#Sorry I missed this one! my goodness It's been a busy year things keep slipping my mind!

[moxtoons]

Hello, I just wanted to say how much I love your HHSD Scarecrow. You have an amazing artstyle ! :D

Oh my gosh it's been so long since I've checked my inbox I'm so sorry I never saw this!! TYSM!!!

It's been a while since I've drawn HHSD, maybe I should put some doodles out again soon 💛

Thank you so much for taking time to send me such a sweet message! Hope you have a wonderful day!

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[navybrat817]

Your landlord is elusive. You've been calling him for weeks about the broken washing machine, your rent checks have gone uncashed, and you can't even leave a voicemail.

When he finally shows up, bloody and bruised, it seems there's more than the washer to tend to.

Oh, this is long overdue.

You Get What You Pay For

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: Your landlord shows up expectedly after weeks of radio silence and prefers a different form of payment as you patch him up. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Injuries, b/lood, v/iolence, implied n/oncon (you have been warned), God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For Roo and @the-slumberparty 's May challenge. Prompt in bold italics. Beta read by @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤�� Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"I’m sorry, but the mailbox you are trying to reach is full."

With a sigh, you hung up the phone and took your laundry basket to the bathroom. Your landlord hadn’t answered a single call of yours in weeks, which was about how long you had gone without a working washing machine. And because you couldn’t leave a message and didn’t know how to fix it yourself, you had to resort to washing your clothes in the tub. You refused to go into town to use the laundromat or call someone to repair it. Not because you didn’t have the money to pay, but because you didn’t want anyone to see your face.

He wouldn’t know to look for me here though, would he?

You suddenly missed your old apartment as you turned the water on. It was warm and cozy, the opposite of the cold, quiet place you now occupied. You tried to brighten it up with flowers, but the house wasn’t a home. Maybe one day, years from now, you could go back to the city.

If it was ever deemed safe enough for you to return.

Your stomach sank as you pulled up your bank account to check the balance. It was much higher than it should have been. Not only was your landlord not answering his phone, but he hadn’t cashed a single one of your rent checks. The instructions were clear that he didn’t accept direct deposit or cash from tenants. Only checks made out to a rental property. Thankfully you opened a new account before you found the place, knowing better than to use your old account in case anyone checked it for paper trails.

Why isn’t he cashing my checks?

You shut the water off and got to work, doing your best not to let your mind race. Was your landlord ignoring you? Possibly. He was a bit of an enigma. A handsome man, but still an enigma. In fact, you had only seen him once and he told you to call him God when he introduced himself. The cold look in his blue eyes told you it wasn’t a joke as he unceremoniously put the keys in your hand.

“Welcome home.”

What if he found out what I did? Will he kick me out? Where will I go? What if someone found out I'm living here and went after him? If something happened to him because of me…

You had gone most of your life with keeping your head down and minding your own business, but it wasn't living. Opportunities slipped by because you either played it safe or didn't have the means to otherwise. So you got a little bold and maybe a little greedy. Why else had you stolen from a powerful man? He wasn’t a good man and you didn’t think he’d notice anything missing, but that was no excuse to rob him. You should’ve known he didn’t miss a thing.

And I was so careful until he caught me.

"I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch."

Looking back, you weren’t sure how you managed to get away. It was all a blur. He didn't call the cops. He wanted to take care of you himself. If he ever got his hands on you, he’d tear you apart before you begged for death. Because no one who crossed him lived to tell their tales. How far would he go to find you? What if he found God and made him an offer to sell you out?

Maybe it was time for you to move on to another place.

"First aid kit."

You spun around and caught yourself before you fell to the ground, your heart in your throat. In the doorway stood the very man you were trying to get ahold of, his short brown hair disheveled and sporting a black eye and blood on the corner of his mouth. Were you so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him enter the house? Or was he that quiet?

"Are you going to help me or stare at me?" he asked, clutching his ribs as he took a step inside. "And here I thought you were a hospitable tenant."

"Sorry," you whispered, tightening your robe. He hardly gave you any room as you got the kit out from under the sink. The bathroom wasn’t that small, so why was he practically on top of you? "Here, let me help."

You carefully guided him to the toilet, but he didn't seem to need your help. Even sitting down, his size and presence intimidated you. Was that blood on his torn shirt? And his jeans, too?

What the hell happened to him? Or does that blood belong to someone else?

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he answered dryly. "You should see the other guy."

You weren't going to push for him to say more.

He didn’t flinch as you cleaned the blood from his face. He didn’t take his eyes off you either as you carefully looked him over. You tried to ignore his stare, but the silence grew more uncomfortable with each second that passed.

"Why are your clothes in the bathtub?" he asked, surprising you by yanking on the tie to your robe. It, thankfully, didn’t open. "You know there's a washer for that."

"I'm aware that there's a washer, but it isn't working and you didn't answer your phone," you said, keeping your tone light instead of accusatory.

"Is that right? And you couldn't use the laundromat in town until you could get in touch with me?" he asked, an amused look in his eyes as you went rigid. Why did that gaze make you more uncomfortable than his previous dull stare? "I’ll look at it later. Sure it won’t take me long to fix it."

“I appreciate that," you said, wondering when you should mention the uncashed rent checks. "But let's get you taken care of first."

He grunted before he removed his shirt, tossing the garment in the tub with your clothes. "What’s one more, right?" he asked, sitting back and gesturing to his muscular torso littered with bruises and minor cuts. "Don’t think they’re too bad, but I’d prefer if you check."

"You do know I’m not a nurse, right?" you asked, even as you moved to look him over. There was a particularly dark bruise by his ribs, which was likely why he held them as he walked in. "just saying in case you wanted a professional opinion or if anything is really sore."

He hummed as your fingertips brushed along his skin. "Told you I'm peachy. And I'm sure you would’ve made a fine nurse if you really wanted to be one."

Your heart thudded in your chest at his use of the past tense, like you would never get the chance. Maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you. It was a simple statement. It didn’t mean a thing.

"School can be pretty expensive though," he went on with a tilt of his head. "Is that what kept you back? Finances?"

Your stomach turned at the question. He didn't blink and you hoped your expression didn't give your nerves away. Did he know? If he did, why dance around it?

"May I ask what happened?" you questioned as he furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry. It's none of my-"

"I killed some people."

Tension spiked in the small room, a nervous laugh escaping as you tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Dry humor occasionally went over your head. "You what? Y-You killed some people?"

"Yeah, I did. I kill a lot of people. Usually for money." he said unemotionally, clamping a hand around your wrist when you tried to pull away. "Not why I did it this time."

The ring on his third finger dug into your skin as you fought down the bile rising to your throat. He wasn't just an enigma. He was a killer. A man who spoke so casually about murder. Were you about to become his next victim? "Are you going to kill me?"

"Now why would I do that?" he asked as he stood, keeping a firm grip on you as he backed you against the sink, your legs almost giving out. "After everything I did for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't do my research on you? I can spot when someone's on the run, sweetheart. Though I didn't peg you for a thief," he answered as your eyes brimmed with tears. The sight didn't seem to inspire any sympathy considering he smiled. "You stole money from a powerful man. Dangerous, too. And you really thought hiding out here would save you?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, finding it harder to breathe as he stepped closer. It wasn't an empty apology. You made a stupid mistake. "I tried to give it back, but he-"

"I don't care why you did it," he dismissed, toying with the tie of your robe again. "He was an asshole who robbed people blind for years. I did the world a favor by killing him."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "He's really gone?" you asked, shaking a bit when he yanked the robe open. "What are you doing?"

"I killed him and his bodyguards before they could get to you. They got a few lucky hits in. Stroked their egos a bit before I took them out," he went on like he hadn't heard you, grazing his fingertips along your skin. "I took a big risk going after him for you. Very high profile."

"I didn't ask you to do that," you tried to reason.

"And since no one paid me and you kind of owe me for saving you," he continued, his fingers stopping just above your mound. "I decided I'm going to keep you."

You weren't sure if it was a form of shock you were experiencing because your mind screamed at you to fight, but you couldn't move. You could hardly find the word to speak. "Keep me?"

"Yeah. Keep you. Gets lonely sometimes," he shrugged, gazing unashamedly at your exposed chest. "Plus I wanted to fuck you the moment you showed up here. Now I can whenever I want."

Your eyes widened as he lifted his gaze to yours, a flash of darkness in his eyes when you tried, and failed, to shove him back. "You can't just keep me!" you blurted out, trying not to panic. You couldn't stay trapped there with him. Was he delusional in thinking you'd agree to that?

"Did you not hear what I said? I saved your life. You should be thanking me," he said, frowning when you glanced toward the door. Maybe you could break free. "What, you think you can run away? Get help? No one is going to save you from me."

He was right. You had no one to go to. What if you did and he went after them? Who would help you when you couldn't help yourself?

"Please, let me go," you begged, your tears spilling over as he spun you to face the mirror. You hissed as your hips dug into the counter, but your discomfort didn't matter to him. "You can have the money. All of it. I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"I don't want your money," he said, kicking your feet apart. You felt his arousal as he pressed against you and it was enough to make you whimper. "Why do you think I haven't cashed your checks?"

"God, please," you said, shutting your eyes when he wrapped his hand around your throat. You didn't want to see his dark desire in the reflection.

"You'll say that again before I'm done with you and you'll watch as I take my first payment," he promised, your heart dropping as your new reality began to sink in. "Now be good and welcome me home."

Oh, what have I done? Love and thanks for reading!

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[nashusglasses]

note: just had a brief, dizzying spell thinking about subtly flirting with suguru in your jujutsu high years. listen. LISTEN. *shaking your shoulders violently, tears lining my eyes* he'll take care of you. here's my take on the forever-famous perilla leaf debate

.

.

.

Suguru takes it upon himself to be grill master for the night. Satoru's too busy stuffing the little tofu bowls down his throat, and Shoko's already in a sake-induced stupor of laziness.

You try taking some pickled radish. Satoru swipes at it in 0.2 seconds and swallows it down before your chopsticks even reach the bowl.

"There's a bowl closer to you," you complain.

Satoru brightens at your suggestion, grabbing the cold ceramic and tipping the radish past his tongue. "The one you were going for looked juicier," he chews through his words.

Whatever. You could always order more. Suguru says nothing, diligently flipping the beef in the pan. Shoko asks you to move out the booth seat because she needs to piss.

When you sit back down, Satoru is already writing to get 5 more orders of pickled bean sprouts and spicy tofu. "How about rice? Six more bowls?"

Suguru sneers. "You're a pig."

"I'm a growing boy. Okay, six–" Satoru hums to himself, frowning– "and maybe some more potatoes. Do you think Shoko wants mushrooms? Because I want more mushrooms."

While Satoru contemplates Shoko's dietary concerns, Suguru drops a heap of perfectly-browned beef on your plate. "Oh. Thank you," you say, and he nods with a gentle smile.

"Let me know if you want more."

Your heart pangs a quiet beat. You nod, too, picking at the meat, convincing yourself that the heat in your face is from the sizzling plate in front of you, and not from Suguru's rolled up sleeves, or the way he carefully adds more to the pan to cook for Satoru's seemingly-bottomless appetite.

You're almost wary when you make a grab for the perilla leaves. Satoru's too good at guessing your next move. You try to prepare yourself, his quick ha!, all the leaves suddenly stuck in his chopsticks, leaving none to spare.

He's too busy chiding Suguru for burning his beef, though. Good. No sudden movements from the manchild with ten stomachs.

You try to grab a leaf. They stick together, folded over in the slick of sauce, and suddenly you miss Shoko because she's always the first to offer help. Her and her stupid small bladder.

You try again. The bottom chopstick manages to slip under one leaf, but a waitress comes by with the five hundred sides Satoru ordered, and the table rattles when he slams his hands down in excitement, bellowing thank you very much!, and your attempt is thwarted when the leaves curl again.

Satoru scarfs down three radish bowls. You try one more time.

You're almost vibrating with frustration. Did God like seeing his subjects suffer through the pain of repetition? You suppose all good things come with tribulations.

You look up. Suguru's watching you with a blank face.

"Good lord." Satoru groans through a mouthful of rice. "You've been trying to get that for–here–"

–clink.

Satoru's chopsticks, intercepted by Suguru's chopsticks. The poor perilla leaf stretches under the weight of their interruption. Suguru is still watching you.

"Oh," you say.

"Suguru," Satoru whines. "First my burnt beef, now this! You broke them all!"

It's true. The leaves are ripped straight down the middle, and all your meat is cold. But he keeps his eyes on you, chopsticks still a threat to Satoru's, and you don't think you've ever seen him move so fast.

Suguru's mold breaks, then. He laughs, scratching the back of his head in sheepish apology. "Sorry. Why don't you just ask for my help next time?"

"Okay," you murmur, and you grab the desecrated leaf. Suguru hums when he watches you chew. You have the distinct feeling that he's somewhat satisfied.

(Satoru yanks his hand back, grumbling something about god you're helpless in Suguru's direction. You hear the brief stomp of someone's foot. Satoru yelps.)

.

.

.

When Suguru lies down in bed later that night, he thinks of the way you thoughtfully chew your food. He dreams of perilla leaves, and what it must feel like to feel the warmth of your face with his hands.

[randomshyperson]

Little Freaks - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A longtime crush can sometimes turn into more with a tough test and a demanding teacher. Or the one where Natasha insists that Wanda is a simp and you both are a clueless gay disaster. [Requested]

Warnings: Some implications at the end but nothing explicit, fluff and teasing, mutual pining, emo Wanda being grumpy and jealous.| Words: 2.925k

A/N-> Yep, the title is inspired by a Harry Style song title.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Some things really were a gift from heaven.

After months of what her best friend referred to as 'hopeless gay pining' to tease her, Wanda finally had a chance to make her presence known.

Well, it would of course be incorrect for her to say that you didn't know who she was - In fact, you had been classmates at the same university for 3 years, the first contact happened in the first year not by an academic coincidence, but personal since your sister was Kate Bishop who by the occurrence of fate, started a relationship with Yelena Belova that happened to be the younger sister of Wanda's best friend. Although you all attended NYU, with the addition of many friends in common, you and Wanda were not exactly close. Different courses, different schedules. The vast majority of your meetings took place in the presence of other friends, mostly for parties and movie nights or study in the dorms. It was only a few months ago when Bucky Barnes's motorcycle - who would cordially offer you a ride to work since the university started as you both worked in the same place - broke down and you ended up bumping into Wanda on the bus heading to the university. Your gentle interruption to the loud music coming out of her headphones as you touched Wanda's shoulder to greet her, made it possible for a total of twenty minutes of talking to each other alone for what seemed like the first time and resulted in Wanda having a ridiculously intense crush on you afterward.

Of course, Natasha tormented her endlessly when she let slip about her own feelings, the redhead even going so far as to offer to be some form of cupid - which Wanda immediately denied, thinking she couldn't live on the childish humiliation of having her feelings discovered. It was foolish of course, but she couldn't avoid insecurities about matters like this, especially for someone with whom she shared a group of friends. If rejected, everything would be awkward between her, you, and your friends, and she wouldn't want to cause a difficult situation. 

Still, since the feelings started, she couldn't help but notice your presence around campus, and between exchanges of polite greetings and shy smiles in the few shared classes, Wanda fell harder every passing day.

She finally came to the acceptance that she would have to act on it and that at least a rejection would allow her to move on. The problem was finding the opportunity to do so, mainly because the late acceptance came during a testing period, and with everyone so busy with studies, she feared she would miss the opportunity before the winter vacation.

Her luck changed in one of her favorite classes - Ms. Harkness was a very demanding teacher and getting perfect grades with her was a personal victory for Wanda. 

When that afternoon period started and you were late enough that the only vacant seat was on the brunette's side, Wanda thought it was a gift from heaven.

"Sorry, Miss Harkness. My shift ended later." You justified as you walk into the crowded classroom. "May I come in...?"

"Of course, honey, we haven't started yet. You got lucky." Agatha offered you a wink, dismissing the apologies with a smile and moving to pick up the printed papers on her own desk.

You moved quickly to the back of the room, smiling shyly and a bit out of breath - perhaps from the race there -until you sat down in the seat next to her, and Wanda thinks she did a good job of keeping her expression indecipherable despite the racing heart in her chest.

“Hey, Wands.” It seemed that the nickname escaped you naturally, and Wanda was thankful that you were distracted with taking your things out of your backpack to notice the color her cheeks achieved with a simple greeting. 

Natasha is right, what a hopeless homo she was.

Her hoarse reply was drowned out by the beginning of the explanation about the test, and Wanda had to force herself to ignore the hyper-conscience of your presence beside her to focus on the teacher's words.

