gelatinous slime that somehow manages to smell simultaneously of rotten eggs and expired tuna fish. When they move, there’s an ugly squelching sound as their bodies glide across the ground, similar to the sound of pulling one’s boots out of the mud. They’re nefarious, destructive, repulsive creatures, and never in a million years would Tony have dreamed there’d come a day when he missed seeing their fugly little faces.

First time for everything, he supposes.

“Six o’clock,” FRIDAY chirps. Tony whirls around, head pounding, and catches sight of the blurry outline of a massive purple figure. He fires his repulsor at his best guess of where its head is located and receives a garbled roar of fury in exchange.

“Too low,” FRIDAY corrects. “You’ve taken out his seventh and eighth tentacles.”

“Seventh and— what?” Tony sputters. He fires again, a little higher. “Starting where? He’s a fucking cylinder!”

“Starting at his navel—which is located above his middle eyebrow—and moving clockwise,” FRIDAY clarifies. “Duck, boss.”

Tony drops to the ground a split second before one of the alien’s remaining two-hundred-pound tentacles swings overhead.

“Roll left,” the AI continues. Tony barrel rolls to the side, narrowly missing the appendage’s backhand. “Scronquad at ten o’clock.”

Switching gauntlets, Tony shoots a repulsor beam at the blob approaching on his front left side. The alien blasts backwards. He spins back around and spies another blurry moving purple shape—smaller this time—and instinctively raises his gauntlet towards it.

“Hold fire.” Power to his repulsor instantly cuts out. “That’s Barton, boss,” FRIDAY informs as the figure darts across the street.

“Ah.” Tony winces. “Yeah, good call. That would’ve been a lot of paperwork.”

FRIDAY continues rattling off directions, which Tony follows more or less blindly—firing, charging, and evading as instructed. Every blast of the repulsor results in an explosion of light that shoots daggers of pain through his head. The only thing Tony is seeing at the moment is stars.

Tony keeps the team comms channel playing low in the background under FRIDAY’s verbal directions, and they seem to be making headway. According to Cap’s last update, the wormhole has been closed. Only two of the initial six Scronquad remain, and from the sounds of it, Natasha is close to taking down another.

“Overhead,” FRIDAY warns.

Tony shoots directly upwards, but this time the Scronquad is ready. The repulsor blast ricochets off the protective forcefield that the alien throws up at the last possible second. Tony barely even has time to register what’s happening before he’s blasted backwards and collides with the brick wall of the Wells Fargo office across the street.

Then it’s lights out for real.

X

The next thing Tony is aware of is his helmet being retracted. Then someone is tapping the side of his face and speaking to him. It takes a few seconds before the garbled words clear into intelligible speech.

“...with me? Hey? Tony?” a voice—Steve’s, he thinks—asks worriedly. “Can you open your eyes for us?”

That sounds like a terrible idea to Tony. He expresses this with a low groan of displeasure.

“Anyone have eyes on Banner?” Steve demands.

“I see him—he’s coming down the side street,” Natasha calls back. She sounds further away—maybe a few yards to Tony’s left. “Still looking a little green, though.”

Aw, fuck. Tony hates to bother the guy when he’s coming down off a transformation. He should really say something. Or at least open his eyes. He makes an attempt to flutter his eyelids open, but they seem to weigh at least a thousand pounds each and he only succeeds in letting out a small moan.

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright, Tony,” Steve reassures, patting his shoulder with a heavy hand. “Bruce is coming now.”

Rapid footsteps approach. “I got him, Steve,” Bruce says, his voice a little ragged. Poor guy. From what Tony heard over the comms, Hulk really put him through the wringer today. But Tony’s sympathy instantly dissolves when the doctor pries his eyelids open and shines a penlight into them, causing fresh pain to explode through Tony’s already throbbing skull.

“Gah! Fuck!” he gasps out, squirming away from Bruce’s fingers and clenching his eyes shut again.

“Both pupils are blown,” Bruce says grimly. “The concussion must be worse than we thought. How far out is the Medevac?”

“ETA seven minutes,” Natasha reports. “But there’s no space to land in the alley here.”

“Should we move him?” Clint suggests.

“No, definitely not,” Bruce answers immediately. “FRIDAY was obviously wrong about the concussion—I don’t trust her assessment that he hasn’t sustained any spinal damage either. We’ll have to wait for a backboard and neck brace.”

Well, that’s totally unnecessary. Sure there’s a goose egg on the back of Tony’s skull somewhere and he definitely got the wind knocked out of him when he fell, but he doesn’t need a whole evac —that’s ridiculous. To prove it, he starts to push himself up, but is quickly stopped by a strong hand on his chest.

“Stay still, Tony,” Steve commands, his voice grave. “Don’t try to move yet—we don’t know how badly you’re hurt.”

“Nah, ‘m fine…” Tony groans. He forces himself to open his eyes again and squints up at his worried looking teammates hovering over him.

“Jesus…” Clint whispers, peering down at Tony from above. “He looks like the dolls in that horror film Lila loves. The one with the creepy mother who replaces everyone’s eyes with black buttons.”

“Coraline?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a children’s movie, Barton.”

Clint shudders. “It was terrifying.”

“Hey, guys? Keep it down, alright?” Steve reprimands. “He’s concussed.”

Tony would roll his eyes if they weren’t currently drilling holes into his skull. “I’m not concussed,” he mutters.

Steve scoffs. “Sure, Tony.”

“I’m not,” Tony insists. He props himself up on his elbows and this time Steve doesn’t stop him. “My eyes are just dilated. It’s not a concussion.”

Bruce’s expression knits into a worried frown. He leans in closer to Tony. “Wait, does that mean you, uh…”—he lowers his voice—“fell off the wagon?”

“What? No!” Tony retorts, sitting up straighter. “I’m not high, and I’m not concussed! I had an eye exam, but I must be allergic to those stupid drops or something because I can’t see shit right now, alright?”

A collective snort of disbelief issues from the little group around him, but Tony just continues to glare at them. Well, it’s more of an annoyed squint, really. Then all at once, they all start talking over one another:

“Are you telling me you just flew a mission blind?!” Steve demands.

“Tony!” Bruce admonishes, looking somehow personally hurt by this. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Nat crosses her arms and fixes him with a blank expression. “That’s insane, even for you.”

Clint scoffs. “Is that why you were briefly planning on barbecuing me back there?”

“Well, you shouldn’t wear purple shirts on Scronquad days!” Tony retorts hotly. “Everyone knows that!”

“Why don’t you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up right now, Stark?” Clint says, making a rather rude gesture.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Steve declares over the squabble. He turns toward Clint and fixes him with a stern look. “Barton, from now on, you need to avoid color coordinating with the homicidal aliens.”

“What?” Clint balks. “You’re taking his side?”

“And as for you,” Steve goes on sharply, glaring straight into Tony’s blown pupils. “No more flying blind.”

Tony snorts. “Isn’t that the whole job?”

Natasha smirks. “He’s got a point there, Cap,” she says, eliciting a small chuckle from Bruce.

Steve looks unamused. He grabs hold of one of Tony’s arms and hoists him to his feet.

The change in elevation does nothing to help Tony’s swimming vision. He blinks several times, feeling suddenly dizzy and sick. “You know, on second thought...” Tony mumbles, swaying a bit. “I might be a bit concussed after all.”

Steve sighs and adjusts his grip to bear more of Tony’s weight. “Alright old man, let’s just get you home…”

Link to all my fics

[softhaos]

INKIGAYO SANDWICH

pairing – byun baekhyun x reader

genre – fluff, humor, idolverse

description – baekhyun has a crush on you, wants to give you his number and the only discreet way to do it is by slipping it into an inkigayo sandwich. but here’s the thing: you’d rather jump off a cliff instead of eating one of those nasty slices of bread. alternatively, yes i actually wrote a fic based on the meme someone end me

warning – one (1) instance of the word ‘shit’

word count – 2.1k

author’s note – this wasn’t supposed to exist until an anon went ahead and deadass requested this and i can’t believe i invested time in this and i didn’t bother giving a cool title,, anyway i love the boys from yg treasure box and i have a soft spot for mashiho and junkyu so expect a cameo from them here 

The first time it happens, you brush it off.

You don’t know if it’s because YG was probably on drugs upon making his decision or because he rather invests more time and money into his newest boy group (it’s most likely the latter) that your promotion time overlaps with your agency mates’. Then again, the first reason might also be true because a handful of famous artists who already established themselves in the industry are also having a comeback this month. Naturally, there’s no way for the debuting boy group to achieve their first win given the competition.

It really takes a miracle to win against Monsta X, Twice and EXO combined. With those monster groups active at once, you doubt that you’ll get a win this time. Although you are signed under one of the most promising entertainment companies in the country and debuted two years ago, you still have to struggle a little bit more than the rest at YG since you’re a soloist. After all, it’s no secret that soloists generally need longer to build up a consistent fan base.

Right now, everyone’s sitting in the cafeteria at Inkigayo. Most of them, including you, finished performing their stage for this week’s episode and are currently resting. While everyone sits with their respective group members, you sit beside Chungha whom you’ve befriended quite a while ago. It’s nice and comforting talking to her since she relates to your problems as a soloist to every extent.

The two of you are engrossed in a discourse about puppies when someone approaches your table. Mashiho, your labelmate as well as a member of the YG rookie group, smiles unsurely at you. You figure it costs him a lot of nerves to be standing in front of you judging by his red ears. A quick glance to the table where the rest of his members are sitting and indiscreetly following his every step is enough of an indication that he was probably forced into this.

“Uh, you haven’t eaten at all ever since recordings have started, so I thought I should give this to you,” he explains and tries to keep his voice as stable as possible. With that, he places a wrapped sandwich on the table and bows his head a little to show his respect.

“That’s–” your eyes flicker to the food and back to him “– very considerate of you, Mashiho. Thanks a lot.”

Taking this as his cue to leave, Mashiho bows down once more before he shuffles back to his table and earns a reaction from his bandmates.

You carelessly poke the sandwich a few times before you focus back on the conversation with Chungha. “So as I said before…”

Your voice dies down once you notice that she’s raising a brow at you.

“I thought you didn’t like the Inkigayo sandwiches?” she asks after a moment of silence.

“I don’t,” you respond, “but that boy was terrified and I didn’t want to break down the rejection to him.”

“You never talk to him! How should he know that? Plus, he’s your labelmate, so he’s bound to do things like this more often.”

“That's only the case if the main producer gets the idea again of letting two of his artists come back at the same time and release their records within the same week,” you deadpan before you push the sandwich towards her direction. “Here, you look like you could use some food and unlike me, you actually enjoy this monstrosity.”

The second time it happens, you break it down.

You didn’t mean it seriously when you said that YG would do it again, but he really came through with it. Surprisingly, your next comeback is slotted four months after the last one. Unfortunately, so is the rookie group.

You have nothing against the treasure box group, but it’s really frustrating seeing that you’re promoting at the same time again and are competing against big artists, again.

It’s not Monsta X, Twice and EXO this time. However, BTS and Sunmi aren’t easy to beat either. Surprisingly, Chungha is also on Inkigayo as the special MC alongside Byun Baekhyun.

During break time, you’re glued to each other in the cafeteria while your rookie labelmates are chatting enthusiastically with NCT and Baekhyun who decided to join them.

“You know, I heard from a little birdy that someone has a crush on you,” Chungha singsongs as you sip on your water.

“And who might that be?” you play along, fluttering your eyelashes in a playful manner.

“A certain Byun Baekhyun–”

You almost choke on your water.

“I honestly regret telling you who my celebrity crush is,” you mumble in a low tone and take a careful glance at your surroundings. However, nobody seemed to have noticed your sudden outburst.

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing!” Chungha retorts.

“Stop teasing me about this!”

“Okay, I admit I like to do that, but this time I’m not. I swear! Look, rumor has it that he’s actually a shy guy when it comes to asking somebody out–”

While Chungha is immersed in explaining herself, Junkyu walks up to you. You’re startled for a second when the rookie idol arrives at your table, but one glance on his hand holding the infamous sandwich is enough for you to tell where this is going.

“Junkyu, as much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I’d rather not have a sandwich right now. I don’t, uh, like the taste a lot,” you start before Junkyu gets the chance to say something.

The said boy opens his mouth several times but no sound escapes his lips. In the end, all he says is “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of that. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, he rushes back to his group. Chungha gives you the look that is equivalent to “are you serious?”

You just roll your eyes at her.

The third time it happens... it's a wild ride.

YG or whoever is in charge of scheduling your comebacks finally got a grip on themselves – probably after realizing that the stocks were dropping. For your next comeback, none of your competitors are from your label.

However, YG or whoever is in charge of scheduling your comebacks must love to set your comeback dates while monster groups are releasing their latest title track too. This time, you're running up against EXO. Again.

Oh boy.

Sadly, Chungha is neither promoting at the same time as you nor is she invited as a special MC for Inkigayo, meaning you’re all alone in the cafeteria. Sure, you could sit next to GFriend, but you’ve never really interacted with them before.

Ultimately, you decided to seclude yourself from everyone and sit by yourself. You're so concentrated on your phone that you fail to notice that someone occupies the seat in front of you until they clear their throat. You look up finding no one other than Byun Baekhyun sending you a polite smile.

Your brain stops working. This is a dream – this must be a dream. There's no other logical explanation for this scenario. Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted on sleeping only four hours a day.