"[...] our final assessment will focus on the readings of the semester, by now I expect you all to have finished the mandatory books from the beginning of the year." Agatha commented, distributing to each row a stack of papers. Most of the room seemed alright with it, but you grunted low. Wanda risked a corner-of-eye glance. "I will allow doubles if you keep the volume down." Agatha warned last with a nod and the mood improved considerably.

With papers in hand, Wanda bit her lip anxiously. You were completely crestfallen beside her, and she risked another corner glance before feeling her heart leap when you looked at her, a defeated laugh escaping you.

"I'm screwed, Wands. I was going to read over the vacations, but because of work, I didn't even get halfway through the books. Can you believe it?" You blurted out briefly, shifting your gaze back to the paper in your hands. 

Wanda blinked, not knowing what to say at first, too excited about a potential conversation, before stealing another glance at the paper and realizing she had the perfect opportunity to impress you. 

First, she checked to see if Ms. Harkness was already in her typical bubble of indifference to cheating - a book of erotic romance in hand that she brazenly read during exam periods and a mug of coffee - then Wanda leaned her hand over the paper, switching them between you and ignoring your confused look.

"What are you...?" But your question was shushed, and when you noticed Wanda choosing the alternatives, you leaned in just enough to disconcert her for a moment. "That's nice of you, but you don't have to-"

"I'm trying to answer my test, miss." She interrupted you with a falsely serious tone, a smile threatening to break on her lips. You stared at her but had to turn away at the look of curiosity Agatha cast in your direction, deciding to take Wanda's hint and pretend you were reading the paper in front of you.

Wanda decided that you were somewhere between impressed and grateful when the papers were exchanged again a little less than 10 minutes later, and she merely offered you a quick smile.

The class began to empty out and you sighed, starting to gather your own materials since your paper was finished. Wanda didn't have time to let the insecurities go to her own head, as in the motion of getting up, you leaned gently toward her.

"I'll make it up to you, Maximoff. Just tell me how." You whispered before walking away completely, and even after she went to hand over her own article, Wanda was still shaking.

Keeping it together, she left the class in search of Natasha, needing to share the occurrence with her friend for reassurance that she was not delusional.

Natasha, as expected, did not miss the opportunity to torment her as she listened: A hearty laugh escaped her when she heard the way the event was described.

Wanda crossed her arms. "Stop it." She demanded to the laughing other, waiting for Nat to wipe away the tears of laughter.

"For the love of god, you are total simp." Mocked the redhead, to which Wanda huffed in irritation. "I'm kind of jealous of Y/N now, Maria never performed my exams in my place."

Grunting in embarrassment, Wanda turned her body in the opposite direction in the gym. P.E. wasn't her favorite class, but it was one of the few mandatory ones she shared with Natasha so it served to gossip at least. 

And her friend, who was wearing a sports uniform like her, was still having an easy laugh about the whole story.

"Hey, don't get all grumpy. Even though you're a disaster with no game at all, it's cute to see someone like you with all the puppy dog eyes." And Nat was specifically talking about the mixed look between emo and skater girl that Wanda carried as her signature style, which made the smaller girl squeeze her eyes at the thought.

"I don't do puppy dog eyes for anyone." She retorted between teeth. She turned her attention back to the sports court, where some of the class evaluations had already begun. Some of her classmates were playing a friendly basketball match, with coach Okoye taking notes on performances in the corner of the gym. And fate played with her once again when you went through one of the side doors, your eyes circling the place for a moment until you found Okoye, who interrupted the game when you reached her.

You and the trainer chatted briefly about something - Wanda couldn't deny that she was staring, nor did she care for the teasing smile Natasha gave you about her expression. 

The next moment you walked clumsily into the game, greeting the people around you with polite smiles.

Okoye stepped forward. "Five baskets, Miss Bishop. And you get your A." Announced the coach, resulting in a chorus of excitement from the rest of the class and a shy chuckle from her.

Some of the boys passed the basketball to you and with a sigh of preparation, you moved into the shooting position. By now the whole class had stopped to watch, and at least that was an excuse for Wanda's watchful eye.

You hit three in a row, and Wanda had to bite her tongue to keep the sighs down with every bit of skin exposed by the leaping motion to shoot the basket.

Natasha was almost bursting into laughter again. 

Missing the fourth by a hair's breadth, the small audience reacted with a chorus and the noise was enough for Wanda to wake up from her trance, her cheeks burning.

You got your A shortly after and were surrounded by the improvised team, receiving some clapping and praise. Bucky was in the crowd and made a comment about inviting you to join the team the following year officially, his hand on your shoulder as you laughed half breathless and red-faced, from the activity of course.

"They're way too close, don't you think?" Wanda commented bitterly to Natasha beside her, her chest burning every second longer that Bucky's hand remained on your shoulder. Natasha raised her eyes to the scene trying to understand what it was all about. She laughed shortly when she did.

"You know Bucky is not really into...?" She began but Wanda didn't absorb her words, simply standing up next and walking away. "Hey, don't do something stupid!" Natasha warned as she saw the direction her friend was going.

Your relaxed posture broke completely when Wanda appeared in your field of vision, and her determined look made you swallow dry.

"Hey, Wands, what's up?" You tried to sound casual, definitely not used to the intense gaze in your direction. 

Before Wanda could answer, Bucky entered the conversation, still touching you for some reason.

"Hey, Maximoff, did you see what Y/N just did? I was just saying how incredible it would be to have her on the team next semester! But the geek here thinks it has nothing to do with sports, how about helping me convince her?" He was so friendly that Wanda almost felt bad that she wanted to strangle him. Almost. He slung an arm around your shoulders, and she clenched her wrists.

"Actually I think it's quite important to respect her choice." Wanda returned in a coolness sufficient for Bucky to stare at her in shock. "And personal space." She added, her gaze on his arm around her. 

Bucky chuckled uneasily. "Of course, I was only joking..." He muttered embarrassedly, moving away. You frowned in confusion at the whole scene, but Wanda cast another near-deadly glance at the boy next to you.

"Very funny indeed. Will you excuse us so I can talk to her in private?" She practically demands, a deadly stare in the boy's direction, who swallows dryly in fear and simply waves goodbye, leaving you two alone. 

You chuckle cluelessly as you stare back at her. "Did you two have a fight or something?" 

Wanda narrows her eyes at you. "Does it matter to you? Do you like him or whatever?"

Though the aggressiveness surprises you, you smirk, raising an eyebrow at her. "Actually I do." You retort, studying every micro-expression of the deadly look on Wanda's face and reveling in it. "I've known Bucky since elementary school."

Wanda lifts her chin, crossing her arms. "You know what I mean."

Imitating her posture, your expression is one of teasing while hers is one of pure irritation. "Wow, do I? I'm not sure. You wanted to know if I'm friends with Bucky, right?" You challenge, cracking a smile as Wanda huffs in irritation and looks away. Having a little pity finally, you add, "I know what you mean. But my question is... why do you care?" 

You sounded more vulnerable than you originally planned, but it was a good thing because it affected Wanda. She looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath before uncrossing her arms and risking a look at you again, something she couldn't maintain for long once she started talking.

"I was just thinking... we have fun together and it would be nice, I don't know if we did that more often.... hang out, I mean." Natasha was right. She was a disaster. Swallowing dry again, Wanda tried to sound firmer. "I would like to go out with you. Just the two of us, if you like the idea. If not, it could be as a way of thanking me for the test, as friends. I...could live with the pain of rejection, I guess."

You break into a shy laugh with the last sentence, nodding slightly. Wanda smiles, equally coy, and tries to study your face the answer. She doesn't need to, because you move close enough for her to notice the difference in the shades of your iris color.

"I would love to go out with you, Wanda. But are you sure you want to throw your thanks away like that? I'll do whatever you want to pay you back..." Your tone ends low and suggestive, and Wanda holds her breath, blushing heavily at the line her thoughts go.

"Anything?" She asks in a husky voice, and you hum back, noses brushing together. 

Wanda even closes her eyes, expecting the impact that never comes. Instead, the sound of a whistle makes you both jump.

All this time, she has forgotten that she was in the middle of the sports court, and you walking away with an embarrassed laugh and waving in apology to Coach who has restarted the tests makes her blush even more than before.

She has no resistance to your hand entwining itself in hers to pull her off the court, to the benches on the opposite side.

"I have to go now, sorry. Will you text me?"

Wanda pouts. Damn, if Pietro could see her now, he would mock this for the rest of the century. You smile, your hands coming up to squeeze her cheeks.

"Sorry, cutie. They changed my shift because we're short-staffed, that's why I asked the coach to take the PE exam so promptly." You clarify, and Wanda is pleased by the color your cheeks acquire when she slips her arms around your waist.

"It's all right, I understand." She assures you with a smile. "Would it be okay if I picked you up from work today? We could hang out after...?"

You bite back a smile, eyes glittering with mischief. "Actually, Bucky usually drives me home..."

Wanda raises an eyebrow and you break into a laugh. She snorts, turning her face away. "I could drive you to work."

"Sounds romantic." You mutter, and Wanda bites the inside of her cheek.

"And for school, too."

"And we're not even dating, look at that." You tease, and she giggles shyly, swallowing dryly at your hands moving across her shoulders.

"We can change that." She risks, and despite the color of your cheeks, you move one of your hands to touch the tip of her nose in a playful gesture.

"Take me on a date first. If you do well, maybe I'll think about it." You retort, and she rolls her eyes in amusement. She's about to complain that you're having too much fun with her awkwardness when you simply break the distance and kiss her on the mouth.

Wanda gasps, squeezing your waist and reciprocating in the next second. But just as she's going to deepen the best feeling she's ever felt, you gently push her by the shoulders.

"Easy there, tiger. We're in school." You taunt, giggling shyly and as breathless as she is. 

Wanda thinks her brain has melted: All she can do is stare at you with a stupid grin and nod silly at everything you're saying. 

"I really have to go now. Although I doubt I'll be able to concentrate on work after this." You confess in a casual tone and Wanda bites her lips, resisting the urge to kiss you again as she watches you pull away. With a wink, you turn your back on her and leave the gym.

When Wanda sits back down next to Natasha, the redhead laughs low beside her.

"No puppy dog eyes my ass." She mutters wryly, falling into laughter when Wanda slaps her on the back of the head.

[kairiscorner]

happy birthday — miles 1610 x reader (birthday special)

↳ summary: miles never gets a day off from being spider man, which causes him to lose track of a lot of things, even his own special day. luckily, he has the sweetest partner in the world to help him remember and celebrate. ↳ word count: 1,536 ↳ a/n: i did not realize it was my son's birthday on the third, i'm so sorry it's late SJEBCBFIVBRFVBRBVVRBO BUT I HOPE THIS IS GOOD ENOUGH TO MAKE UP FOR IT, HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY MY BOYYYY AND I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE THIS <333

and he does it again, spider man saves the city from more mutated villains! ...and is currently late for biology class. miles hurries out of the scene and swings over to a less noisy block in city to messily change out of his spider suit and back in his school uniform. the day was jam-packed with so many goings-on for the boy and his workload as both a superhero, student, and son are piling up into one big mountain of work for him.

though he's not one to forget easily, a few things escape his mind without him realizing it. he's been in a rush for too many things too fast, he can't keep up with all the demands quickly. you were worried about miles trying to please everyone and do his part, however you knew very well a lot of what he's doing is beyond his responsibility as being miles morales, resident artsy nerd; though you couldn't blame him, being spider man was a full-time job he couldn't just up and quit.

you would get worried often when he'd reply late, he used to reply so quickly to your messages. his texts nowadays don't go without a crying kaomoji with apologies in such expressive all caps. he sometimes forgets some of the promises he makes you since he's out fulfilling so many others from other people, many of which he isn't familiar with, but hey, it's all in a day in the life of being spider man. he really hates how forgetful he's becoming, since he's so busy nowadays, he even forgets what day of the week it is; he's sometimes stuck in last week and remembers all too late what day it is.

but today was important, you knew very well. it was an important day to you and for miles himself, though he didn't realize it, he was too caught up in saving and helping people that he forgot the very day he was waiting for this year with you. though today, you weren't going to let it slip away from him. you called up ganke and convinced him to help you out with organizing your surprise for miles. you two went over to miles' house and, with the help of his parents, cooked up a delicious dinner for him and decorated the place in a simple, yet incredibly meaningful way.

you didn't see miles all day at school since he was catching up with homework and classes that he missed as spider man. his parents didn't know yet, which was how he was still able to get a gift from them, but as one of your gifts for miles that day, you slipped in his locker some copies of your homework and answers to a couple of tests from subjects you two shared. you were his lifesaver, and miles could not express enough thanks to you. he wanted to make up for all the time he couldn't spend with you tonight, though when he finished his rounds as spider man and went over to your place, he found your room empty. he knocked on your front door, but nobody was home.

miles found it really odd, so he tried calling your cell, but you didn't answer either. you instead texted him back, saying you were at one of your friends' place studying for an upcoming quiz. miles sighed but texted you back saying he understood and wished you luck on that quiz. he swung back home and changed again to not raise any suspicions from his parents, though when he entered the front door...

"happy birthday, miles!"

he was taken aback by how not only his parents surprised him, but you and ganke were there, too. miles blinked in confusion, then, disbelief; then when it registered to him the date today was the third of august, the date of his birthday... a smile had curled on his lips as he chuckled at himself. he forgot today was his own birthday! he mumbled questions, like how, when, where, why--you celebrated his birthday even when he couldn't be there for you when you two agreed to, multiple times.

miles felt a little ashamed in spite of the surprise and happiness he felt that you guys remembered his birthday in his stead, but you approached him, with your hands behind your back as you gazed up at him. "hey," you began as miles froze in place when he heard your kind voice. "oh, um... hey." he said awkwardly with a bashful smile as he tried playing it cool, not letting a hint of nervousness slip out of him, but instead releasing a tidal wave of nervousness come flooding out of him. "happy birthday, miles." you said as you handed him your gift to him. he raised his eyebrows as you handed him a thick box, wrapped in red wrapping paper with black accents, all tied up in a black bow.

"f-for me?" he stuttered out as you chuckled and nodded. "of course, birthday boy." "but... but i... i wasn't there for our dates and meet-ups like i promised..." he uttered as he looked down at your gift with guilt filling his voice. you rolled your eyes as you kept grinning at him. you lightly shook your head as you placed your hand on his cheek, bringing his eyes back up to level with your own. "and that's okay, you would've been there if you could, right? i know you have a lot on your plate, not a lot you can share the burdens and responsibilities with, and i... i get it. you can't quit, and i'm glad you save lives before thinking about yourself, but... today's about you, miles. we can make up for the missed dates and meet-ups once life's a lot less chaotic. i'm willing to wait forever for that peace and quiet." you told him with a sweet voice as you leaned over and pecked at his cheek.

miles got flustered immediately as you kissed him, as every word you uttered sank into his heart, filling it up with even more love and adoration for you, he smiled widely and wrapped you in a big hug. "man... i love you so much. i promise i'll do whatever it takes to give us that peace and quiet you deserve." "we deserve, ya dummy." he chuckled at your correction. "right, right, that we deserve." he said as he pulled away and with you encouraging him to open your gift. you called ganke and his parents over as he began to unwrap your gift.

miles had gasped in excitement and utter shock as he unwrapped the gift, you got him the pair of shoes he had been saving up to buy. he had set the gift aside gently and covered his mouth, smiling as he gasped and kept repeating 'no way!' as he jumped up in glee out of excitement. his mother jokingly told you not to have bought him those shoes because they kinda stole his parents' thunder with their gift for him, but she was so happy to know you knew their son well to gift him the one thing he's always asked for.

ganke was filming the whole time, making commentary on how adorable and dorky miles looked right now, and as miles rushed over to you and thanked you endlessly as he held the shoe box in his right hand and your cheek in the left, he couldn't stop giggling and kissed you all over. "hey nerds! how 'bout you two kiss for the camera, huh? the night's young, live it! kiss! kiss! kiss!" ganke chanted as miles' parents side-eyed each other at the notion. miles was a little hesitant since his parents were in the room, but you certainly didn't care anymore.

you gently grabbed hold of miles' collar and gently, you pressed your lips against his. his mother cried out in spanish as his father chuckled and exclaimed "that's my son right there!" miles was flustered and embarrassed at your boldness, but he didn't want to pull away so quickly. he held the back of your head and gently kissed you back. ganke and his father cheered for you both as his mother retreated to get a glass of wine and kept repeating how you two could've just done it up in miles' room!