However, you know that this is not an image in your brain, not a daydream, but a reality. Baekhyun is seriously sitting in front of you as you feel the heat rush up your cheeks and tint them red. The only somewhat cohesive words you can form are, “Uh, um, hi?”

Amused by your perplexed reaction, Baekhyun chuckles. “Hey,” he finally says and goes straight for the kill, “you look like you need something to eat. I got this for you.”

With that, he slides an Inkigayo sandwich towards you. You scrunch your nose at the sight of the three slices of bread and everything between in the wrapper.

“I mean, I’m flattered, I really am,” you start off slowly as you push the food back towards him, “but I don’t necessarily digest this really well.”

“Honestly, who does? It tastes like shit,” he deadpans and returns the sandwich to you.

“Chungha does,” you respond intuitively and send it back to him, “I don't know if you still remember her but she once had an MC segment with you.”

You may have a teeny tiny crush on him but you definitely haven’t reached the point of infatuation where you’d accept that disastrous food creation from him. For all you know, he might sit in front of you forever, waiting for you to eat that thing.

Baekhyun looks genuinely surprised for a second, but then he musters up an overly tense and exaggerated smile. “Oh well, she’s then the exception. But for real, take this sandwich.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again; Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want it.” you grit your teeth and return his overly tense smile with one too.

“Just take it!” he hisses.

“You said yourself it tastes like trash, so why should I accept this?”

“Because my number is in it, goddamnit!” he shouts and suddenly a few pairs of eyes are set on you two.

Not many have witnessed your bickering, but the ones that certainly have are Baekhyun’s bandmates who collectively have second-hand embarrassment written on their faces.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

Baekhyun looks at you as if you were a ghost until the realization hits him. “Wait,” he slowly starts, “you really don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?”

His jaw drops and you’re suddenly wondering if you’re really hallucinating. Seeing how clueless you still are, Baekhyun clears his throat and explains in a suddenly much quieter tone, as if the shyness took over him.

As it turns out to be, shyness and embarrassment really took over him judging by the incoherent words and stutters that emerge. “So, uh, the thing with the Inkigayo sandwiches are, uh– you know how nobody likes them?”

“I mean, we’ve already established that with the exception of Chungha, of course.”

“Y-yeah, of course. Of course, we already went through that. I’m a dumbass,” he laughs nervously before he continues. “Anyway, so, the only reason why people only take them is to slip their numbers into them and yeah…”

You put the pieces together and it suddenly dawns on you. 

“Oh.”

“And uh, I may have heard from a little bird that you like me? And uh, I kinda have a crush on you too? I’ve been crushing on you for several months, in fact?”

Not really believing what he just said, your eyes widen at him. But once Baekhyun sees your shocked stare, he desperately tries to take back his statement, “Okay, maybe I went ahead of myself assuming that you have developed a crush on me–”

“Is that why two of my rookie labelmates wanted to give me that sandwich?” you interrupt him, to which he nods subtly.

“Well, you were promoting at the same time and I thought it’d be weird if I suddenly came up to you. We never had any reason to talk to each other anyway. Besides, it’s way more natural if people from the same company do that.”

“And because they’re not active this time, you decided to take things into your own hands?” This is starting to get amusing, you figure. So, you grin at him playfully and silently chuckle at him as he's at the loss of words.

“Almost,” he confesses and rubs the back of his head. “I lost a bet with Sehun. He would’ve delivered this to you if I had won.”

“But you didn’t,” you point out.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” he repeats as if dazed. Judging by how distanced he looks, he’s probably reliving the bet he had going on with Sehun. Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t look too bright and you don’t think it’d be appropriate to pry.

“But hey, I’m glad you came over,” you mumble and hope he didn’t catch your words. However, you’re proven wrong as Baekhyun snaps out of his daydream and stares at you in disbelief.

“Wait, so what Chungha said is actually true? That you’re– you know, on me–?” he asks.

“She what? Wow, so much to her promise of keeping it a secret,” you deadpan and take the mental note to strangle her someday. Then you add, “But yeah, it’s true.”

Baekhyun, still not seeming to understand the situation at hand, looks at you incredulously. As if a tiny flame of hope ignited in his mind, he suggestively shoves the sandwich right back at you with a soft smile planted on his face.

“I take it that you might give me a call?”

“Possibly,” you reply as you peel the wrapper off. For now, you ignore the foul stench of the sandwich as well as the slight blush on your cheeks.

That’s a lie. You’re definitely giving him a call.

[triviaggukcore]

her blooming flower | one

prologue / one / two

→summary: you’ve known him since you were just a young girl during his trainee days. He watched you grow into a woman, but he’s always hated you from day one for whatever reason it may be. To you, he thought of you as a nobody. But what you weren’t aware of was a secret that he never wanted you to know.

→pairing: enemy!jungkook x dancer!reader

→word count: 7.6k

→genre: angst, fluff, maybe smut??, some humor

→warning: implied smut

→a/n: hi guys, it’s finally here! I’m so sorry it’s been almost two months! It’s been super hectic from having family over the break and having no time to write. And it became even more hectic as my schedule became packed when coming back to second semester of school. I had theatre rehearsals every day after school until 6pm to prepare for our musical back in January with so much homework and chores to do, and then I was gone with my dance team at Disney World for 4 days which also didn’t give me any time to write, and missing three school days. I had to make up a bunch of work to bring up failing grades which had me super stressed out. Now that it’s February, it’s competition season and this past Saturday was the second contest. I’ve just been constantly tired physically, mentally, and emotionally where I just lost so much motivation to write. But I definitely took time in between my spare time to try the best I could. So thankfully, it is now here and the good news, I have a two week break before last contest. I will say this series will have a bit of slow updates. It just all depends on how packed my schedule is. But most of all, I would like to thank you all for being super patient with me, I really appreciate it sweeties! I would also like to thank @9uk and @stxrrysuga for being wonderful helpers into keeping me motivated and writing just a few small details that’ll help me get going.

Another side note, I’d like to credit and thank  @dearmyjimin for granting me permission to use a concept she made on her blog which I was desperate and in such need for this series since I felt like it could absolutely be perfect for the storyline. Once again thank you!! The concept is based on 3J! That is all I have to say as you all should read and find out what it is.

So here it is finally! Chapter one! Enjoy!

It was dawn when you had woken up, your eyes drowsy from the lack of sleep you had been getting the last few days. The constant late nights because of work had kept you up at ungodly hours of the night. You tried to get fewer hours but you knew you needed the money so you stuck with the long hours and your days dragged on, each one seemed longer than the next. You sat up and sighed softly as you climbed out of bed while grabbing your glasses and putting them on. Your mind clouded with thoughts of what was going to take place later today, so you walked over to your desk and took a glimpse of your planner that you created almost a year ago.

Today, at 8am, you have breakfast with your best friend Jess, a contemporary lesson at noon, then lunch at 1pm, and then game night at Taehyung’s, including a no work shift today.

Okay, not so much to do today. Thank God. You grabbed your phone and put some music on shuffle with your mini speaker, then made your way over to the bathroom. You did your daytime skincare routine after doing your business on the toilet. While washing your face, you wondered how could you get this far in life. No, you’re not famous. You thought it would be kind of a scary career. But you still wanted to dance and create amazing pieces for artists for the wish of sharing your work to the world. Plus, you have choreographed for some artists before.

You’re not always booked for appointments with idols, but your schedule does get tight due to the fact that you work. You basically have a job at this cafe in Seoul, and you’re still working at your mom’s studio, hosting classes every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday night. You usually teach contemporary and ballet but you have taught some hip hop classes too, due to the fact that you’ve choreographed for some idols as an example. It’s been requested by many residents who take your classes for you to teach more hip hop. And you might as well take that chance to balance all the styles out.

Looking at your face in the mirror after washing your face, you also thought about how life was for you when you moved to Korea. You missed your friends from back home, but you also love it here too. And you made some decent close friends here too, especially Jess being the closest friend you see literally every day. And of course, you can’t forget the Bangtan boys. You grew close with the boys over the years, they basically became your family. You always had fun with them, whether it was game nights or through video chat. And you have a very special bond with each of the boys, nothing was ever different from how you all acted with each other.

They adore you a lot, and you were like their very own little sister that they look out for. They all found you sweet and sincere, prestigious, intelligent, and super adorable. Well, except Jungkook. He, being the only one who disagrees, finds you as the exact opposite. He’s got one hell of a grudge against you. All because of a damn smoothie you accidentally spilled on him a couple years ago. You find it super confusing and a little dumb that he treats you like shit over that incident. Although, it saddens you too as you took the blame upon yourself, coming up with the many excuses in your head. Maybe he was having a really bad day and you just so happened to ruin it even more. If you were paying a little more attention, you would have caught yourself and not spilled your smoothie on him. Then maybe, just maybe, you could have had a better introduction with each other and become friends.

Jungkook loves to criticize and pick on you. Everyday. That’s no surprise to you. But you don’t usually conduct to anything he does to you, and it made him full of annoyance from how you wouldn’t try defending yourself (more so, argue). But there’s a reason why you don’t. If you ever stood up against Jungkook, you’re sure that he will probably laugh his ass off at your pathetic self. You don’t think you could ever try to face him with defense. It doesn’t work that way for you. Sure, it hurts you. But you find it useless to do so. And being the sweet person you are, you’re not gonna want to come out as some bitch.

No matter how much you respect him and treat him nicely, your presence is what makes him irritated. The man has got a grudge against you.

Sliding out of your pajamas, you threw on a random outfit and then you sat down at your vanity set and decided how you were going to look upon your face and hair. After 30 minutes, you were already putting on a pair of shoes at your front door. You grabbed your bag and car keys, and you were out the door of your apartment. Shortly then, you were on the road.

“Okay, so here are all my ideas for the boys’ next comeback. I’ve been working on this for a couple of days now and I thought I’d share them with you!” Your friend Jess said, dropping a plain journal in front of you next to your plate full of breakfast. You picked up the journal once you set your vanilla latte down and opened the journal, flipping through the ridiculous full pages of notes and ideas followed up for BTS’ comeback.

You gave her a glance, “You are crazy. Are you seriously helping them find new concept ideas? I thought they already figured that out.”

She shrugged, “Not exactly. Besides, they asked for my help so I could have better ideas on what music to produce with Yoongi and Namjoon.”

“A sexy comeback darker than the Love Yourself: Tear and Wings era?” You read aloud, “Sounds kinda…”

“Kinda good right? I think it’s time they now get into that, and besides, they’re all adults now that Jungkook became one.” She mentioned.

“You do know he’s been an adult for a few years now.”

Jess glared at you, “And him being an expert shirt lifter was only the beginning of his little bad boy era.”

The thought of Jungkook and his image only made you feel weird. He grew up drastically and puberty hit him harder than a truck. Instead, it was more like god and the devil worked together to mix cute and hot in their mixing bowl but decided to go with he’s gonna make every person gush in adoration and suddenly they get down on their knees and are thirsty hoes. But, there’s no denying that he really had you gawking at him. After all, you do like the man.

You nodded, “Wow, how logical.” Your sarcasm erupted as you took a sip of your latte. She hummed, “You know it’s true. Anyways, what’s going on for you today? Are you coming to game night?”

“Yeah, I am. I have a contemporary class to teach at noon, then lunch, and then I have a whole day to myself until game night. I think I might do some shopping, maybe go to the book store and read a few novels since my package arrived there. If I have time, I might just work on my poetries.” Yes, you write since you found your love for novels. Thanks to your dad’s career. He’s the best selling author in the country and back in yours.

“Speaking of dance,” Jess started, “Did you hear about 3J Studio?’

Yes, 3J as in J-Hope, Jimin, and Jungkook, the BTS dance line. They built a dance studio for those who want to have exclusive dance lessons with the boys. Millions of people have signed up for classes just so they can stand a chance to be coached by the boys. You were yet excited and definitely going to their first class on Saturday.

You nodded, “I did. Jimin and Hoseok told me about it. I’m really excited about this Saturday.” You smiled. “Me too!” Jess gushed, “Are you planning on attending?” She asked. “Of course! For sure I’m taking Jimin and Hoseok’s class.”

“Oh, but not Jungkook’s?” She raised an eyebrow. You sighed, “I mean, I’m not sure if I want to. I know he’s a great dancer and I’m certain he’s going to be an amazing coach but do you really think I want to feel the awkward tension where his blood literally boils around me? I’m not sure if I even want people to be speculating his hate for me. That’ll just put him at risk.” You fiddled with the thin straw in your latte, stirring it.

“But it’s not like he would ever talk to you in front of his students, would he? He’s an asshole, don’t get me wrong. Yet, I’m pretty sure he’s not an ass to treat you like crap.” Jess stated, “There’s no way he would do that to you in front of many people.”

“I guess you’re right.” You shrugged. The guy always puts you down and even humiliates you, he probably wouldn’t do that in public otherwise it would defame his image. The people wouldn’t even know who you are anyways. You’re only specified as, BTS’ friend, BTS’ music producer, Jess’ friend, Min Yoongi’s wife’s friend. It’s pretty much anything with you labeled as a friend of the band.

“He’s such a dumbass.” Jess shook her head. You looked up at her, “Hey, don’t say that about him. You know that’s not nice.”

She rolled her eyes and glared at you, “Really? Y/N, You’re defending him when all he ever does is bitch at you? He’s one hell of a brat who’s still stuck up on that smoothie mess! He makes me want to shove my foot in his face.”