"this... is the best birthday ever..." miles hushed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. equally flustered and embarrassed, you stared into his eyes as he grinned and chuckled up at you. "even with your parents watching me kiss you, and ganke capturing all this, probably never gonna let us live it down...?" you asked him as he pecked your lips with another quick kiss and pulled away. "definitely." he replied as you leaned over and kissed him again. it was certainly a birthday to remember, and miles promises that he'll earn back all the days you've spent waiting for him and for the gift you got him. though the gift miles had wanted all this time... was nothing more than to be with you, be with you as he turned another year older, and hopefully, celebrate many more birthdays with you, his dearest.

tags !! @k4tsu3 @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @solecitoszn @q2ie @zalayni @anikaluv

[alltaternotot]

Looking Glass | N. Zadorov

Nikita Zadorov x tailor! Reader

Summary: Nikita is trying to find a new suit tailor after his retires, and he is surprised to find a small tailor shop with all kinds of surprises, even beyond the suit

WC: 11k

CW: fluff, smut, relatively slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers?? swearing, limited knowledge about tailoring/suitmaking, the use of the words “suit” and “hand” a million times, light proofreading. Let me know if I’m missing something!

NSFW (MINORS DNI): fingering, p n v, in the mirror, clothed sex, so much praise it’s not even funny, Z likes to talk, consent checks, creampie (BE RESPONSIBLE! WRAP IT!), aftercare, this one got HORNY so be warned.

A/N: cuz we all love a giant pretty man in a nice suit ;)

<><><><>

1 - the meeting

“I’m sorry Nikita, I’m retiring in two weeks, I’m finishing your last suit order then I can’t take any more. But I really do appreciate your business over the years, my friend.” Nikita’s tailor, Dimitri, said over the phone in Russian.

This was a little bit of a shock to Nikita, as his tailor had been designing and fitting his suits from day one, all the way back in Colorado. His closet was piled high with suits he would never stop loving, years and years of designing a look that was perfect for him.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m thankful I could at least get one last suit from you. I hope retirement treats you well, call anytime if you find yourself in Vancouver.” He said, earning a light hearted chuckle on the other line.

“Will do Nikita. Your suit will be on its way to you in the next few days. Best of luck this season.”

They ended the call with the usual goodbyes and made his way over to his closet, pulling out his navy pinstripe suit for the game coming up in just a few hours. His ex used to pick out his suits every game day, but now that they had been broken up for some time he started to enjoy the freedom of wearing whichever suit he felt like. His style was his own after all.

He burned the day away, working out and skating in the morning, eating a light lunch and watching some new show that Quinn had mentioned. He felt calm and ready for the evening ahead. The game hadn’t changed in that way for him, he still loved it like he did as a little boy back in Moscow.

It was finally time to get dressed, his favorite part of his game day routine. He threw on a crisp white button down with a burnt orange tie, one that stood out against the rich blue of his suit. He slipped his legs into the soft fabric of his dress pants, then his large arms into the sleeves of his jacket, he opted for sunglasses, one of his gold watches, and a spritz of his favorite cologne. Finally, he slipped his feet into his nice warm brown dress shoes and did up the button on his suit.

He let out a sigh, admiring his outfit and fixing a lock of hair that had fallen into his face. The floor length mirror across from his bed lit him up perfectly. He looked sharp and professional, the kind of look that seeps confidence. He loved dressing the part of a millionaire athlete, there was no denying that. He shuffled around his room, picking up his essentials before throwing them all into their respective places in his pockets. He was ahead of schedule today and feeling a little bit more antsy to go. He pulled his front door shut and locked it before spinning on his heel towards the elevator.

The only thing he disliked about his his large apartment was the parking. He took the elevator down into the labyrinth of a parking garage his building had, low ceilings and mess everywhere. They had construction going on for the past two weeks or so, mildly inconveniencing him quite a few times. He would walk along the barrier of the construction to his waiting car every game day, trying not to let all of this piss him off. He pulled his phone out to pick a song, one earbud in, trying to keep his mind on the game ahead. Suddenly, he brushed the chicken wire fence that was up to close off a good 15 parking spots. He heard a rip and some pressure on his arm, right near his shoulder. His hand flew to his shoulder, almost trying to save it from what already happened.

“Shit!” He exclaimed to no one in particular. His fingertips were in contact with a decent sized rip right on the seam of his sleeve, a little hole showing the white shirt underneath.

He untangled himself from the chicken wire, not wanting to pull any more fabric, before jogging up to his car window to examine the tear. Luckily, it looked like just the seam was torn, so hopefully it was an easy fix. He didn’t want to go back upstairs and plan an entirely new outfit, so he just got in the car and left the stupid parking garage. He knew he would get an earful from the guys and probably a go-around meme post on Instagram about the visible rip, but at this point he just wanted to leave and get ready for the game.

The drive was maybe fifteen minutes without traffic, but usually ended up being closer to 30. He spent most of that time mentally preparing with soft music playing on a normal day, but this whole ordeal left him brooding with displeasure about nearly ruining one of his favorite suits. He was first at the light on one of the corners that he always passed on this route, when he noticed a shop he had never noticed before.

It was a little shop right next to a corner store, a chalkboard sign out front reading Suits! Dresses! Tailoring! He perked up a little at the sight of a tailor, the rip on his shoulder almost taunting him. He pulled off the road, right into a parallel spot on the cross street, getting out and almost running up to the door of this place. It really did look unassuming from the outside, but inside was really glorious. A bell chimed as he stepped inside and took it all in.

There were bolts of fabric stacked up taller than him, and designs of beautiful dresses and suits scattered around on mannequins, amazing colors and patterns on full display. There was a small counter and a desk, catalogues and thick design books littering both tables. He could hear a few people talking somewhere in the back, or rather one person shouting numbers and the other repeating them.

“Just a second!” A voice echoed from somewhere behind the bolts of fabric.

A woman appeared from a back room, a tape measure hanging around her neck snd and a notebook in her hands, scribbling down numbers on the page. She was short (even though pretty much everyone was short to Nikita) and very pretty. She wore a nice blouse and a mid length skirt, all topped off with a pair of nicer looking heels. It almost caught him off guard, like he was blindsided by meeting someone so pretty on a normal work day.

“How can I help you?” She asked, looking up, then up again to meet his eyes.

“Hi, umm, I know this is a weird ask but I am almost late for work, and I accidentally ripped the seam of my sleeve. Would you be able to fix it quickly? If not, totally fine, I’ll just be on my way.” He explained, turning to show her the tear in his shoulder.

“I can do that! Do you have maybe 10-15 minutes?” She asked, his eyes falling to his watch to check. He would turn out to be right on time.

“I think so.” He murmured, taking his phone out of the inside pocket and the jacket fully off.

She took the jacket, giving it a once over, then opened a tub of spooled thread sitting on one of the tables not too far from where he stood. He watched her pull out a tray of blues, holding them up to the blue of his jacket, then replacing them till she found an almost perfect match to the rich navy. She threaded a needle with lightning speed and flipped the jacket inside out to pull the seam together and pin it, deciding it would be the fastest to just stand at the desk and hold the massive jacket in her hands.

She could see how the sleeves accommodated large corded muscles in his arms, and how well done the work was. Whoever made this suit certainly did an excellent job and took his measurements down to the millimeter. She let herself look up at him briefly, his attention now on a deep purple suit displayed in the corner.

He was larger than life and had a confidence about him that was hard to ignore. His frame was perfectly accentuated with the cut of his suit pants and the button down he wore. His hair was perfectly cut and his sunglasses were perfect for his handsome face. The scar running through his lip down to his chin gave him a tough, no bullshit kind of look that only added to his confidence. He had a great taste in cologne, the spicy warm scent wafting through her senses from having his jacket. Even his accent was like a deep, rich honey being pouring from his lips. She pictured him as a hit man, or a spy, or some sort of agent. Something fantastic.

Once the stitching was done, she took the jacket over to one of the many massive mirrors on the wall and flipped it back, looking closely at the seam to make sure it was straight. Nikita walked up behind her and she offered up the jacket.

“Try that, hopefully the seam sits straight on your shoulder.” She remarked, watching him slip his big arm through the sleeves and button it back up.

He turned in the mirror, running a large finger over where the rip once was, now perfectly hidden by a straight seam. It was like nothing ever happened to it. He cracked a smile and turned back to the woman, yanking on the hem of the jacket to straighten himself out.

“That’s perfect. How much do I owe you?” He asked, pulling out his wallet.

“Oh don’t worry about it! It was just a quick stitch!” She exclaimed, holding her hand up in a stop gesture when he tried to hand over a fifty dollar note.

“Really, I insist. You’re saving me a lot of embarrassment with my… coworkers.” He said, circumventing the fact that his coworkers are in fact teammates on the most famous sports team in the area.

“Honestly, it’s no big deal. I’m just glad you let me work on this amazing suit. Your tailor is a magician!” She joked, and he just smiled.

“What was your name? I’ll be sure to recommend you for any fixing my coworkers need done on their suits.” He said, grabbing a business card from the desk.

“My name is Y/N, but the people who own this place are Rob and Krista. Any of us would be happy to help!” She exclaimed.

“Great. I’m Nikita. It’s nice to meet you, but I have to run. Thanks for everything!”

He turned on his heel to leave, sending a gentle wave her way before picking up the pace back to his car. When she turned around, the 50 dollar note was sitting on the desk, inconspicuously next to the pile of business cards he grabbed from. She let out a chuckle and let the fantastical daydreams of secret agent Nikita fill her mind up as she pocketed the note.

“Who was that Y/N?” Rob asked, emerging from the back holding the plans for a custom gown he was making.

“He just needed a seam stitched, no big deal.” She muttered, and he hummed at the far of gleam in her eye.

<><><><>

2 - the outing

Nikita scored two goals and got an assist that night. He was on top of the world and couldn’t come down. When the final horn sounded he found himself thinking of Y/N, and how the blue thread she used must have weaved some luck into him.

After his post game shower and doing media he found himself back at his locker, pulling his suit back on to return home. His button up was on, no jacket or tie, and he was almost done loosely tying his right shoe so he could finally leave. Quinn and Brock were close by, chatting with each other about the game.

“Fuckin rights Z, what a game!” Brock exclaimed, clapping a hand on his back, “What’s with you huh? Where’d all that goal scoring energy come from?”

“Just a good night I guess, nothing too crazy.” He responded, a little reluctant to share why he truly thought he was finding the back of the net.

He stood, quickly going back over to the sink to give himself a once over before finally leaving. Out of curiosity, he flipped the seam of his jacket into the light of the mirror in front of him, eventually finding a section of the seam that was a slightly different color with two tiny knots at each end. He smiled to himself and flipped it back, throwing it over his arm. Quinn and Brock watched, also curious why Nikita was all of a sudden examining his jacket. The looked at each other with a shrug, and let it go.

~ two weeks later ~

The universe had a funny way of treating Nikita sometimes. JT Miller gave him a call, basically begging him for a tailor recommendation. He said that ‘nothing was fitting well’ and that ‘you should know Nikita, I’ve never seen you wear a bad outfit!’. He was absolutely happy to give JT the information, and he told him that he had a suit he needed to get fixed anyway. He didn’t, but he wanted an excuse to go see Y/N and try to thank her in a hopefully normal sounding way for giving him good luck. They made a plan for their next day off in two days.

“Ah, perfect…” Nikita muttered to himself, digging out a beige jacket that he had made years ago, one that had a ripped inner pocket, buttons missing, and a weird seam wrinkle that wouldn’t go away. He had been digging around in his massive closet for close to an hour, trying to find something to bring to the tailor so it didn’t look like he was acting as the peanut gallery for JT, and now Elias as well, who weaseled his way into their trip because of similar reasons to JT.

A knock sounded at his door, Petey and JT both with their suits wrapped up in bags. They were dressed casually. Nikita offered to drive them all, making sure to avoid the chicken wire fence despite being in a black t-shirt and shorts. The drive was short and easy, but his heart beating with a flutter of excitement made it slightly harder to focus.

The bell chimed in the doorway when they entered, the sound of people talking in the back filling the men’s ears. JT and Petey had a similar reaction to the state of the store as he did the first time, both of their mouths falling open in surprise.

“Welcome in, gentleman. What can we help you with today?” An older man stepped up to the counter, a confident smile making his crow’s feet appear.

“Hi! I believe we talked on the phone a few days ago about some repairs the three of us need done? My name is JT.” He said, shaking the man’s hand earnestly.

“Ah yes! We would be happy to help! Let me go grab the other two.” He said, retreating to the back again.

This time, Rob, Krista, and Y/N all came up front. Y/N hadn’t been expecting secret agent Nikita to be standing there. He offered a gentle wave, and she offered one back as Rob began consulting JT while Petey introduced himself to Krista.

“Back with friends I see! How did the seam turn out for you?” Y/N inquired, coming up close to him.

“Very well. It’s holding up perfectly so far.” He answered, letting his hand fall on top of the jacket folded over his arm, “I actually have another one I could use your help with.” He said, offering up the beige jacket.

“No problem! We should be able to get them done in a day or two-“

“We can get these done today for you gentleman! You are more than welcome to hang around, it shouldn’t be too long.” Rob announced to everyone.

Y/N was a little surprised at this. Rob wasn’t usually the type to cut out time for walkins when his plate was stacked high with custom orders. Krista also seemed unbothered. She had been working on a dress that was due to the client in two days before they all came in, which normally took precedent over whatever little fixes came and went.

“Are you sure Rob? Mrs. Fueller’s dress needs to be done soon?” Y/N asked under her breath as they walked out of earshot.

“I will gladly finish suits for Vancouver Canucks players same day Y/N, it would be insulting to our great hockey town to not!” He exclaimed jovially.

It all clicked for her then, why Nikita was in a rush and dressed so well. Why him and his friends were also so athletic looking. Nikita also heard, eyes going wide as his cover crumbled right in front of him. He wanted just a few more moments of bliss without the fanfare, selfishly. He offered a sheepish smile to her when she looked back at him, feeling a little caught despite not really doing anything wrong.

She retreated to get her kits, still holding onto the jacket. This one smelled faintly of that warm spicy scent she loved last time. This one would be a relatively quick fix like the last one. She took the space at the front desk so Rob and Krista could have the work spaces in the back. They called Petey and JT into the back work space, leaving Nikita to wander.

As she came back up front, she found Nikita in front of a dark green suit, pulling at the sleeve and rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He noticed her sit and turn the lamp on, laying his suit out on the smooth surface. He made his way back over to her, not resisting his urge to talk to her. His presence was strong and steady as he watched her rip the thread from the buttons left on the suit.

“I’m starting to think you’re clumsy, Mr. Canuck. Two suit coats in two weeks?” She joked, and he took a seat in the leather chair placed in front of the desk.

“I try not to be. I just like to be on my game with my suits y’know?” He answered, letting a twinge of guilt rip through him for not being totally honest about who he really was, “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front about who I was at first.”

“It’s ok, I understand. I’m sure you have people stopping you at every corner.” She answered as she pulled buttons out of their little plastic case.

“Not much of a hockey fan?” He asked.

“I grew up New Mexico, so there wasn’t much hockey around. Once I moved here I never totally caught on. But I like it when I see it! I know you guys have played well this season!” She explained.

He hummed in approval, “you should come see a game. It’s a lot of fun to see it live. I’ll even score a goal for you.” He joked, and she laughed along with him.

“Maybe I will.” She agreed, now moving on the inner pocket.

They continued to talk, just sharing about themselves and other light topics. He was absolutely endeared by her, her quick wit and personality shining through as they continued along. He learned that she moved to Vancouver for college and never left. This job was essentially dumped in her lap and it was too enjoyable to abandon. She could execute her favorite designs and get paid a decent wage.

Nikita’s coat was all wrapped up with all repairs made flawlessly, his old suit jacket returned to rights. He took it back, slipping a 100 dollar note into her kit when she tried to refuse him again. Now it was a waiting game for his teammates. He could see Petey with a tape measure in his armpit and JT looking through a few bolts of gray fabric; he guessed it would be a little while before they wrapped up. He perused the mannequins, taking note of the beautiful craftsmanship. He stopped at the double breasted dark green suit again, taking a good long look at it.

“I designed that one, y’know.” Y/N piped up, suddenly very close to him, making him want to reach out and touch her. He had a foot on her at least, her head reaching just above his sternum he guessed. He could smell the faint scent of sickly sweet flowers coming off of her, and instantly thought he would never smell anything better ever again.

“Really? It’s very impressive, something I would wear in a heartbeat…” he admired, then a lightbulb went off in his head, “I’m actually interested in buying some new suits, would you be willing to do them for me?” He asked.

“Absolutely Nikita. What kind of look do you like?” She responded, immediately interested.

“the style you saw on me the first day mostly. I think I want some color or something to give it a bit extra though.” He pondered, Y/N immediately beginning to swirl with ideas.

“Tell you what, I’ll set up an appointment with you and we can discuss it.” She offered, and he turned to her with a smile, “we can look through some catalogs and pick out some cool options.”

“Hmm, I would gladly take an appointment, but I don’t want a catalogue suit, I want what you think looks best,” He said confidently, “if you are ok with it, I would like to give you my number so if you see a pattern or inspiration you can tell me.”

Y/N’s heart dropped into her stomach, never to come out again. It was very, very rare that someone wanted anything other than an average suit, especially someone that seemed to be built for a nice suit like he was. Her mind lit up with a constellation of ideas.

“I-I would be honored.” She said, a little too stunned to say much else.

He smiled, making his way back to the desk for a business card and a stray blue pen. He jotted down his information on the back, handing it to her. She pocketed it, shoving it deep so there was no chance it fell out. JT and Petey made their way up front, now holding their suits plus some papers and fabric squares.

“All set Z?” Petey asked, and he nodded to the two men.

“We hope to see you all soon! Enjoy those jackets!” Rob said, waving as they made their way out the door, the little bell sounding as they exited the store

~*~

Rob and Krista returned to work on Mrs. Fueller’s dress, talking amongst themselves about how ‘nice those young men had been’ and how ‘you don’t see down to earth athletes like that anymore’. Y/N sat down at the desk gathering all of her supplies back into the kits. She smiled to herself at the 100 dollar note Nikita had left for her, making a mental note to scold him when she saw him next time.

There was a next time.

She fished the business card out of her pocket turning it over to reveal his neat, square handwriting.

Y/N,

Don’t share this with anyone! Hope to hear from you soon.

-Nikita Zadorov

XXX-XXX-XXX

She quickly put the number in her phone and saved it under secret agent Nikita before sending him a text.

Hi Nikita, it’s Y/N. Let me look at my schedule and we can put something on the books. I already have some ideas!

Not even ten minutes went by before a text buzzed from him

Sounds great. We leave for a week and a half tomorrow, but I should be available once we get back to Vancouver. Thanks for all of your help!

She sent off a thumbs up and a thank you before cleaning up her space to finish the last details on Mrs. Fueller’s dress. She imagined beautiful rich fabric and how it could lay on Nikita’s build, where to accentuate and where to bring in. There were seemingly endless options.

She couldn’t wait

<><><><>

3 - the fitting

During the week and a half the Canucks were on the road, Nikita found himself a little absorbed in talking to Y/N. They scheduled for a few days after the Canucks returned to Vancouver, and he couldn’t stop the flutter of excitement he felt when he thought about seeing Y/N again.

She started to send him photos of chic magazines, ones that had borderline eccentric suits, which she promised she would dial back but she ‘saw lots of potential’ in them. She sent him pictures of bolts of fabric, which he eventually just FaceTimed her to see. She was in the middle of a massive fabric store, dressed in a hoodie from what he could tell, which for some reason was endearing to him.

Y/N was very surprised by the FaceTime, but picked up anyway after the second ring, as it would give her an opportunity to hear his honey laden accent. He looked to be in a hotel gym, lightly huffing and trying to dry his damp forehead off with a towel. His hair was undone and falling in his face, and he was close enough to the camera that she could see the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. A domestic thought of doing this all the time flashed through her mind before she stamped it out.

“What do you think of doing something in this?” She asked, flipping the camera to show off a beautiful deep green.

“I like that a lot, I have a couple of green suits so maybe red? Or purple?” He inquired.

“Now we’re talking. I’ll get back to you ok? I’ll find the best red and purple I can.” She promised, which made him smile.

“I’m holding you to it.” He said, then a faint ‘come on Z food’s here’ sounded of in the background, “I have to go, but we’ll talk soon!”

“Ok Z, have a good night! Good luck for the game!” She said

He sent a wink into the camera, “will do Y/N.” Then ended the call.

Y/N couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted in her stomach as she played that wink over and over again. He was just so nice and confident (not to mention handsome), all while trusting her to deliver something great. She perused the bolts some more, finding a luxurious maroon and a dark purple that looked almost black. She bought them both and returned to the shop to place them in the pile that was forming for Nikita’s appointment.

They kept texting. Not even about suits or fabric or accessories, just casual conversation. He would text her before games, after games, late at night when he should have been sleeping. He imagined her cuddled up on the couch in a soft t-shirt with snacks and a movie on, or at the shop with her cute heels on and hair all styled, answering his texts with a smile and a giggle when he said something funny. They didn’t really talk about hockey either, outside of an occasional question about the rules or a funny story from Russia, which was refreshing for him.

Y/N had done her own digging (for research purposes of course) and fallen into a hole of stalking his socials. She had watched a heavy hit compilation of him on YouTube, and couldn’t believe that the one she met and the one knocking people into the next year were the same person. She watched one of his away games, against the Seattle Kraken, finding herself invested in the play going on and feeling that twinge of excitement when the camera found Nikita every once in a while.

It was days and days of sweet conversation and thinking about each other when they weren’t talking. Multiple teammates of Nikita’s were giving him shit for always being on the phone, but he felt like he couldn’t help it. It lit him up inside to see Y/N’s contact flash across the screen. She was so witty and kind, not to mention beautiful. She even began to cross his mind when he was alone in the hotel room.

The day finally came. His appointment was at noon, so he prepared a little early and stopped for coffee, also grabbing Y/N’s order as a little surprise. He felt like he needed to show his appreciation for the wonderful couple of weeks he had. The familiar bell chime went off as he opened the shop door, this time no bickering voices, just faint music coming from the back. Y/N walked up front to meet him, cracking the smile she had been waiting to crack since he asked her what her favorite color was over a week and a half ago. He handed her the coffee he was holding and offered a friendly side hug.

“Oh! You really didn’t have to, but thank you! Always full of surprises.” She remarked, setting down the coffee.

“Hey, what can I say. We’re gonna need all the caffeine we can get.” He said, then looked around to find no Rob or Krista, “where is everyone?”

“Rob and Krista decided to take a vacation in Italy, they’re gone for another week, so you’re stuck with me by myself I’m afraid.” She explained, grabbing a book from the corner to set out.

He perked up a little unintentionally at that news. The thought of the two of them together like this felt eerily similar to just, hanging out, and not an actual business deal being done by two professionals. He had been waiting for the appointment like it was a scheduled hang out for fucks sake.

“So first I’m thinking we get your measurements, then talk about what you want to see, and see where it takes us?” She offered, and he nodded, “great, if you don’t mind coming over here under the light so I can see you.”

He was dressed in a t shirt and shorts again, hopefully something that would make it easy for her to get good numbers. She had a little lawyer pad and a pencil, along with a tape measure ready to use in the other hand.

“Just stand normally and relax, I’m gonna work from the bottom up.” She noted and Nikita relaxed his stance.

She began, quickly pulling the tape measure around his ankles, jotting down numbers then moving up. She measured his calves, then knees, then thighs at their thickest, then the outside seam from hip to ankle. Nikita was trying to focus on anything but her touching him, literally anything but her skilled fingers pulling the tape measure taught around him. She finally measured his inseam, going from his groin to the inside of his ankle, then the other side, all before popping up and writing the last numbers down.

He was so, so still. He felt like if he moved he would shatter like glass under her touch. He was barely breathing. She moved to his hips, then waist, then from his armpit to hip. She wrapped the tape measure around his chest, the metal tag hitting him dead center, and she took the number. He wondered if she could feel his heart rattling his rib cage under her hand.

She pulled a block out from the corner to stand on, giving Nikita a moment to breathe and relax. She started on his arms, taking his wrists, biceps, and shoulder width, then from shoulder to wrist. Finally, she wrapped the tape measure around his neck. His pulse quickened at her closeness, and all he could think about was her breath fanning over his collarbone while she leaned in to read the number.

“Ok… that’s the last number…” she murmured, letting the tape measure fall loose around his neck, “wanna sit down to talk about what you’re thinking design wise?”

“Y-yeah, let’s do that.” He said, letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

She directed him to the seat around the front of the desk. She grabbed her pre-cut fabric squares in maroon, dark purple, and a sage green with silver detailing woven in. She grabbed her organizer of buttons and other accessories, and the magazines she had compiled since they began texting. She had tabs sticking out of each one, the magazines resembling annotated homework more than catalogs. She stuck them all on the desk, then sat.

He leaned back to accommodate his size in the seemingly too small chair, his knees bent up at a slight angle and his arms resting beside him. To a passerby it might look like an interrogation if they didn’t know any better. It was like he took up as much space physically as he did mentally for her.

“So, I showed you the fabrics I liked best over our call, but I wanted you to feel them and decide for yourself if you like them.” She started, handing him the fabric squares that he pinched between his fingers, one by one.

“The purple and the maroon are great, and I like that you went for a lighter green. I think three suits is a good amount for now, so let’s stick with these.” He explained.

“I thought the same, so we’ll go with those.” She set aside three piles, with one fabric square per pile, “I love to see double breasted suits, and they look great on you, so I was thinking about making the purple fabric double breasted with these buttons.” She pulled out gold buttons that were adorned with little flowers, very much like an old wax seal, “they’re vintage, and I think they fit the style nicely.”

He nodded, and let her take them back to set in their own pile with the purple fabric square.

“I think since the maroon is a little more adventurous we could try a strap closure in the front, it’s one of the more chic styles coming out of fashion recently.” She explained further, flipping to a saved page in one of the magazines where the model had a suit that was closed with a slim gold buckle and a strap across the waist. He had never considered something like that before, but he could see Y/N’s vision coming to life, so he agreed.

“And for the green I think a couple of buttons and a nice fit will do the fabric plenty of justice.” She said, holding up the green fabric square.

“This is all perfect Y/N.” He said, looking over the three piles in front of them, “what can I expect in terms of time?”

“I have one quick project before you, but I would say around a month for everything? Rob and Krista gave me permission to take on just your project after my other project is done.” She said, taking a glance at the calendar on her desk.

“That’s perfect for me, don’t rush on my account, I’m a very patient man.” He said with a sly smile, and she just laughed, the clearest most lovely laugh he could have imagined.

“We’ll plan on it then.” She whispered, seconds going by before she looked away from his eyes.

They both stood, Nikita reaching out to shake her hand once she came around the desk within arms reach of him. He pulled her in for a brief hug, as if to say ‘we’re past all the pleasantries’. Something was shifting in the air, between them.

“Um, I really wanted to thank you, for the trust. This project is a big deal for me.” She murmured.

“It’s an honor for me to own such a brilliant collection.” He assured, letting her go after one final pat on the shoulder, “I can’t wait for a month from now.”

“I can’t either.”

<><><><>

+1 - the gifting

Right on schedule, Y/N had all three pieces done in a month. She stayed up late and got up early quite a few times simply because she was inspired to finish. Everything, down to the very last stitch, was perfect. She thought of making replicas to save for a future fashion magazine.

Nikita and Y/N continued to talk, a lot. He found himself texting her anytime he thought something was funny, or interesting, or really any sort of thing that he thought she would like. When he was home, he would drop coffee off to her, and she would try to hide his suits from his curious eye. Each time he did, it would end with a hug and a promise to talk soon.

She ended up calling him one afternoon extremely frustrated. Her dishwasher started to make a funny noise and her landlord wouldn’t pick up, and he happily came over to help her, fixing it in a mere hour. They spent the whole evening tucked in a private corner of her favorite restaurant, her treat, as a thank you.

One night, on a rare off day on the road, she picked up another FaceTime call from him, and they talked into the early hours. He wanted to hear her voice all he could, and play her pretty laugh on repeat. They waded a little deeper beyond light banter, and they both shared personal things, and tried to be encouraging. Nikita admitted that NHL life could be lonely without anyone to share it with, especially since his ex moved on, but he was trying his best to enjoy every minute with his teammates. Y/N hoped she could give him a little peace in that way; be an avenue for him to take when the nights got a little too lonely. When they signed off, Nikita found himself biting back an ‘I miss you’.

He was on a road trip for a couple of days after his suits being finished, so they planned on meeting up at the shop on his next off day, which happened to be the day after the Canucks returned from a very successful 3-0 road trip.

Y/N had secretly been watching his games from the privacy of her apartment, cheering on the Canucks of course, but especially Nikita. She watched all of his media availability, and laughed at all of his witty replies. He was witty with her too, but from a different place. She knew he wasn’t trying to be smart with her, he just wanted her to laugh.

She had been waiting so long to see him, and today was finally the day.

She got up late morning, the sun already decently high. She decided this day was a hair down kind of day, so she brushed and lightly curled the ends. She threw on her favorite green dress with built in cups, and a black cardigan over the top, pairing everything with black heels. She threw on a light dusting of makeup and some perfume to finish everything off.

She made her way into the shop, not noticing the dark clouds rolling in behind her as she pulled each suit off the rack and placed them in very nice suit bags. The plan was to meet Nikita at 4pm, then get dinner after. When she turned back towards the front of the store, the sky was much darker and big raindrops were gliding down the windows. The storm got heavy very quickly, the wind whipping sheets of rain into the side of the building. Normally Y/N would find this kind of weather relaxing, something that would warrant comfy clothes and a cup of tea, but she had Nikita to wait for, and the more it rained the more she got worried about her plans for the day.

She was suddenly bathed in darkness as the power flickered and shut off completely. The light coming from outside was dim at best, and the rain only seemed to pelt the glass harder. She felt her heart sink. There was no way she could work on anything, let alone meet Nikita and give him his suits.

Right on cue, special agent Nikita flashed across her phone. She picked it up and tried to smooth over her frustrated tone. Despite being frustrated, she was tremendously relieved.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Nikita asked, hearing the rain in the background.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’ll be ok, I just have to be careful getting home and we can reschedule, ok?” She asked, the defeat weighing down her last few words. She thought of her shit box sedan, probably floating down the flooded street by now.

“What’s happening over there?” He inquired, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Uh, the power’s out and the street is flooded out front, I’m not going to make you come over here Nikita.” She argued, “the roads are dangerous as it is.”

“Im coming to get you, just relax and I’ll be there soon.” He said, the determination in his voice rocking her a little bit.

“It’s really not safe right now! Don’t worry about me I’ll just wait it out.” She tried to reason, but she was cut off with a ‘no, no, no, stop.”.

“I’m not letting you sit there in the dark Y/N, I have an SUV I’ll be fine. Just sit tight and I’ll be there soon.” He pushed, and quickly hung up so she couldn’t try to deter him any more.

Not even fifteen minutes later, a black SUV swung up into the spot right in front of the door, Nikita running to the door with his arm up over his eyes. He threw the door open and pulled it closed, water gathering on the floor in front of him.

“You ok?” He asked.

“Yeah I’m good, it’s just dark.” She laughed, gesturing to the flashlight on her phone illuminating them.

“Good, let’s get the suits and get out of here.” He said, stepping back to the door to wait for her.

She first slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her keys from the desk. Then she grabbed all three garment bags, tucking them into her cardigan before folding it over her body like a disgruntled teacher. He pushed the door open as soon as she was by his side, fighting the wind and big drops. He stuck his arm out, using his big body to try and shield her as much as he could. He hit the hatch button on his key fob and she ran as quickly as her heels would allow on the flooded sidewalk, laying the bags down flat in his trunk before hitting the button to close them in safely. She made the quick shuffle to the passenger seat, shutting the door with an aggressive thud.

Nikita and Y/N both let out a breath. She hoped they would both make it out without getting too wet, but it was no use. She was soaked, her nicely curled hair now a damp mess, her cardigan and dress soaked on top. Nikita’s sweatshirt and hair were also soaked, him taking the hem of his sweatshirt to wipe his dripping forehead.

“So I was thinking we could go to my place, but if not I’ll take you home..?” He suggested, and she nodded after a beat.

“We can go to yours, I want to show you the suits.” She said, and he pulled out of the parking spot with a nod.

The road was absolutely drenched, so the drive home was slower, but nothing his SUV couldn’t handle. Nikita wordlessly turned on her heated seat, hoping to combat the shivers she developed as the minutes ticked on. He felt really bad about her getting rained on, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her to drive home that shit box sedan or sit in the dark studio all day till the rain stopped. He was so relieved when the entrance to his building’s parking garage came into view. He parked in his spot, getting out first and grabbing the garment bags out of the back. Y/N brushed her wet hair out of her face in the mirror before opening her door and hopping out.

They made their way inside the elevator, side by side, until it arrived at his floor. He opened the door and let her in first, extending his hand in a come in motion. His apartment was nothing short of amazing. The space was large and open with a beautiful kitchen, plus large windows that overlooked Vancouver. The room was decorated exactly how she pictured, lots of sleek neutrals and modern details. He had a massive sectional sofa, with a huge tv and an electronic fireplace right underneath. He had a sliding glass door that lead out to a lovely balcony that housed a couple of plants and Adirondack chairs.

They could see the rain still coming down hard against the glass, with no signs of stopping any time soon. Across from the open living space was a large hallway that she assumed led to his bedrooms and bathrooms and any other extra space he had.