“But you know he doesn’t have to like me right? Come on, Jess. Besides, the accident was my fault anyway.” You said softly as your eyes wandered somewhere else. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Your head snapped back at her, “Just because I like him doesn’t mean that has to do with what happened in the past.”

“Oh, so defending him and constantly worrying about his health along with your care and support in every accomplishment he achieves doesn’t mean anything to the way you feel about him?” Jess caught you there. “It’s not that I… I don’t know, Jessica.” You sighed, holding your cup firmly with both hands, “I respect him whether he doesn’t like me or not. My feelings don’t matter. He would never feel anything romantic for me. Besides, he has a girlfriend who’s definitely prettier and has a more slammin’ body than me.” You awkwardly locked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“And this is where I call you stupid.” Jess looked at you, “That girl could never compare. She’s only got a pretty face but not a nice personality. Plus, you’re freaking gorgeous. More than she is. I don’t think you have any idea on that she’s only dating Jungkook for the attention and the fame.” She ate a bite of her egg sandwich, speaking in a mouthful, “The girl is a hooker but Jungkook being his gullible dumbass self believes she loves him for him.

You sighed, “Of course.” He loves her.

“And 5, 6, 7,  TILT. Excellent!” You complimented, watching through the mirror as everyone in the studio did a tilt from the floor and rolled into fetus position. “So that whole 8-piece, just remember that it’s very very subtle, not too much energy until after the tilt, which you want to push your legs up and extend them like a whip but as light as a feather. Have grace with the tilt. 5, 6, 7, UP!” You demonstrated by being an example and showing your students the technique.

“She’s good isn’t she?” Jimin said with his arms crossed as he observed your teaching skills and your charismatic moves. “I’m really surprised she declined the trainee offers from the entertainment industries.” Hoseok nodded in agreement. A chuckled then came along, “I’m not.” Jungkook smirked.

“Dude, you’ve been going against every word we say about her.” Hoseok crossed his arms to face Jungkook. “Since day one.” He specifically added. Jungkook narrows his eyes as if he couldn’t comprehend what Hoseok was trying to get at.

But only the blind wouldn’t be able to tell that Jungkook bears a deep, stubborn grudge on you. And his attitude towards you contrasted too much from his members for them to not notice his behavior. It was an issue constantly swept under the carpet to not escalate things given Jungkook’s temper, but the matter has finally rose from dust. “Yeah that’s right, did she do something to offend you or something?” Jimin looks at Jungkook worriedly. The both of them kept going on about the issue of you, pressing Jungkook to the end of wits.

“Yo, if you have seen...another side of her she’s not showing to us,” The three of them slowly spin to watch you conduct the dance class. The smile on your face when you teach, and the way you go about asking every student about their struggles and issues—make Hoseok doubted the words that came out of his mouth. You looked genuinely passionate in this company, and it couldn’t be that you put up an act in front of evil intentions for so long. As long as however many years. Jungkook remains his gaze on you for a while, before his hands are coming up to rip off his hair from his scalp in frustration as he groans. “I-It’s not like that..! It’s just.. just the sight of her irks me!” He knew he sounded like a brat hating on someone as innocent as you for no reason at all. But before he could save himself from further embarrassment, you are strolling towards his triangle of friends with an anticipated look cast on your features.

“What are you guys talking about?” Your voice interrupts his rant. The three men stare at you in expressions you can’t make out—you couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Then the both Hoseok and Jimin shot Jungkook looks.

“Uh…” Jimin darts his gaze back and forth his two friends, before pulling you by the arm away from them. “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

And with that, you and Jimin walked out into the hallway to the studio kitchen where there were a few staff eating lunch. “So are you going to join us this Saturday at our studio?” You took out a bottle full of cold water from the refrigerator when you opened as Jimin leaned on the wall next to him. “Definitely. I’m excited what you guys have in store for your lessons and I’ll be taking them all too.” You took a couple sips from the water. Jimin looked at you with a raised eyebrow, recalling that you are taking ALL the lessons, “And by all, you mean you’re going to participate in Jungkook’s class too?”

You clenched your lips together in awkwardness, “It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t take his but yours and Hoseok’s would it?” You sighed, “And besides, even if he cared, he’ll forget I’m even there. He’s going to have a class filled with people, and his main focus is his students.” Leaning against the counter backward, you always felt awkward talking about him with his members, and it wasn’t because you didn’t want to say the wrong thing at all. His hyungs were always lecturing him about you and never accepted the behavior he acted upon you. They didn’t know what really happened the day of the stupid incident because he never liked to talk about it or else he would have been made fun of or worse. They don’t even know why he’s held a grudge against you for so long. So what is the problem? When will he man up and get over it?

Jimin sighed, “At least you’re not an asshole like him.”

“Truth or dare?” Taehyung looked over at Jess as he popped the question.

“Dare.” She smirked.

After playing Jenga, Uno, checkers, and a whole bunch of other games in Taehyung’s house, everyone, including some of the boys’ girlfriends, are sitting in a circle on the floor with beers and snacks playing truth or dare. And unfortunately, Jungkook’s girl, Yuna couldn’t be there. But you felt relieved and happy about it. She’s just as worse as Jungkook. Pretty yet mean and nasty to you.

“Funny you guys are bickering but since you all ate my jjigae, I haven’t gotten a single bowl of it you hungry ass pigs!” Jin exclaimed just when Taehyung and Jess bickered over who has the best shoes.

“It was some good shit though.” Taehyung’s mouth waters, “I wish I could have more.”

Jin mumbles something under his breath and takes one huge gulp of his beer.

“Okay moving on. Truth or dare, Y/N?” Jimin turns to you. You kept your knees close to your chest, looking down as you weren’t prepared for your answer. You were always unsure and nervous about whatever choice you choose. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, especially Jungkook with his little smirk.

“Ummm… truth?” You weren’t sure but went with it anyway. “Who was your first kiss?”

And that question almost made you shit yourself, “W-What?” You could feel your eyes widened.

How the hell were you going to tell that you’ve never kissed anyone before without feeling embarrassed?

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to reveal her privacy.” Namjoon noticed the nerves just by the position you were in. You were hugging your knees which were up to your chest. Jess even looked over at you in such worry since she’s the only one who knows you haven’t had the experience.

You gulped and stuttered, pushing up your glasses, “I uh… I actually never kissed anyone before.” You said softly as you looked down.

Taehyung raised his eyebrows in surprise, “What? No way. Seriously?” You looked up at Taehyung and looked at all the other reactions. They seemed just as surprised as him.

“That’s surprising.” Yoongi nodded in agreement. Jungkook rolled his eyes in annoyance, “Not a surprise to me, I mean look at her.” He looked over at you in disgust and you only looked down in shame. You felt so embarrassed and disgusted with your own self with not having any experience with a guy at all.