Y/N bent and grabbed a hold of one heel, sliding it off, then the other, then tucked them into the mat where a lot of his shoes sat near the door. Her heels were covered in water stains and grime from the dirty sidewalk, so she figured it would be better to leave them there for now. Nikita set the garment bags over the arm of his massive cushy sofa sectional before he meandered into the kitchen, pulling out two mugs and setting some water to boil. Without heels on, she fell right below his sternum, and it was now even more glaringly obvious how wide their size difference was.

“What kind of tea do you like Y/N? I have mint, camomile, and some sort of spicy-orangey one.” He asked from around the corner.

“Spicy orangey sounds good.” She joked, finally walking into the kitchen where he was pulling a little box out of one of the higher cabinets, “I never took you as a hot tea kind of guy.”

“I like it sometimes. Nathan MacKinnon said I should try it when I can’t sleep before taking melatonin, and he was kind of right.” He laughed at the memory, “the Dogg is always right when it comes to what you eat and drink.”

“Hey, if it works it works.” She remarked as he handed her a perfectly warm mug of tea.

They sat quietly for a minute, letting the warm liquid warm them up a little further. The sound of the rain outside was much more soothing in the comfort of his apartment. Y/N hadn’t realized how deep the chill had gotten from her still too wet cardigan and hair. He looked at her for a moment, realizing she was still shivering a little and damp. Once both of their teas were done, he grabbed the mugs and turned them in the sink.

“You should take that cardigan off, you’re going to catch a cold,” he said matter of factly, “I’m sure I have something you can wear if you want.”

She shrugged it off, and Nikita took a hold of it and turned on the electronic fireplace, putting it next to the slowly building warmth. He turned to the garment bags, and picked them up carefully, nodding his head towards the hallway.

“My closet’s down here, I want to see in the mirror.” He said.

At the end of the hallway was his room, decorated similarly to the rest of his living space. The bed was underneath the window on the opposite side of the door, a nice long ottoman chest sitting at the foot of his bed, the kind that had a cushioned top to sit on like a bench. Across from the bed was an absolutely massive ceiling to floor mirror that was backlit with soft white light, making it easy to see. There was a connecting door to the bathroom, and another door that seemed to be a walk in closet, absolutely filled to the brim with suits. Her jaw fell to the floor at the sight of all of this tailoring genius in front of her, and they were about to add three more to his amazing collection. She continued to look around while he slipped into the closet.

“What do you want to see first Y/N?” He asked, separating out the bags and hanging them on the closet door. He had thrown on a nice white button down and a black tie on, just to make sure he was doing the suits true justice. He kept his shorts on, creating a very interesting sight

“Hmm, the green one?” She asked, and he nodded, turning on his heel to take the green suit into the bathroom.

She took a seat on the ottoman chest, waiting patiently for him. He returned, pulling on the sleeves and adjusting the jacket on his frame. The green complimented him so well, and the cut hit him in the perfect spot on his hips to make him look muscular and fitted. The pants perfectly accentuated his thick thighs. He turned to the massive mirror, taking a quick once over before turning back to Y/N, who’s jaw was on the floor again.

“I don’t think that could fit you any better.” She said, and he laughed.

“Well, you took the measurements, I knew it was going to be perfect.” He responded, “ok, what next?”

“Do the purple one, the last one is going to surprise you.” She said, and he obliged, of course.

After another few minutes in the bathroom, he re-emerged, the velvety purple showing up almost black with the gorgeous vintage gold buttons holding it all together. The suit, again, was cut perfectly, showing off his physique. He turned, looking at the fit and the buttons, all before turning to Y/N once again.

“I think you were made for the double breasted suit.” She admitted, and he gave her a wide smile and a dorky little spin.

“I love the color, it’s so deep.” He said, again turning to go back to the bathroom with the maroon suit in hand.

Now this one, she wasn’t entirely sure about how he was going to feel. The buckled closure was new for his wardrobe, but she had faith that he would embrace it. While he was in the bathroom, she stood from her spot and looked inside his closet, wanting to grasp the full picture of his collection. His closet felt like it continued on for miles. She heard the door open, and turned to see Nikita messing with the closure.

“Can you help me close it?” He asked, and she took a moment to look at him.

The maroon of the suit was perfect for his skin tone, and the fit, again, looked perfect. the clasp that closed the jacket was a delicate gold, something that would fit with his usual accessories. The fabric tie that he would attach to the buckle seemed to be jammed a little, very easy to fix. She grabbed the tie, pulling it gently so it would slide out again, and grabbed the buckle with her other hand, slowly snaking the piece in and looping the pieces together.

Nikita’s brain shut off. She was so close to him, smelling like rain and sickly sweet flowers, with her hair now falling in messy locks from being wet. Flashes of every moment they spent together, through the phone or not, spun through his mind. He thought about the dinner they had, and how pretty she looked, and how hard they laughed. In this moment she looked beyond beautiful in her dress, the freckles on her shoulders standing out. His arms were at his side but he so desperately wanted to reach up and touch her.

So he did.

He ghosted his hands over her bare arms, up her shoulders, and placed them on the sides of her neck. She looked up at him, her gaze finding his. She didn’t look apprehensive at all, in fact there was a glimmer in her eye that he had never seen before.

“What?” She murmured, keeping their eyes locked.

His thumb grazed her jaw, keeping a slow, feathery pace, “nothing, I just wish this would happen every day.”

“Trying on new suits?” She wondered, even though she knew that wasn’t it.

He leaned down, almost to her lips, “No, having you here to help me.” He murmured, “I want you here all the time. I’ve dreamed of having you here with me.”

That was all she needed. She met him the rest of the way, standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips. Their kiss was all consuming, encapsulating every feeling they both felt over the last few months, but were never able to say. He felt so soft against her, his hands remaining on her neck while hers slid around his waist. She pulled back, Nikita chasing her lips as she broke away. She looked at him for a minute with a soft, twinkling look on her face, Nikita deciding he never wanted to see her look any other way.

“C’mere.” He said, pulling her back in.

He kissed her deeper, his tongue dancing over her bottom lip so she would open up. She did, willingly, the both of them melting into each other’s embrace. One hand snaked back into her hair, the other sliding down and across her back. Her hands crawled up his arms, holding onto the soft fabric of his suit jacket.

He tightened his hold on her hair, kissing across her cheek and down her pretty neck. She let out a soft moan, her lips sitting on the shell of his ear. He wanted to bottle up that sound and keep it forever.

As he mouthed at her collarbone, he took a step, then another, till they were standing in front of his ottoman chest, the mirror right across from them. He sat down, finding her lips again. He reached up and pulled on the knot in his tie just a little loose, giving him more room to move. Their kiss was growing hungrier, his need to feel her growing stronger with every move. Her hands found his hair, fingers carding through his soft locks.

He grabbed at her waist, pulling her flush with him between his thick thighs. She began trailing kisses down his neck, or what she could reach with his stiff collar in the way. He opened his eyes, just for a moment, and watched her squirm under his touch in the mirror. He could see his own pupils darken at the thought of watching her.

“Nikita..” she groaned, “please.”

“What is it baby?” He asked, letting his hands wander to the sides of her breasts.

“I, I just want you.” She said, placing a desperate kiss on the corner of his mouth, “can we go to bed?” Grabbing his hands to pull him up.

“No, wait,” he said, using the hand that she was holding to turn her around, “right here.”

Y/N and Nikita looked like a work of art together in that mirror. Her hair was tousled and messy, falling down to one side while he kissed and sucked at her shoulder, moving the thin strap of her dress down her arm with one hand and caressing her head with the other. The maroon of his suit and her green dress accented the other perfectly. She could see her nipples beginning to pebble under the built in cups of her dress, making her look beyond sultry in his arms. The most striking piece was how much bigger he was than her.

He moved his hands again, bringing them to her waist, then the sides of her breasts, then over them on top of the dress. He gave them a gentle squeeze, working a moan out of her throat. He kneaded her softly, then reached into the soft fabric, pulling her tits out over the top of the dress. He rolled her nipples in his fingers, making her shudder and arch in his grip.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he murmured in her ear, watching her eyelids squeeze shut at all of the sensations, “I thought about you like this, all sweet and pliant under my touch.”

“Shit, N-Nikita.” She panted, coming down to fully sit in his lap and grasp at his arms. She could feel his bulge growing in his nice new suit pants, and whimpered at the feeling.

“Do you like that? When I touch you like that?” He egged on, wanting to hear her say it.

“Ah.. yes, yes I love it.” She sighed out.

He shifted one arm over to play with her nipples and hold her up while his other hand reached for the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up till he could see her panties. He almost died at the sight. He could see how spun up she had gotten just from kissing and touching her.

“Shit, look at you.” He said, cupping her pussy with his massive hand, “all wet from a few touches.”

“Only for you.” she admitted, letting him take control of the whole situation. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and gazed at the ceiling.

He reached into her panties, letting his fingers graze over her wet lips, before slowly pulling her panties down and off. He grabbed her by the waist and shifted her back so she was fully seated, throwing her legs over the outsides of his. She was fully exposed to the mirror, and all of his ministrations were on display. He ran two fingers through her wetness before sinking them into her pussy, agonizingly slow. He began to make a come here motion, letting his thumb circle her clit. The sound of her arousal filled the room, and she couldn’t help the moans that tumbled out of her mouth as Nikita dragged his fingers over her sensitive walls.

She worked her hand into his hair behind her, the other coming to cover his as he worked on her. He placed kisses on her temple and neck as he slowly worked more sounds out of her, her movement working him up underneath his suit pants. Every sigh and gasp in his ear, every time her grip tightened on his hair, every grind of her hips against him, was heaven. Every inch of her was perfect for him, and he got to watch it all unravel right in front of him.

“God I’m s-so close, please!” She gasped, her pussy tightening around him.

“Go ahead baby, take what you need.” He encouraged, “cum all over my fingers.”

His words were like magic. She came all around him, her legs clamping down around his and her fingers tightening in his hair. He kept gently moving his fingers inside her, the waves of delicious pleasure washing over her. His eyes never dropped from the mirror.

Once her orgasm ebbed, she grabbed his wrist and moved his hand away from her oversensitive bundle. He brought his soaking fingers to his mouth, sucking her juices off of his fingers with an ‘mmm’. She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, letting herself catch her breath while she tasted her essence on him.

She was very, very aware of his hard dick pressing against her; with every shift he would groan. His hands found her waist again, gently lifting her out of her seat so there was enough room for him to unzip his pants and bring them down just enough for his cock to spring free. She started to turn and sink down on her knees but he stopped her, pulling her back up.

“Maybe later, I wanna be inside you.” He stated bluntly.

“What about your suit?” She asked, running her hands along the fabric, “you haven’t even worn it out yet.”

“I’ll take it to the dry cleaners if we make that much of a mess. All I’m worried about is you.” He said giving her hand a kiss. “Where do you want to be baby?”

“Right here, I liked how we were.” She admitted, climbing back onto his lap with her legs bent on either side of him, facing the mirror.

She was spread open and on display for them again, this time his cock was painfully hard resting against her back. He took her hips in his hand, pulling her up while she grabbed a hold of him, giving him a couple of pumps before lining him up with her. She took it slow, settling down inch by inch. She sank down till she was fully seated in his lap, being practically split open. She moaned out a breath, giving them both a moment to adjust to the feeling.

For Nikita, it felt like coming home. She was so tight and warm and all enveloping. He wanted to stay that way forever, close to her with the perfect view. He let a hand ghost over her stomach, a touch that ended up feeling comforting to her.

“You ok?” He asked in her ear, laying a kiss on it.

“Y-yeah, you’re just really big.” She admitted, making him chuckle. “Feels so good..”

“Good, baby.” He reassured.

After another moment, she pulled up, then sat back down, starting a deep slow pace. She put her head back on his shoulder, letting pretty moans tumble out just like before. Nikita’s hands were everywhere, her stomach, thighs, tits, waist, all of her. Every nerve in his body was on fire. He looked at the scene before him in the mirror, watching himself disappear into her tight heat. He had never seen something so hot, it was a miracle he was even able to utter a word in English.

“Fuck, baby, look how pretty you are.” He whispered, bringing his hand into her hair again, “watch with me.”

She looked up, as mesmerized by the two of them as he was, “s-shit, you’re taking me so well, baby. Keep fucking me like that.” He mumbled, watching her bite down on her lip.

She watched him slide into her, feeling him deep inside while she took him at her own pace. She watched her tits bounce as his hands came up to meet them, rubbing her nipples to add some more sensation. Her thighs began to burn and her legs were shaking, both from the stimulation and the effort. She was trying her best to keep pace, but she was losing rhythm.

“Nikita.. please.” She asked, grabbing his hands and sliding them down to her hips, where he squeezed.

“Oh, do you want some help baby?” He whispered, earning a nod from her, “that’s ok baby, relax and I’ll help.”

He began lifting her and setting her back down, keeping his hands firmly planted on her hips as he guided her body. He set a slightly faster pace, one that would keep winding them up without hurting her. Their moans were getting louder and higher, and he could feel her pussy squeezing around him.

“Oh fuck Nikita I’m so close! Keep going!” She moaned out, one hand coming to play with her puffy clit.

“That’s it baby, feel good for me, cum all over me”. He rambled, his breath growing ragged as he felt his orgasm approaching, “I wanna see you come all over my cock, make a mess.”

The last few strokes with her pussy basically holding him in a vice pushed him over the edge; he came deep inside her with a loud moan. the feeling of him unraveling sent her into her very own. Her orgasm practically ignited her whole body, her vision exploding with stars. He kept the pace up, even if she wasn’t using any strength anymore. The waves kept crashing over her, high pitched whimpers escaping her. She kept rubbing her clit, teetering on the edge of overstimulated until Nikita set her down on his cock, letting her hips go. He ghosted his hand over her waist again, laying little comforting kisses on all of the skin he could reach. The comedown was slow, like floating feathers in the air. The only sounds left were their breathing and the gentle pattering of the rain outside. The sun had set not too long ago, so the room was dark except for the halo lights around his mirror.

“Fuck baby, that was the hottest thing I have ever seen.” He painted, “…you ok?”

“..yeah, t-that was amazing.” She said, turning her head to capture his lips in a soft, tired kiss.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” He asked, and she shook her head no, but not before nikita’s eyebrows rose in realization, “shit, we didn’t use protection-“

“It’s ok Nikita, I’m on birth control and I’m clean, I trust you…” she said, and a small shift in their position made her wince. Her hips and thighs were beginning to ache with soreness from the open position, “as much as I like feeling full, I really need to move.”

“Of course, let me help.” He obliged, grabbing her hips one more time, sliding her off his cock so she was able to close her legs in front of him, “what would you say to a quick shower, then relaxing in bed?”

“Mm, I could be persuaded.” She giggled, letting him finally stand up.

His lap was a wet, creamy mess of both of them, but it wasn’t so bad that he would be shunned from every dry cleaner in Vancouver. He would just wash off the incriminating stuff and wet his new suit pants a little and say he accidentally dropped them during the rain storm. They both made their way to the massive bathroom, pulling off their clothes. The shower they took was strangely the most wholesome part of the night, both of them taking turns washing each other while they had soft conversation. They gave each other sweet kisses, and laughed at the couple of hickeys that adorned the both of them.

Nikita shut off the water and reached for his fluffiest towel, wrapping it around her with a kiss on her nose. They dried off, him finding a stretched out old shirt for her to wear for the rest of the evening, while he picked new boxers and an old tee as well. He picked up her panties and handed them to her, then leaned up over the bed to crack the window, the soft sound of rain and the cool breeze wafting through. He reached down bringing his comforter and sheets down the bed and sprawled out on top. She joined him on the other side. She snuggled up to his chest and he began tracing soft patterns on her back, his other hand falling to the ditch of her knee as she crossed her leg over his lap. A loud growl erupted from his stomach, and they both laughed. They accidentally skipped dinner all together.

“You wore me out, you minx.” He joked, earning a slap to the chest, “want to order in?”

“Sounds delicious!” She exclaimed, Nikita fishing for his phone on the table beside him, “hey, Nikita?”

“Yes baby?” He responded, looking away from the online menu to her.

“Thank you, for being so amazing,” she muttered, “for being there for me and taking care of me, I guess.”

“Oh, baby,” he said, leaning down for a chaste kiss, “you’re the amazing one, I’ve been dying to ask you out since you fixed the seam on my jacket,”

“Really? That long huh?” She teased, and he laughed along with her.

“As long as it took to make you mine.” He admitted, her heart fluttering at his words.

“Does that mean you’re officially asking me out Mr. Zadorov?” She giggled, making his cheeks turn red with blush.

“And if I was, would you say yes?” He whispered.

“One hundred times over.”

<><><><>

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Not for the first time, Kim wishes he had been born an only child. 

“Wik is too well known,” Kinn had said, logical as always. “It’ll raise too many questions if he suddenly disappears.” 