Jess glared over at him just as her blood was boiling, she could beat his ass at any second now, “Shut the fuck up, you ass. She doesn’t need your nasty opinions.”

Jungkook shrugged, “Like I care.”

“I think it’s great that she’s never kissed anyone, Jungkook.” Nari, Taehyung’s girlfriend, spoke in regards to defending you. Nari is sweet and soft, and even a creative person. She’s a cosmetologist in makeup and is definitely talented in making so many makeup combinations. She’s short and a few years older, around the same age as Taehyung. She has gorgeous glowing honey skin with long black colored curly hair, and lovely blue eyes. She’s just as beautiful as Taehyung and to you, they’re considered the most beautiful couple ever.

“It’s a good thing, stop being an ass Jungkook,” Jimin glared at him. You sat there awkwardly but you gave a little smile at Nari for giving her defense.

“Don’t mind him, Y/N. It’s good that you haven’t had your first kiss. You don’t need one, not even a guy. You’re a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a man.” Hoseok, who was sitting beside you, smiled at you with a good rub on your shoulder, “And you are also a beautiful woman.” He added, being sweet and full of sunshine as always. You could feel yourself blush and get shy at his compliment, “Thank you.” You nodded.

Of course, Jungkook shook his head unsatisfied. He knew that you never had a boyfriend. Everyone knew. And he was sure that you weren’t ever going to get one. But what he didn’t know was that you were definitely talking to someone as opposed to be dating soon.

“What do you mean she’s talking to Jonghoon?” He asked Taehyung as he looked at him in disbelief. It was the next morning and the two boys were in the kitchen making themselves some breakfast.

Taehyung glanced over at Jungkook from where he was cutting tofu, “What do you think I mean?”

While sighing, Jungkook bit his lip in question while he shook his head, “You’re kidding me right? He’s a frat! Does she not know that?” Was he actually for real? There’s no way you could be talking to some player. Jonghoon is a friend of Taehyung’s who used to be a trainee at BigHit. He’s damn beautiful and looks like he could be related to Taehyung. Tall, caramel skin, built, an unreal God like face, yet he’s definitely one hell of a man who only hooks up and has one night stands, leaving girls the very next day. Jungkook wasn’t very fond of him because he knows he isn’t the type of guy himself to play around with women.

“Apparently not.” Taehyung shrugged, “I tried telling her that he’s not what she thinks he is, but she didn’t listen.”

“She’s stupid! You could have told Jonghoon to back off! He can’t talk to her! She’s not realizing that fucker could slip his hand in her panties and fuck her! She’s not into those things! She’s not ready and she shouldn’t be anywhere near him” He exclaimed in anger.

“And why all of a sudden are you sounding like you care about Y/N?” Taehyung raised an eyebrow at him, he could sense the protection Jungkook had for you.

“You’re fucking crazy. I don’t give a crap about her. I’m just saying that she shouldn’t be talking to him because he’s not good for her at all.”

Taehyung hummed, but he wasn’t convinced, “Okay, whatever you say. But I can’t forget to add that she’s going on a date with him later this afternoon.” He smirked.

“WHAT?!” Jungkook looked at Taehyung as if his eyes could pop out of his sockets.

“Yeah, you heard me. A date. Where two people who are attracted to each other go and hang out to be romantic and shit like that.” Taehyung kept his little smile, waiting for Jungkook’s major defense mode.

“It’s definitely not an attraction or going to be romantic when really he’s gonna take her home and get in her pants.” He growled and his tongue poked out of his cheek, “She’s not going on that date. I have to go tell her this after I eat breakfast.”

It was around two o’clock in the afternoon and Jungkook took forever to find out where you were going on your date with Jonghoon. Jess could not answer his calls from her being occupied in the studio with Yoongi, Jonghoon wouldn’t tell Taehyung exactly where he was meeting with you, Jimin, Jin, and Namjoon had no idea of you going on a date. That was left with Hoseok who had been stuck in the 3J studio finishing his choreography for his first class tomorrow, had known exactly where you were going to meet Jonghoon. The Lounge Cafe.

It was a twenty minute drive but he didn’t care. He needed to find you and prevent you from hanging out with Jonghoon. When he arrived, the cafe was definitely modernized although that wasn’t the point. His eyes roamed the cafe from sitting in his parked car and that’s where they landed on a familiar girl wearing a cream floral dress, sitting alone outside at a table while reading a book. It was you.

With honesty, Jungkook thought you looked stunning. Maybe because he’s never seen you all dressed up. But your presence somewhat attracted him. His eyes read your look. The way your hair flowed from the light breeze, your adorable wide eyes blinking as you flipped a page, the way your posture is. Undoubtedly yet not realization, Jungkook always had thought you were beautiful without even saying you are. You are just naturally attractive. He wondered what life would have been if you weren’t so irking… or if maybe just things went the right way between you two. Would you two have become friends? Would there have been any feelings of? Well, that’s not that he would know of.

Before his thoughts could go any further to drive him away distractedly, he snapped out of them since he was here for a reason. Jungkook got out of his car, taking his keys, phone, and wallet and slipping them into his sweatpants as his made his way over to you, knowing of the arrangement with Jonghoon. When he reached you, he was already infuriated just as he took a seat in front of you, “Why are you wasting your time?”

You looked up from the page you were reading of your book to find Jungkook sitting right there with an incensed expression on his face. What the hell was he talking about? “Excuse me?” You questioned.

He let out a hollow laugh, “The guy isn’t worth the time, Y/N. Are you blind?” Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “You mean Jonghoon? How do you even know him?” Most of all, how did he know about this? Jungkook shook his head, “He is a friend of a friend I have. And he has a reputation Y/N. He doesn’t take too fondly to girls… that aren’t experienced.” His thumbs circled around each other as his fingers were interlocked.

You sighed, “And why do you care? You don’t know if he’s really like that, Jungkook.”

His eyes rolled in exasperation and looked at you, “Look Y/N, I know what I’m saying. I know that douche too well and you are just walking into one of his traps.” He nodded in assurance. “How did you even know about this?” You asked, “First of all, this is my business that you’re barging into. I don’t think he’ll even do such thing to hurt me.”

Jungkook leaned towards you, “He will use you for a bad purpose and break your heart, Y/N.” His voice deepened, “So don’t cry when he leaves you stranded and broken.”

You giggled, not believing him, “Please, he won’t.” You crossed your arms while leaning back on the chair, “And if that doesn’t work out and I end up wrong, then lesson learned. I like him.” You shrugged in yet confidence. Jungkook studied you in distaste with a hum, “You are so blind huh? Not just in sight but in judgment.”

That’s when you just had enough. What rights does he have to be telling you this? You were done kissing his ass, “Judgement? Who are you to tell me this? Why can’t I just like anyone for crying out loud? Are you that surprised at the fact I’m probably going to start dating?” You asked.