“And it’s your fault!” adds Tankhun with an imperious huff. “If those thugs hadn’t thought he was you, they wouldn’t have taken him!” 

“I wouldn’t have been taken,” Kim says, because he’s an asshole, and he really, really hates his brother. All of them, really, but especially Wik. “Maybe if Wik wasn’t so—”

“Kimhan.” Their father, this time. “Had you completed your mission, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Consider this your penance. You will act in your brother's place to ensure he is not missed, while we attempt to find him, before he’s killed.” Because of my mistake, Kim thinks.,

And that’s the end of it, really. Kim may hate his brother the way you can only hate yourself, but that doesn’t mean Kim wants him to suffer for his mistakes. 

And now he’s here, strutting into Anantremeka university with a guitar across his back that he barely remembers how to play, and way too many eyes on him. 

Kim tells himself it’s going to be fine. He only has to go to class for a few hours. This isn’t the first time he’s impersonated his twin. It’s been years, sure, but he slips into character… not easily, but with a kind of familiarity that makes it feel like ease. 

Only a few hours. 

He can do this. 

***

“P’Wik! PWik!” 

Kim’s face hurts from smiling. Still, he turns around to face the boy shouting his name, and once again engages a practiced, disarming smile. He knows he looks sweet, harmless, and endlessly patient for the thousandth person to come running up to him today. 

“Hello,” he greets warmly. The boy comes to a crashing stop before him. His hair is messy and wild around his face—cheeks flushed, of course, embarrassed and exerted—and he’s carrying a guitar. Kim gave up on his own half-way throughout the day; he didn’t seem to need it, and he certainly wasn’t going to play it otherwise, so he’d abandoned the prop to his car during lunch. 

“P’Wik,” the boy gasps. “Are you okay?”

What? 

“You missed our session, and when I tried to call, you didn’t answer—” the boy twists his hands in his sleeves. Offers a sheepish smile, shyly meeting his eyes. “I—uh—I got worried? It’s okay if you were busy! I know stuff comes up, I was just…” he finishes lamely, shrugging, his smile never once wavering in the face of Kim’s stunned silence. 

What, exactly, is the kind of session he apparently missed? Since when does Wik willingly spend one-on-one time with his fans? 

What the fuck is going on? 

“I’m sorry,” Kim says, when he realizes the silence has stretched too far, and the boy is starting to look the wrong kind of nervous. “I did. Have something come up. I would have called, but I broke my phone—I don’t have your number.”

The lie comes easily. The boy relaxes, his entire body going soft in a way that makes the predator in Kim want to bite, and he makes some confusing gestures that Kim doesn’t try to follow. 

“Oh! That’s okay. As long as you’re okay, I mean, if everything is okay.”

My brother is probably being tortured because he was too incompetent to keep himself from getting kidnapped, and it’s my fault because I failed to kill the people that did it, but otherwise…

“It is.” 

“Okay. Good. Cool.” 

The boy—Kim really needs to find out his name, if this is someone his brother knows, and therefore Kim will be expected to spend time with—fiddles again with his sleeve. Kim slips his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to the boy. 

“Give me your number?”

“Sure!” The boy takes it, eagerly typing in his contact information. Kim eyes the name when he passes it back—Porchay—and fires off a quick text so that Porchay will have his number, too. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t want this boy having access to him like that, but it’s the kind of thing Wik would do. That a normal person would do, exchanging this information like it was nothing. “Do you—I mean, we don’t have to reschedule if you’re busy—”

“I’m not. Anymore.”

“O-oh. Great! That’s great. When do you…?”

Kim mentally reviews the schedule he memorized last night. He has classes until this evening. He was going to spend the remaining hours of the day digging into his brother’s disappearance, even though Kinn assured him it was being handled by their own staff. 

He could just… skip his afternoon class. It would serve his brother right, tarnishing his perfect reputation just a little bit. Tankhun would never forgive him, though. 

“This evening,” Kim sighs. “Five o’clock?” 

“That works! Do you want to meet in the studio again?”

“Yes.” Kim will need to find out which studio, exactly, they’ve been using. His brother has access to several. 

“Okay. I’ll see you, then! Thank you, P’Wik!” 

Then just as quickly as Porchay collided with Kim, he’s bouncing away again, and Kim finally registers he isn’t wearing the university uniform. Instead he was dressed in a light blue shirt with BOC International emblazoned on the chest. Kim waits until he’s out of sight to google the emblem; it’s a high school. 

What are you doing, Wik? 

[writingroom21]

Bloody Love Pt.2

Summary: It's been two years since Rafe found out about your obsession with him. But with his new coworker always trying to get with him, it's hard to keep calm. It's about time someone put her in her place

Warnings: 18+, murder, stalking, strangulation, reader is unhinged once again , Rafe finally snaps

Wc: 3.4K

part 1

Rafe was out yet once again with her. In the past two years things have been going good. Ever since he caught you and helped you out things have changed. From that moment on you were his but more important he was yours. He was done hiding the fact that he was into you, that even with your differences he wants you.

You two started dating immediately, taking everyone for a surprise. The kook prince with a pogue was not something people would have thought of. In a way it took you by surprise as well. You were used to Rafe belittling you, talking down on you every chance he got. Having him care for you, say the sweetest things, or do something for you was like jumping into a freezing lake. Sending your body into shock.

It was a welcoming change. He would spoil you with gifts, take you on trips, and spend hours between your legs. Overall he was great. Rafe would brush off the girls that flirted with him, never wanting you to feel like he doesn’t love you. He even beats up the guys that try to flirt with you. After your murder spree he couldn’t risk murdering anyone so they got lucky.

A year into dating Rafe’s dad gave him a position at the family business. He was ecstatic to have the trust of his father. He took you to celebrate that night, a fancy dinner with wine. Then when you got home it was champagne and sex all night. Like you said everything was great. Then six months ago little miss perfect joined the company.

Her name was Melanie but she liked to go by Mel. From the moment she stepped foot into the office she set her eyes on Rafe. He was tall, handsome, had a great body, plus he was loaded. Rafe was the ideal package to her, the only notch in her plan was you. At first she tried to play dumb that he had a girlfriend.

Wearing tight button ups with a few of them undone to work. Walking into his office to ignore the photo of you on his desk. She would walk around to his side and sit on his desk to talk to him, trying to show off her legs to him. Even trying to slyly flash her panties at him by crossing and uncrossing her legs. 

She wasn’t shy with her advances. Once at a company dinner she even tried to pass herself off as you. One of his clients was talking to him and she had walked up to him. The client had confused her with you. “This must be your beautiful girlfriend you’re always telling me about.” Mel smiled at the older man, putting her arm around his. “He talks about me?” She gushes. Rafe took his arm out of her and corrected the older gentleman. “Actually my girlfriend is over there talking to my sister.” He pointed at you as Mel laughs saying it was only a joke.

The little instances continue over the months. She was invited to your anniversary dinner like all the coworkers and ruined the cake. She so happened to have tripped and pulled the table down with her, the cake smashing to the ground. “I’m so sorry. I feel so terrible right now.” slipped past her lips as she tried to explain herself. 

Mel even started to cry when you yelled at her, telling her she needs to leave. “Rafe, I told you she’s always rude to me. She hates me. I made a mistake and she’s yelling at me.” She whined out trying to cling to Rafe’s arm. The rest of the night was ruined, some people felt bad for her thinking it was a mistake and others saw through the ploy. She won that night, because when you got home for the first time in a while you and Rafe had a fight.

He wanted to believe that she didn’t do it on purpose and you wouldn’t budge to believe it. The fight lasted a few days before Rafe came crawling back. He didn’t think that you would take this so seriously to the point of ignoring him. But what really made him come to his senses was when he overheard her talking on the phone at work. She was bragging on the phone to what he could assume was a friend.

“Her face was priceless. She was so pissed off that I had destroyed the cake and yelled at me. Rafe was so on my side, he was comforting me as I cried. It’s just a matter of time.” He was disgusted with what he heard. He made sure to make it up to you for being so blind. “See I told you that I need to protect you.” You whispered in his ear that night.

You tried to say calm, not let your anger get the best of you but she was testing your limits. It was broken when they were paired together for a project two months ago. Mel made it impossible to even have time alone with him. During lunch he had to work with her so he can’t meet with you anymore. Dinner? Not anymore, he has to stay late to work through paperwork. Why does he have to do that? Oh because Mel thinks it’s best to keep working this until it;s finished. She would even say that they should go to dinner to recharge in the middle of doing work.

Exactly like tonight. You had called Rafe earlier that night to see if he could sneak away and come home. It’s been a while since the two of you could relax and you are super horny. “Hi baby.” His voice sounds over the phone, Mel’s voice can be heard faintly in the background “Is she really calling you again we need to work.” Rafe sighs and goes back to talking to you. 

“What’s wrong?” You look at the meal you had prepared and try not to cry. “Sorry I just wanted to see if you would be home for dinner but I can clearly see you’re busy.” The sounds of papers moving and footsteps can be heard from the other line. “Come one don’t be like that. I’m just working here.” You clear your throat and answer. “I know. I have to go.” You hung up the phone. 

The food on the table stares back at you mocking you for failing to keep him. He may have come to his senses before but he still lets her dictate things. You walk over and grab the dishes, throwing everything in the tash. You grab your keys and get in your car driving to the office building. Over the last two months you started to stalk Mel, fighting the urge to smash her head in with a brick. You watched her every move, leaving little letters for her to find.

I’ll make you regret this

Be careful or you’ll end up dead

Can’t hide from me. I always know where you are

The notes increase in severity of threats. You thought by now that she would get the hint but she seems content with ignoring the warnings. You park your car a few rows down from theirs, of course they would park together. Sitting here waiting to see them walk out the door is torture, every minute feels like hours. Maybe because it actually was hours.

Almost three hours since you got there they finally walk out the doors. They are laughing bumping into each other as they walk to their cars. When Rafe reaches his, he goes to open the door but Mel stops him to give him a hug. You continue to sit there upset at the sight in front of you. How dare he touch someone else, even if it’s just a hug. He knows how she feels about him and your feelings towards the situation yet he still touched her. 

The parking lot is empty except for your lone car. Realistically you know he wouldn’t cheat on you, he loved you too much. He has always said he would kill for you if he had too. Someone who didn’t love you wouldn’t say that. Mel was just some whore who thinks she has a shot at what’s yours.

You drive back home, thinking about what you are going to do. After that night you killed the last girl it was agreed upon that there would be no more. It’s not that the cops were close to catching you but they were on the hunt for whoever was doing it. They had a curfew placed and patrol cars on almost every street. A couple months after they finally let up and things got back to normal. You shouldn’t do anything crazy and you know that.

“Where have you been?” You just walked into the door and you don’t want to deal with this. “Out.” You throw the keys in the bowl that’s on the table next to the door. “What the hell happened with all that food?” Rafe’s following you through the halls as you make your way to the bedroom. “You had to stay late with Mel. It was going to go to waste anyway.”

“Don’t do that, I was working and you know it.” He stands at the doorway as you change into your sleep wear. After months of fighting with him about her, you can’t anymore. All of that energy was sucked out of you a long time ago and you are done. “I know.” He stands there as you get under the covers facing away from him.

“Babe nothing is going on.” The sheets cover your head, muffling your voice. “I know.”

The next day was a saturday, you had woken up early finding a sleeping Rafe next to you and his phone laying on the nightstand. He’s supposed to be having dinner tonight with Topper and Kelce at the country club. That means he won’t be home for most of the night and you would have the place to yourself. You lean over and grab it. His passcode has been the same since you’ve gotten together so it wasn’t hard to get in. Looking at the text chain between him and Mel you can see just how much they actually text.

Most of her messages are left unanswered due to her flirting but he never shut it down either. You send her a quick text, glancing to the side to make sure he doesn’t catch you. She’s going to be gone tonight. Why don’t you come over? The message was barely sent for two minutes before she already sent a text back. Took you long enough. I’ll be there. You told her to just come into the door and send the address. Deleting the messages you put the phone back in place and get up.

You got ready and left the house before he was even awake. Over the weeks you’ve been stalking her social media. You’ve seen every instagram story she’s posted on the weekends, following her schedule. Every Saturday she goes to a pilates in the morning, to this smoothie shop right after, grocery shopping, then home. She thinks of herself as an influencer and never realized how much of an easy target she makes herself.

You follow her to every location, watching her every move. She’s the same type of girl that used to manipulate him. She looks down on everyone and is stuck up. The fact that she was willing to hit on a man who was in a relationship should have been a sign to him. Yet again he never realized how wrong those other girls were. You just needed to jog his memory.

After watching her get back home, you make your way back to yours. It's three hours until you told her to be there and two hours before Rafe had to leave. You had enough time to plan everything, Rafe should be getting back from golfing and then taking a shower so he’ll be oblivious for a while. You both got home around the same time, you were getting out of the car when his truck parked next to yours. 

“Hey where have you been?” He shouts when he gets out of the truck. “Out running errands.” You walk into the house, the same one you two bought last year. At least then everything was perfect. “Like?” Since last night he’s been in his own head. He keeps thinking about how defeated you sounded. He knows that you’ve had issues with Mel, you voiced it plenty of times. He’s tried to do the best he could to not let it affect the two of you but he failed.

“Just went around looking for things that I’ve been wanting. Didn’t really see anything though.” Rafe knows you’re lying. If you wanted something you would have gotten it as soon as you saw it. Were you with some other guy? You didn't even put up a fight last night which normally you would. Was he so blind that he didn’t realize he drove you away to someone else? The thought alone makes him sick, you with someone else.

“Why don’t I stay home tonight and we can order in. We can even watch some chick flick if you want.” There’s a slight pause in your movements, a slight glitch that’s barely noticeable. He wants to comment on it, ask you what's wrong but he bites his tongue. “It’s okay. You haven’t seen the guys in a while. We can do something another time.” You keep floating around the house trying to waste time as Rafe gets ready. All of the windows and doors are locked. The camera’s around the property have all mysteriously stopped working.

Rafe’s been freaking out the whole time wondering what you are up to. He keeps asking if everything is alright and you give back the same answer each time. “Everything’s okay.” It is, once Mel is out of the way everything will be okay again. But the answer is making his skin crawl. Something just seems off and he can’t put his finger on it. 

“Baby I’m about to leave.” Rafe shouts from the front door. You're upstairs but you heard him. You walk to the railing that looks down to the front door. “Bye, have fun.” He looks at you for a minute before saying he loves you and walking out the house. Backing away from the railing you get to work on the last minute plans. You had bought a door knob for the front door that locks on your phone a while ago. The two of you were always too busy to actually set up the app but tonight you’re not.

Next you make sure anything sharp or heavy is moved. You don’t want her to be able to fight you back in any way. This is her punishment for not staying away. Finally you fish out the old mask and knife that you had hidden away in a closet. Everything was set. Mel would be here in a few minutes and you had everything you needed. Putting on the mask you hide in the hallway that weaves off the front door hallway.

Right on queue the front door opens. “Rafe?” Her heels echo in the entrance hall as she walks in. “Rafe, where are you?” She gets closer to you, one more step and she’ll see you from the side. When she goes to take the step you just out in front of her, slashing the knife to her arm, twisting her around to block her from escaping. 

She tries to get around you, stepping to run past you but backing away when you fake lunge at her. Taking out your phone you open the lock app, waving it in her face and press the screen. A clicking sound alerts her of the fact that the front door is now locked. Not knowing what to do she turns around and runs up the stairs. 

She grabs the railing and makes it halfway before you catch her. Her head hits the steps as you pull her leg, stabbing her in the side. She screams in pain. It’s a good thing you have some land so no one can hear. She kicks you, causing you to fall backwards. Mel makes it up the stairs hiding in a room, making sure to close the door quietly. 

You run up the steps, looking at both sides of the hall. You walk to the far end, towards your bedroom. Opening the door you see it’s empty, you walk in further inspecting every inch of the room. A creak in the floor board from the hallway catches your attention. You run to the open door to see Mel at the top of the stairs. You run full speed at her, racing down the stairs just fast enough to get to her. 

You grab her hair and go to stab her again but she elbows you in the stomach. A groan escapes you, the pain radiating on your side. “What did you do to Rafe? Why are you doing this?” She cries out, you slice at her thigh, only leaving a gash on it. Mel tries to limp backwards as you stand straight again, taking the mask off of you. Her face drops, eyes getting wider.

“You?” You smirk at her. “Surprise.” You use her confused state to lunge at her, missing as she stumbles backwards. Before she could get far you stab her in the shoulder. She screams in pain, clutching her shoulder to stop the bleeding. She stumbled away, going through a door and running into something. She looks up to see Rafe. His hands automatically shoot out to catch her in his arms. “Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t see you and worry sets in. He says your name. “Is she okay?” She gets offended, ready to tell him it was you that’s doing this but you walk in. You pause when you see Rafe with his arms wrapped around her. You point the knife at the two of them. “I fucking knew it. You are sleeping with her.” You scoff at the audacity he has. You’ve been nothing but perfect. How could he do this to you again? Doesn’t he realize that everyone else doesn’t care about him like you do. No one will ever love him how he needs. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m sleeping with Mel?” He wants to laugh but this is serious. 

“I never slept with her okay. We can talk about this later but she needs help.” You’re relieved he’s not sleeping with her, but you still don’t want her around. “What are you doing here?” You question. Mel interrupts you “We need to call the cops.” Rafe looks at Mel as they walk to the door. “No, we'll say you were mugged and don’t want it looked into.” Mel huffs at that. “Are you fucking serious? You’re girlfriends a fucking psycho who tried to kill me.” Now Rafe was trying to be nice to her because he didn’t want the hassle of looking for a new hire. 

He was so willing to let her go and then she had to ruin it. Rafe unwraps his arms watching as her face drops. He’s quick to wrap his hands around her neck, constricting her air flow. She struggles to push Rafe off her, kicking and clawing at him. “Rafe please.” The words are broken, each syllable struggling to escape. “You were so close to making it out. Then you ruin it by being a stupid bitch.” He starts to slam her against the wall, squeezing tighter until her movements slowed. Soon her body gave out, taking its final breath before entering eternal darkness. Rafe drops her body, storming down the hall to get to you. The knife in your hands falls, dropping in a little pool of her blood that fell from it. 

He pulls away looking you in the eyes. “Does this mean you aren’t cheating on me?” You slap his arm. “Are you serious?” He laughs. “It’s stupid I thought you got fed up with the Mel thing and decided you wanted to get back at me. Kinda glad this was the outcome, she was a bitch.”

“Next time I won’t wait as long, you’re lucky I played nice. Now show me how you’re going to make it up to me.”

[metallicaislife]

Daydream Pt 2

A/N: this is a follow up to Daydream

Daydream Pt 3

Genre: Angst with a hopeful ending

Word Count: 889

Warnings: Drinking alcohol and mentions of Cliff's death

I was walking down the street minding my own business when I accidentally ran into someone. 

“I’m so sorry!” I said. 

“Y/N?” They said at the same time. A voice I hadn’t heard in person in years. I looked up and my eyes widened. 

“James?” He looked so different and yet exactly as I remembered. 

A smile broke out on his face, and I couldn’t help but smile back. 

After the accident, I unintentionally drifted apart from the rest of Metallica. They were busy with tours and I filled the hole in my heart by working more and keeping myself busy. Months went by, then years slipped through my fingers in the blink of an eye. 

I was brought out of my thoughts when James brought me into a hug. 

“I’ve missed you.” He said. I held back tears and hugged him back. 

“I’ve missed you too.” I told him. 

“Do you have time to grab a drink?” He asked as he pulled away. I looked at my watch and nodded. “Great!” He grabbed my hand and my heart skipped a beat. 

James and I had always been close before we drifted apart, he was my best friend, I still considered him that despite the years we’ve spent apart. 

We weren’t far from a little dive bar so we went in and he pointed out a small table and said he’d be over with drinks shortly. 

I sat down, I couldn’t calm my heart. 

I was brought out of my thoughts again as he sat across from me placing a Mojito in front of me and taking a sip of his beer.

“You remembered my drink?” I asked. 

“Of course, I remember lots of things about you.” He replied, “How are you? What have you been up to?” He asked. He didn’t give me time to process his first statement. 

“I’ve been well. Nowadays all I do is work. How about you? How are you? I listened to ‘And Justice for All’, it was really good.” 

“I’ve been fine. Thank you, I appreciate that, I’m glad you’re still listening to us.” He grinned, “we’re actually getting ready to release an album soon.” 

“I’ll always listen to you guys, I’m a day one fan and I’ll brag about it to anyone. I’m excited to hear your new album.” I smiled and he chuckled.

It was as if no time had passed at all. He told me stories of shenanigans he and the rest of my friends had gotten up to in the past few years. We conversed with ease, I missed this so much. 

“You know, I had the biggest crush on you.” James confessed. 

“Me?” I asked, pointing at myself. James chuckled and nodded. 

“But you were Cliff’s girl, and I respected that. I’m just curious, and you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, have you been in a relationship since Cliff?” James asked. I took a deep breath processing his confession. 

“I’ve been on dates, but I haven’t been in a relationship. It isn't because I think I had one shot at love and Cliff was  it. I’m just scared. I don’t want to give myself so wholly to someone when there is a chance they could be gone in the blink of an eye.” I answered, my throat growing tight with emotion. James grabbed my hand and gave a comforting squeeze. He didn’t say anything, but just knowing he was there and being able to share this with him helped. 

“Sorry.” I said and wiped a tear, “let’s circle back to the fact you had a crush on me.” I said as a grin took over my face. James shook his head with a small chuckle. 

“You’re still stunning.” He said. I could feel my cheeks heating up. “But that’s a lot of information. We can circle back to that another night.” He winked. 

“I’m sorry I never reached out.” I apologized. 

“I didn’t reach out either.” He said. 

“Let’s not go years without seeing each other again.” I said. 

“Now that we’ve crossed paths again, I’m not letting you go.” He said firmly. 

I smiled softly at him in adoration. 

“If I’m going to be stuck with anyone I’m glad it’s you. I know it’s silly, but I still consider you my best friend.” I replied. He smiled at me. 

“Can I walk you home?” He asked, I nodded. 

He settled the bill, despite my offering to pay. 

Then we walked in a comfortable silence with his arm around my shoulder. 

“Okay but like how long did you have a crush on me?” I pestered. 

“We can talk about it another time.” He answered.

“You brought it up!” I jabbed him playfully in the ribs. He held his ribs pretending I’d actually hit him hard. 

“Yeah, and now I’m telling you to wait. Can you be a good girl and be patient for me?” He asked. I halted as my cheeks caught fire. He looked back and chuckled. He pulled me back up to him and kissed my forehead. 

I’d gone years without seeing my best friend, and now I don’t think there is going to be a day that goes by where we don’t see each other. The thought makes me happy, but most of all it makes me feel hopeful.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[spicy-picklez]

Rainbow after a Storm (P4)

Includes:

Mention of blood, rape, and self harm.

Characters:

Larissa Weems x female reader (principal x student)

Summary:

Larissa and Y/N’s relationship continues to evolve, getting bolder with each conversation. However another accident ends up with you in a place you didn’t want to be.

Word Count:

3.2k

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

As soon as you shut the door to Larissa’s office, you collapse against the corridor walls. You can feel your heart beating through your chest, hot with desire for her. You have no idea what brought on your sudden boldness, but it was worth it for the heavenly moan she let out, making your knees weak.

Regaining your shaking breath, you head back down to the library. Spotting Ajax in the same corner, you quickly slide into the seat next to him. “Y/N!” He exclaims in shock. “Shhhhh!” I say, looking over at Ms Thornhill who thankfully didn’t notice, still busy perusing books in the aisles. “Sorry, what the fuck’s going on Y/N? One minute I’m seeing you in class on Tuesday, happy as Larry. Next you’ve got a bandaged arm, haven’t been in class since Wednesday, moved out of your old dorm and what was all the ‘back’ to Principal Weems’ room about?” Ajax, puts his hand over yours comfortingly. “Y/N, I’m not mad, just really fucking concerned. Whats going on?”

“I was in Jericho on Wednesday when I got raped, when I got back to my dorm, Wednesday was out with Enid so I had the place to myself. I only wanted to hurt myself, because I blame myself for the rape happening again. But I lost control. Next thing I know I’m passing out from blood loss on the floor of my dorm, Lari- sorry, Principal Weems, found me and took me to the hospital. She didn’t feel safe letting me stay in my old dorm especially since she couldn’t ask Wednesday who’s already balancing school life, writing and spending time with Enid, to look after me. So I moved into her room.”

“Sorry rape? Again? Her room?” His head swirling with so many questions. “Yes, I got raped, I knew the guy who raped me. He was the one who raped me for the first time at 7 years old. Her room being Principal Weems’. Which is why I do keep slipping up and calling her Larissa because we agreed first name basis since I’m fully living in her room.” He nods slowly, trying to process the information.

“Righhhhht… so… My dear friend got raped in Jericho by the same person who did it to her when she was 7, self harms and nearly kills herself and now she’s living with our principal… totally normal.” You share a chuckle with him.

“Definitely not normal but yeah nice way of summing it all up.” Glancing down at your phone, 11.56am. “Shit! Larissa’s gonna kill me.” You say, aggressively standing up from your chair and bolting out of the library, finally alerting Ms Thornhill to your presence.

“MISS Y/L/N!” She yells after you as you sprint down the halls. God, why was the library so far away? It begins to get overwhelmingly hot and you rip your jacket off, not realising the zip getting caught on your arm. Wrapping it around your waist, you keep on running both to her office and out of breath. Reaching Larissa’s door, you open it, bolting through. 11.59am. “I made it.” Leaning back against the door, you grin, heavily breathing. You give her a thumbs up with your arm, a sharp electric shock pain emitting from your wounds as you do. Thats when you notice the blood stains seeping through the fabric. “Oh shit.”

Larissa is speechless, one minute mindlessly scrolling through unimportant emails, the next the door banging open to reveal you breathless and bleeding. Her mouth gapes open in shock. Though, she did have to give you props- you were back before 12. A chuckle escapes her as she stands up, walking over to you. “Good girl for making it on time… how about we go clean your arm up though because that doesn’t look particularly nice.” She says, referring to the fact your free hand is held underneath your arm, collecting drips of blood. You weren’t overly listening, you got a bit distracted by her first two words. Good girl… you can feel your legs already shaking. What you didn’t know was that she could too. She smirks, well aware you were blanking out.

“Y/N?” Shit, you just spaced out while staring at her tits.

“Hmm? Oh- yeah… not sure if blood dripping through bandages is too great.” You chuckle, as she looks at you with an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow.

“Not funny darling. We may need to take you back to the hospital.” She says as she places her hands on your hips, guiding you through to your room to grab her keys. The hands on your hips, the darling… oh shit, you can feel yourself hot with desire as you struggle to keep upright. Leaning forward, she whispers in your ear. “Oh darling… are you that desperate for me that you’re almost falling over just from my words?”

You smirk. “Oh and the heavenly moan you let out yesterday just from me saying your name isn’t you being desperate?” She didn’t say anything. “Hmm? Larissa?” You continue, your voice deep and seductive. She stops, wrapping her arms around you, rubbing her face in the crook of your neck.

“Y/N darling…” Her voice coming out in a desperate sigh. Swallowing deeply, she guides you forwards again. “Let’s get your arm tended to at the hospital because this bleeding isn’t stopping. And then we’ll see if my self control is any better because right now the temptation to claim you as my own is growing unbearably strong.”

These words cause you to take a sharp breath. ‘Calm down Y/N.” You repeat in your head, over and over again, trying to ignore the throbbing heat from in between your legs. Getting to the door, she slips past you. “Wait here darling.” You lean against the doorframe as she grabs her purse hanging from the arm of the couch.

Walking back over to you, she takes off her jacket, handing it to you. “Put it on, it’ll stop people asking questions about your arm.” You reluctantly take it, looking up at her. “Its white, incase you haven’t noticed, I’m dripping red blood. Also don’t you think it’ll be a bit suspicious that I’m wearing your jacket?”

“I can get another jacket and I’d rather deal with that then people stopping us asking why you’re dripping blood and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that either. So put the damn thing on and lets go before you bleed to death again.” She says, helping you slip into it before opening the door, letting you walk through. Shutting it behind her, she takes off at a brisk pace, her long legs allowing her to cover ground quickly. You adjust your stride to fit hers as you hurriedly walk to the car.

As you reach her car, she walks ahead, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. As she gets in her side, you chuckle. “Larissa, you know I can open my own doors right?” She starts the car, placing her hand on your knee. “Yes but I’d rather you not. In case you’ve forgotten you are still heavily bleeding, I’d rather not have you die from blood loss in front of me again.” She gives your knee a comforting squeeze, not too sure which of us needed it more.

“Hold on, die? Again? The doctors said I just passed out?” You look at her, confused. In response, she shakes her head. “You died, Y/N. I’m terrified that that’s going to happen. I was terrified enough before… before whatever the fuck you’ve done to me. I’m not losing you Y/N.”

“Riss, I promise you won’t have to. I let myself give up the other day because I didn’t believe that anyone cared about me enough to be affected if I died. I realise now at least you do. I’m not giving up Riss. Not this time.” You place your hand over hers as she says this. “Though you can stop almost flying off the road at most corners. If you insist on going 150km/h, do you want to at least let me drive?”

She looks at you raising an eyebrow. “You’d better shut your mouth before I put you in your place.” You can’t help the smirk pulling at your lips. “And what, my dear, makes you think you could?” The car violently swerves as you say this, making you chuckle. She mutters something intelligible under her breath, readjusting her position in her seat.

A smile spreads across your face as she makes no further comment on your previous statement. Pulling into the hospital carpark, she quickly grabs her things as you both exit the car. “Y/N, stop using your arm.”

You look down, noticing a red stain slowly seeping through her jacket. A nervous laugh escapes you. “Why… is it still bleeding?”

She looks over and lets out a “fuck” under her breath, seeing the first of many drops of blood dripping from her coat. “Let’s go. Now.” She quickens her pace, entering the emergency room a good 10 metres ahead of you. By the time you catch up, the triage nurse is already looking at your arm in shock.

“Jesus fuck Riss, what did you tell her?” You awkwardly say as you’re rushed through the doors and into a room. Taking a seat on the bed, Larissa helps you get your jacket off as a doctor enters the room. “The truth. You had a few wounds restitched the other day and now you’ve bled through 3 bandages and a jacket in the past day and a half.”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds horrific.” You say, wincing as the doctor roughly unwraps the bandages. “Hey, you know you can be a bit gentler with that aye?”

“Sorry about this but you have lost an unusual amount of blood in not a lot of time and this bleeding isn’t stopping. We need to check what’s gone wrong.” The doctor says, the bandage turning a darker shade of red as he unwraps each layer.

“It sounds horrific because it is Y/N. I’m worried about you.” She says, placing her hand on yours as you watch the doctor unwrap the final layer.

“Holy shit.” The doctor curses as blood actively runs from a gash in your arm onto the floor. A gasp is heard from Larissa as she grasps your hand tighter. “That’s not a good holy shit is it?” You already know the answer, not at all surprised when the doctor shakes his head. He presses the emergency button above your bed. “Not at all.” He grabs a sheet off the bed before looking at Larissa. “I hope your prepared to be here for a while. She’s severed a vein and needs surgery. She already should’ve died from the amount she’s lost.” You feel her tense next to you.

“Riss, I told you. I’ll be ok. Like he said, I should’ve already been dead. Clearly, I have things keeping me alive now. Go back to the school and make sure Wednesday doesn’t kill herself or make sure Ms Thornhill doesn’t shove that tree branch further up her ass.” You say, giving her a comforting hand squeeze and a soft smile.

“Y/N, I told you I’m not going anywhere. The school can manage fine without me for the rest of today. I’m not leaving you.” She says as nurses come running in, hooking you up to IV lines as you’re being wheeled out of the room.

You must admit, you don’t remember much after that. Your minds a blur as you lie in the hospital bed, the beeping machines waking you from the anaesthetic. Slowly opening your eyes, you see the sleeping form of Larissa in a makeshift bed next to you. You grab your phone off of the table. 2.32am. Why the fuck is she not getting sleep back at the school? She has work in a matter of hours. Sitting up, you lean over the bed, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. The contact is enough to wake her, her eyes flying wide open as she realises its you.

“Y/N!” She breathes, standing up to come to your bedside. “Riss, no offense, but you look terrible. Go back to the school and sleep, you have work later.” You say, reaching out to hold her hand. She shakes her head. “I asked the teachers to hold everything together, I mentioned a mishap with a student meant I had to stay in the hospital overnight. It’s all sorted.” You relax a bit hearing this. “Well fuck this. Were going back anyways, I don’t wanna stay here with this stupid shit beeping and a needle in my arm. Where’s my nurse at?” You press the call button as you start pulling up the sticky tape holding your IV in. “Can you grab me a tissue please?”

She stares at you in shock, grabbing the tissue. “Y/N, what in the fuck are you thinking?” You fold the tissue up into a small square, placing it on the point where the needle enters you, sliding it out quickly and pressing the tissue down. “I’m thinking that this bed is uncomfortable, I don’t get cuddles, this beeping is pissing me off, and I hate hospital. I know you’re thinking the same and legally they can’t force me to be here so lets get the fuck outta here.”