Jungkook nodded with no expression, “Obviously yes, as no guy would ever be interested in you anyways.” He shrugged as he sat back. You looked down in distress. It was true, but yet you just had a strong feeling that Jonghoon was actually interested in you, “At least it feels nice when someone is interested in me...” You said quietly.

“As if any guy would.” He said expressionlessly. You have yet nothing to say and he got the message that you were done listening. He got up from his seat as he looked at you with no sympathy, “Don’t blame me if he tears you apart.” And with that, he walked off. You sat there, not knowing what to think. You didn’t want to believe him because you were already over with him being an ass. He couldn’t be telling the truth… right?

The clear skies with shining sun soon faded when dark and grey clouds have flown into them. It would have been much better as a delight to maybe brighten up the day a little and not ruin it for you after what just clearly happened.

Jungkook on the other hand just did not care about what was going on with you and Jonghoon. Or does he because of the guy’s reputation with girls? No, that didn’t matter to him. If Jonghoon did anything to mess with you, then it was your fault for not listening to Jungkook. And he basically told you so. No fucks were given in the end.

At the end of practice at BigHit’s dance studio, Jungkook sat down on the floor with his back against the wall and grabbed his phone. Seeing an odd countless amount of messages from Jess, he was confused. She seemed worried and angry, but why was she?

Jess (4:33pm): Jungkook, idk where you are right now and honestly i don’t care but y/n hasn’t come home and i’m fucking worried.. Like seriously.

Jess(4:33pm): Can you look around and see if you can find her?

Jess(4:36pm): If you don’t, just know your hair won’t make it to the morning :)

Jungkook groaned in annoyance and responded.

Jungkook(5:02pm): Are you serious?? Do I really have to do this? Why can’t you just ask any of the other guys?

Jess(5:07pm): For one, Yoongi is at the studio but he is working on your comeback so he is out of the question. Hoseok is with Family at the moment, Jin is probably asleep, Jimin is out with Taehyung somewhere and Namjoon… I’m not sure where he is but you’re in her area and I need someone asap as my car is out of gas unless I’d be doing this shit my fucking self.

Jungkook(5:08pm) I could just give you money or bring gas to you. I literally have no idea where she is and I am nowhere in any mood to even find her.

Jess(5:12pm): See you’re the last fucking person I want to ask anyway but I need you to do this cause I’m working on something for Mr. Bang and if it’s not finished I am screwed. So just text Namjoon as he was the last one to talk to her after you decided to be an ass before her fucking date. Which I'm tempted to smack you for doing but you’re right about this guy which is why I'm extra worried… so just for my fucking sanity please jungkook. I’ll pay you back in whatever the fuck you ask for, games etc. just do it.

Jungkook(5:14pm): fine, but let this be the last fucking time you ask me to do something with y/n involved. I give no fucks about her or whatever she does with that douche just an FYI.

Jess(5:15pm): you can say that all you want but I know you Jungkook. Just find her, and if that fucker has hurt her tell me so I can plan his fucking funeral.

Jungkook(5:17pm): What is this, you’re not believing me now? In what aspect do you mean by knowing me? As if. But whatever, you can do whatever you want. If she ends up hurt, I’ll tell you. But it’s her fault and I don’t care anyway. She’s a stubborn pain in the ass and is the last person I ever want to put in my car no offense.

Jess(5:18pm): Whatever Jungkook, you act like a douche on purpose but I won’t argue with you as you’re just as hardhead as yoongi. So just find her, I have shit too before Mr. Bang has my head on a pike.

Jungkook(5:19pm): alright fine. I’ll keep you updated if I find her or not.

Jess(5:21pm): Thank you... You really don’t understand how much I am thankful that you are doing this. She is like a daughter to me. So yeah I gtg Mr. Bang is yelling at me now lmao

Jungkook(5:22pm): I mean I guess lol… I’m only doing this for you.

Jess(5:23pm): it won’t only be me in the end, but thanks.

Jungkook(5:23pm): no problem

Jungkook sighed in annoyance and hung up slipped his phone in his pocket. Do I really have to do this? Yes, of course, he does. He’s not that much of an ass to reject doing a favor for someone who needs it. And if Jess is that damn worried about you, then he may as well go out and find you. Jungkook grabbed his backpack and carries it on his back after putting his sweaty towel in and zipping it up. Walking out to his car, he thought to himself, what happens if he doesn’t find you at all?

During the car ride, he went to various places that he could in order to find you. Locations that may seem where you might be based on where you probably like to go. And he even went to the most random places too. He’s driven around everywhere in Seoul basically trying to find just you.

An hour passed and you were not found. Jungkook was in utter anger and stress that he’s wasted on time looking for you. He just wanted to go home badly to rest, and at that point for finding you everywhere, he’s given up. He shook his head and turned his car around to his way home. How was he going to tell Jess that he didn’t find you?

Although it was one question that he was focused on, there was another one that he just couldn’t help but keep thinking about the most. Is she okay?

The thought if it makes him worry a little. And it was odd. Where could you possibly be that you suddenly disappeared all day? Then suddenly while driving down a road, he found someone familiar walking on the sidewalk with their head down. Their outfit just seemed to look too much like what you were wearing earlier. Your figure and the way you walk even caught him off guard. With curiosity and hope, Jungkook slowly drove up close to get a better look of you, and as soon as he was just there, it was suddenly and thankfully you, walking with your head down.

To be sure of it, Jungkook rolled down his window and slowed down next to you, “Y/N?” The familiar voice caught you off guard and caused you to turn. Surprisingly, you found Jungkook in his black luxurious car right next to you. And it was definitely bad that he could see your face full of sadness and regret.

Jungkook, who was ready to pop off his madness and yell at you, studied your face. Your eyes were puffy and watery, your nose was red and cheeks were a peachy color. You had been crying and for some reason, his face softened. It was weird seeing you cry and it didn’t make him feel good inside at all.

“Go ahead, laugh at me.”

Jungkook stood there with trying to keep no expression on his face, but he only blinked, “I… I’m not going to,” he said quietly and he took a deep breath with his chest rising, “Get in, it’s gonna rain soon and Jess is worried sick.”

You shook your head with your arms still locked, and making no eye contact with him, “No thanks, I’m fine.” You turned to walk off in the same direction you were heading. That wasn’t until “Y/N please.” Jungkook watched you walk away. But you just kept walking. You knew you didn’t want to deal with him. But he wasn’t going to let you walk away from him.

“Y/N please stop.” His voice arose and it sounded quite like a demand. But that didn’t stop you from turning around with a pissed look on your face with tears streaming down your cheeks. “And why do you care?” And at that, Jungkook stays silent for a while.

You couldn’t be bothered to turn around to face him properly, for your insides were seething with rage and your heart felt empty to the core. Jungkook was right, he always was. The things he said to your face, how badly he spoke of you, and now this, about the guy who you thought was pretty decent—and something about Jeon Jungkook being right about everything is making your jaw clench in anger as you recall the buried grudge he has for you. Why must he keep meddling in your life? Right now, you wished he just disappeared off the face of earth. That way, your life would be much, much easier. You wouldn’t have to keep caring about your stupid feelings getting hurt and being the constant target and Jungkook’s antics.

And that’s the worst part. Feelings.

You’ve been harboring them for him god knows since when and you are afraid to open up about it to him. There’s this side of you Jungkook always fails to see and you doubt he ever will. Even if he does, it is highly unlikely that he would even care. And that is the question bothering you most as of the moment.

Why did he fucking care?

With your back facing him, you missed how he churns on his inner cheek and doesn’t know where to put his gaze. The rain pattering on the concrete floor didn’t provide him with the answers he needed. He directed the question back to himself and he realized he could not give closure as well.

With a sigh, he spoke, “Because I hate seeing you sad when it’s because of someone else hurting you like no one should or I shouldn’t.”

“I know you’re upset but can you please get in the car for my own good sake to get you home and save you from being sick at least?” Without a word, or looking at him, you walked past him and your shoulders barely touched as you walked to the passenger side of his car. That gave him a slight tingle in himself as he’s rarely been that close to you.

On the way back home, it was pure silence in the thin atmosphere. Jungkook gave glances to you here and there but you never once took a glimpse at him. And your position was obvious. You were sitting with your legs tightly closed and your fingers were brushing against each other as you only looked out the window, keeping your emotions as stable as you could. But it was so difficult to just give in and not cry. Then you realized, how could you be so stupid to not listen to him? He was right. You were angry. Not at Jungkook. But yourself. You felt bitchy. So bitter. Yet it was wrong to be that way to him. Although he has had a big hatred for you, you just can’t ever treat him the same. It just doesn’t work that way for you, which is a big problem. You’re too nice.

“He hurt you didn’t he?” His soft voice snapped you out of your thoughts, that you didn’t even realize he was already parked in front of your apartment. You gazed over at him and by the look on your face, Jungkook felt a little pang in his heart. Eyes puffy and glossy, your nose and cheeks peachy. He has never seen you cry once before, not even has he seen you express a sad or depressing emotion. He’s always seen you smile.

“Yes. And I let him.” Your voice cracked as if it hit the flu. Jungkook clenches his lips as he caught your eyes blink with tiny little tears, “What did he do?” You shook your head, “Just something that I learn my mistake from. It’s nothing-“

“Y/N” He started, “What did he do?” He stared at you with a straight face, almost like a demand. And it wasn’t that he was forcing you. He needed to know.

You sighed quietly as you could feel the slight order from him and you just couldn’t say no to him. “He groped me.” You vocalized in a shaky tone. Jungkook could feel his blood boil fast and kept calm, “Where did he touch you, Y/N?” His voice lowered.

“I c-can’t tell you-“

“If you can’t tell me, then point to where did he touch you.”

You gulped and your heart thumped rapidly, “Um…” You didn’t want any trouble at all and you were so hesitant in just telling him Jonghoon’s attempt to getting in your pants. But Jungkook could tell what he tried to do when you stuttered and look down at your most private area. As soon as you picked your head up at him, your tears were already swimming around your eyes, “H-He-“ you tried to speak but you were cut off by Jungkook’s hand grabbing you and pulling you onto his lap with your legs straddling him, in which you began to let out a breathy cry. His arms engulfed around your fragile figure and he held you tight in his arms, your response with burying your face in his neck with your hands on his hard chest as you sobbed in his neck.

But this was weird. You’re sitting on your enemy’s lap and he’s comforting you. He’s practically holding you in his own arms and you’re letting him. Ye his comfort made you feel safe… and you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t even dare to. His soothing fingers stroking your hair as his hand rubbed your back slowly but keeping a light grip on you.

Jungkook on the other hand, he didn’t know what in the hell is he doing or what he was thinking. Why is he holding you? Why did he grab you and suddenly felt that he needed to protect you? He was in rage deeply inside and one of these days when he finds Jonghoon, he’ll make sure he doesn’t have his perfectly straight teeth.

You were glued to each other, the steady beat of his heart making you never want to open your eyes. Some nights, you’d lie awake just thinking about what he would say if he ever felt guilty about what he did and here it was. And somehow, it was so much more than what you asked for. But you also were wary. The bigger part of you, though, knew he was being sincere, that he held this crushing guilt over his head over what happened between you two for the past five to six years.

”You don’t deserve this,” he softly spoke up along a sigh, “You’re too special and fragile…” He added.

Wait what? You pulled away from his neck and looked at him, “What?” Your cold soft voice barely could be audible. Jungkook got a better glimpse of you up close—broken and terrified. And it sure damn stabbed his own heart deeply. He locked a piece of your hair behind your ear as he stared at you, “I know I was an ass to you earlier but I know that what I’m about to tell you is what I really mean to say. You’re too unique and wonderful for him. He’s nothing but a scumbag looking for a just a fuck and you don’t need that. You need and will get a guy who will treat you loyally and kindly with all of his love for who you are. Any guy would be lucky to have you, Y/N. Wait for him…the right one will sweep you off your feet.” His thumb rubbed your hip softly and the feeling warmed your skin.

You blinked. Is he really telling you this or are you just dreaming?

He sighed, “Just trust me.” He said softly. Jungkook reached his hand up to your face and wiped your tears gently with his thumb, “You’re so beautiful…” And it was true to him. Being this up close to you, he was able to see your flaws but they resembled how gorgeous you are. You shook your head, you didn’t believe that “I’m not that-“

“Yes, you are.” He cut you off, “Honestly, you’re so attractive and stunning, don’t tell yourself you’re not beautiful when you have seen yourself in the mirror.” He looked into your eyes, deep into them.

And you just didn’t know what else to say because his brown doe eyes caught you off guard. Neither of you could look away and it’s like your eyes were having a never lasting conversation with each other. You could feel your own pupils dilate the more you looked closely into his, and you could have sworn that his eyes looked at your lips then at you. But you also didn’t think he did. And at that moment, it was when you come to the realization of what was going on, causing you to clear your throat, “Um..” you hummed, which had Jungkook probably get the memo too. You looked down awkwardly as your mind was going crazy but you remained calm, “Thanks for the ride… and listening.” You said softly. Jungkook eyes darted elsewhere but you with a blank expression on his face, “Yeah,” he started, “No problem.” He said and he just sat there, his tongue poking out of his.

You slowly got off his lap to the passenger side and got out his car, grabbing your bag as you fixed yourself and closing the door afterward without saying a word. Making your way into your apartment, you didn’t dare to look back. After locking the front door, you leaned your back against it, questioning what just happened.

You almost kissed your enemy.