The door opens as a nurse walks in. “Oh you’re awake, how are you feeling? Do you need any pain meds?” She asks, coming to your bedside. “Nah I’m great, I just want to go back to school and sleep so could I please have my discharge papers?” The nurse matches Larissa’s previous expression as you say this, staring at you with utter shock and disbelief. “You just got out of surgery, are you sure that’s the best idea?” She stumbles over her words as she says this.

“Well I’m feeling fine and I know I’d heal better in a comfortable bed that’s literally anywhere but here. Also you legally can not keep me here so I wish to have my discharge papers so I can head back.” Larissa’s forehead rests in her hand as she rubs her temples as she says this. Knowing she can’t stop you, she just sighs, the nurse doing the same. “Alright, I’ll go talk to your doctor.”

“Fucking hell Y/N. You’re a fucking brat sometimes you know that?” Larissa sighs, shaking her head. “Oh, I was going for all the time… sorry I’ll up it a bit.”

“Don’t do that. You already have detention with me all next week, brats deserved to be punished.” She says, a cheeky smirk pulling at her lips as her voice drips with seduction.

“I think I can handle it.” Your words earn an amused chuckle from her. “Oh my darling, I know you won’t.” Her eyes glinting with desire and lust for you. You sit up, your faces mere inches a part. “Do your worst.” You lean towards her ear as you whisper this.

It’s at this moment that the nurse returns, a handful of papers in hand. Coming over to your bed, she sighs. “Although I’m sure you won’t take much of this into consideration, the doctor highly suggests you wait at least 24 hours after your surgery till you go home but as we all know you’re not going to do that, we need you to sign these papers to say that if anything happens, it was your decision to leave.”

You nod. “Anything, just get me out of here.” She hands you the pen and papers for you to sign. Mindlessly writing in your signature, the doctor takes one sheet for her and gives you the rest of your papers. “Alright, I wish you both the best, and a speedy recovery Y/N.” Eagerly, you get out of bed, Larissa holding your injured hand so you don’t reopen the wounds like you seem to enjoy doing lately. “Thanks for your help.” Larissa smiles at her as you’re already halfway out the room. Leaving the nurse speechless in the room, you both walk down the hallway.

“You know, you shouldn’t even be coherent right now. Yet you’re literally discharging yourself from hospital, are you sure this is the best idea?” Larissa says skeptically as the hospital doors slide open, the fresh winters night air hitting your face. Both of you, now jacketless, walk closer together, her arm around your shoulders as you head towards the car. “Well from a medical point of view, probably not. But I’m not about spend all night on an uncomfortable hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines and screaming patients in agony. I’d much prefer to be asleep in a comfy bed thank you.” She lets a sigh escape her, unlocking the car as it comes into view. “What am I gonna do with you Y/N?” She opens your door as she asks this.

“Whatever you want, Larissa.” You graze your hand over her cheek as you get into the car, giving her a teasing wink. Shutting the door, she lets out a silent groan. “Don’t tempt me Y/N.” She mutters under her breath, knowing exactly what she’d do to you if you did.

Getting in the car, her hand back on your knee like it was on the drive here. She turns the heater on as she reverses out of the park. The drive back was in a comfortable silence, the two of you humming along to songs as they come on.

Pulling into the school grounds, you take one last moment of warmth as the car comes to a stop. Taking a deep breath, you both exit the car. “Agh fuck me, it’s cold.” You exclaim, smoke exiting your mouth with everything word. Larissa just nods, knowing she very gladly would fuck you, pulling you into her as you walk.

You quietly slip through the doors to the school and walk through the familiar corridors to your room, huddling into Larissa for extra warmth. The minute you enter the office, the both of you dash for the next room, needing the warmth of the fire you left going. As soon as you open the door, you can feel the change in temperature, both of your shivering dying down.

Quickly getting changed, Larissa pulls you into bed with her. Lying in each others warm embrace, you let your legs tangle themselves together. Her hand reaches up to stroke your hair as your head rests on her shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re ok darling.” She murmurs, resting her cheek on your head. You pull yourself closer to her, smiling against her soft skin. “I told you, I’ve got you to fight for. I’m not going anywhere, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“You better not.” She whispers and you hum against her skin. You let your eyes close as her warmth envelopes your body. She smiles as you relax against her skin, your snores echoing from behind her ear. “I can’t lose you Y/N.” She whispers, placing a kiss to your forehead as she pulls you closer, closing her eyes.

——————————————————————————

[babybluebex]

-I’m having feelings. So enjoy whatever this is. Joe after awards shows makes me feel things-

It was 4am by the time he reached his hotel room. The awards show and after party had been fun, meeting amazing truly talented people was brilliant. But gods he wanted to sleep for a decade straight.

Leaning his forehead on the hotel door for a second he sighed, blinking a bit to wake himself up just enough to slip the keycard into the door. The beep seeming much too loud in the near dead silent hotel hallway.

Opening the door he was met with the soft sound of buzzing all hotel rooms seemed to have, an almost white noise of the electrics that ran through it. He was careful to shut the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping bundle of blankets in the bed. Toeing his shoes off he sighed, he liked the shoes and outfits his stylist got him but as nice as they looked after almost 6 hours in them, the best part was taking them off.

Walking forward he smiled to himself, award shows were nice, and after parties were a blast, but this was what he loved most.

Your sleeping face, hair scattered a bit, blanket tangled around you from tossing a bit in your sleep, his soft stretched out shirt covering you.

He set down the small stack of papers and his award on the closest table. Walking over to the side of the bed he kneeled to be face to face with your sleeping form. In the darkness he could just barley make out the curve of your nose, the gentle line your mouth made.

“I can feel you staring at me. Weirdo” he laughed to himself when one eye opened, squinting back closed the pitch dark seemingly being still too bright for you.

“Sorry, you just looked peaceful. Missed you while I was busy networking, as my manager would say. Felt weird, saw Charlie cox and Andrew Garfield….Emma D’Arcy had red hair now” he laughed when your eyes shot open

“You got to meet them? Emma D’Arcy? Are they as ethereal in person? Did they get a Negroni, sbagliato…with Prosecco in it?” Joe laughed his forehead hitting the bed. He had listened for days as you walked around the flat reciting that same phrase, he had to admit he liked how sing song it was coming from you.

“I can’t say if they had that specifically, but they were wonderful, so nice, and looked amazing.” The silence that fell was nice, you had closed your eyes again and he had taken to gently running his fingers over your shoulder, scratching you softly every so often.

“You should change, and come cuddle me, your shirt only works for so long, and my blanket bubble is nice and warm. So my feet aren’t icebergs like normal” how could he say no to that.

Not even 5 minutes later he was crawling in bed, his arm curling around your chest, tucked up close to you, your hand coming to hold his keeping it tight against your chest.

“Good night man of the year. God I can’t wait till you get rumored to be dating every Hollywood star you met at the award show s’gonna be great”

Joe sighed kissing the back of your head

“Go to sleep you weirdo.”

“You have to admit you and Andrew Garfield would be a hot couple. I mean” joe snorted laughing a bit louder

“He did say I looked fit in my suit, and have you seen his GQ cover shoot? I mean if he takes me for drinks I may give it up on the first date” he felt you laugh before your breathing evened out and you snuggled further into him

“Love you Joey.”

“Love you more pet”

-🎬🎥

“pet”

movie pitch anon, this was a lovely read

[canirove]

The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 23

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Happy Valentine's Day, Declan Rice."

"Happy Valentine's Day, your Royal Highness. I'm sorry for calling you this late, today has been hectic."

"It's ok, don't worry. I've also had a busy day getting everything ready for my trip to South Africa."

"I'm gonna miss you so much when you leave..."

"You'll be fine, Declan. With all the games you are playing while I'm gone, you won't have time to miss me. And we'll be in the same time zone, we can keep calling each other."

"Yeah... But if I'm really needy, I'll have you kilometers away, not as close as I have you now."

"If you are needy, you have some of the photos from our Christmas dinner. Use them" I smirk.

"It isn't the same and you know it."

"Do you have early training tomorrow?"

"I sadly do, yes. Were you planning on paying me a visit?" he asks with a mischievous smile.

"Since you seem to be so needy..."

"Urgh, it sucks that we can't see each other on Valentines Day."

"It is like any other day, Declan."

"Yeah, but it is our first Valentine's Day together. I wanted to have a lovely dinner together, maybe watch a movie, then make love until the sun comes out... Those things."

"Those things" I laugh. "But are we back to making love?"

"It's Valentine's Day. You must be romantic."

"And on your birthday we fucked..."

"Because we had to celebrate that I was alive for another year."

"Ok" I laugh again. "So should I expect the same for my birthday in a couple of months?"

"You should. You definitely should" he says, giving me that look that makes my body burn.

"Eleanor!"

"Holy shit, mum!" I say, my phone slipping from my hands and hitting the floor as I get up from the sofa. "Have you never heard of these things called knocking or ringing the bell?"

"I'm your mother, I don't need to do that."

"Yes, you do need to do that. This is my house."

"Whatever. Have you seen this?" she says, showing me her phone.

"Oh, that. They made it official" I reply, looking at a photo of Roberta and Mason.

"You knew about this?"

"Of course I did, mum. She is my best friend."

"So you've been hanging out with him? With a football player?"

"Jesus, mum. Why do you always talk about them as if they were something disgusting? Did one of them break your heart as a teen or something?" I laugh.

"Don't be silly" she scoffs. "Have you been hanging out with him, yes or no?"

"I have, mum" I say, rolling my eyes. "Mason is a really nice guy, and he makes Roberta very happy."

"Mason. What type of name is that?" she chuckles.

"Oh my God, mum. Who cares?"

"I do. And I don't like you mingling with football players."

"What?"

"They are just a bunch of spoiled kids with too much money who spend it on ugly cars, uglier clothes and cheating on their wives."

"Oh wow" I laugh. "You just described half the boys I grew up with."

"Don't compare them, Eleanor. They aren't the same."

"Yeah, that's true. Football players earn their own money with their talent and have an actual job. These kids are just wasting their parents money and doing nothing. If they want a job, they don't have to worry, daddy will give them one."

"You are so... Urgh!" my mum says. "I truly hope the boy you are seeing isn't one of them."

"A spoiled rich kid? Nope, he isn't. And how do you know I am seeing someone?"

"Your grandmother told me when we had a chat on Christmas. But I was talking about a football player, not a decent boy from a good family."

"Decent. You love that word, don't you?" I laugh chuckle. "And you wouldn't say the same if you had been at the parties I've been to."

"Whatever. I just hope you have good taste."

"I have very good taste, mum. Don't worry" I smile.

"Good. And I better go, your dad is probably wondering where I am."

"I doubt it" I say to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Good night, mum."

"Goodnight, Eleanor" she says before leaving.

"Dec? Are you still there?" I say, picking my phone from the floor.

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry you had to hear all that."

"Nah, it's ok. But the day I meet your mum... I fear for my life" he laughs. "Though I think you may be into something when you asked her if a football player dumped her, you know?"

"You think?"

"Yeah... Maybe, I don't know" he shrugs. "But she seems so bitter."

"She is bitter. I'll have to ask around, see if anyone knows something. And again, I'm sorry about everything she said."

"It's fine, don't worry. She may not like me, but I know you grandmother does and she is way scarier. It's good to know I have her on my side."

"It is, yes."

"Eleanor..."

"Uh?"

"We are gonna be fine, ok?"

"Yeah" I sigh.

"God, I wish I could be there to hug you."

"So do I."

"Ok, that's it. We are meeting tomorrow after training, clear your schedule."

"What?" I laugh.

"Tell them you don't feel ok or whatever. I know you are very clever when it comes to excuses to sneak around" Declan smirks. 

"Mr. Rice, what are you implying?" I smile.

"Let's meet tomorrow, Eleanor. Here, at my place. We can have lunch together and then just lay on the sofa cuddling for the rest of the day. We'll even turn off our phones so one bothers us."

"That sounds perfect."

"Do we have a date, then?"

"We do, yes."

"Perfect. See you tomorrow, Eleanor. I love you."

"I love you too, Declan."

[theycallme-thejackal]

One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

172. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

She hasn’t seen Lenny in weeks.

Carnegie Hall and then nothing. He’s not playing anywhere. He hasn’t called or showed up at any of her gigs, and she misses him. And when she’s upset or angry, she tends to make pretty reckless decisions.

So it surprises her when she laughs at Joel’s proposition.

He stares at her, clearly not expecting to be rebuffed by his twice ex-wife.

“Joel,” she sighs. “I need you to look at me and hear what I’m saying.” He furrows his brow, and she explains, “We are never...ever...getting back together.”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Midge. You’re not seeing anyone, Mei left...it’s the perfect time for - ”

“No,” Midge interrupts. “Just because we’re both single does not mean we should get back together.”

“Midge,” Joel presses, taking a step toward her and gripping her hip in a possessive way that he probably thinks is sexy.

All Midge knows is his breath reeks of whiskey and that she doesn’t want him anymore. “Stop,” she protests, pushing him away with a palm on his chest.

Which clearly makes him angry, and suddenly Midge is wondering if alcohol is the only thing he’s taken tonight. He starts to advance on her again, but then - “I believe the lady said no.”

Lenny’s arm has extended between Midge and her ex, stopping Joel in his tracks. His face blanches a little bit as the sight of his comedy hero sobers him up a little. But then the anger returns. He clenches his jaw and sneers at Lenny, “This is none of your business.”

“Maybe not, but see, my friend here looks pretty damn uncomfortable, and as strong as she is, I wouldn’t place my bets on her in a brawl,” Lenny replies. “So I’ll take my chances.”

Midge stares up at Lenny - god, he’s so good at showing up at just the right time - and then places a hand on his shoulder. “Lenny, it’s okay,” she tells him quietly.

He looks back at her, and it’s just enough time for Joel’s fist to crack against his jaw. “Joel!” She shrieks. Lenny stumbles into the bar, and the whole club erupts in chaos.

One of Lenny’s friends - Alan, Midge remembers - shoves Joel away, and as Lenny turns to look back, she grabs his hand and starts running.

It’s not far to the door, and they reach the street together, Lenny stumbling a little from the shot he took. Midge immediately pulls him under a street lamp so she can inspect his jaw. There’s a bruise blooming there, but no cut, and she exhales shakily as her thumb brushes gently over his skin. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

She laughs softly. “I think I should be asking you that question,” she replies.

He smirks and then winces. “I’m fine,” he breathes. Midge nods, going to drop her hands, but his wrap around her wrists gently, keeping her there. She slips her hands to his neck, cupping it gently. “Are you okay?” He repeats.

“Thanks to my guardian angel,” she answers. He squeezes her wrists gently. "I’m sorry...Joel’s usually not like this. But Mei left him, and he’s been stressed with the club - ”

“It’s fine,” he promises, cutting off her rambling. “As long as you’re okay.”

A gentle grin meets her lips. “I’m great now,” she whispers. She gazes up at him, any anger she felt over their last meeting melting away, and she’s left staring up at the man she’s developed incredibly strong feelings for over the last year. “I missed you,” she admits after a long moment.

His gaze softens even further until he’s looking at her in a very similar way to that night in Miami. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs. “I had to take care of some things out of town. Work, my kid,” he explains as his hands slide along her arms until they’re resting on her waist. It’s gentle, almost tentative, a stark contrast to the way Joel had grabbed her a short while ago.

She blinks slowly. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Maybe over dinner?” He suggests, tilting his head.

“And an ice pack,” she adds, looking at the darkening bruise on his jaw.

He grins despite the obvious pain. “Deal.”

[legoshi-plz]

Notice Me Part VII (Izuku Midoriya x Reader)

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader (eventually), BestFriend! Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader, hints of Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Summary: College AU. Reader feels like she’s constantly overlooked/ ignored and she’s made her peace with that.

Warnings: Angst. Insecurities.

////////

“This one is called a ‘Nulumbo Nucifera’ but it’s commonly known as a Lotus. They manage to keep them year round by carefully gauging the humidity and temperature of the room. Which is why it’s so hot in here,” Shouto turned to look at you as he finished speaking and you began to once again look fascinated despite the fog your mind had slipped into due to the overload of information.

You were currently with Shouto at a flower sanctuary that was much bigger on the outside than it looked on the inside. When he invited you to come here with him, he’d done it so nonchalantly that you assumed it would be a quick stop but it’s been almost two hours and you had a feeling this tour was nowhere near finished.

“Wow, Sho, I never knew you were so into plants,” You smiled, trying to start a conversation before he began rattling off more plant facts. Not that you didn’t love to hear him gush about the different types of fauna but you knew there was no way you could remember all of this so you didn’t want him to waste the effort.

“Yeah I used to come here a lot with my mother when I was younger. I asked her what type of things girls like to do and she suggested coming here,” Shouto hummed gazing at the long leaves of a tree branch hanging above you two. He was so casual about everything so he probably found no issue with his statement yet your jaw was almost on the ground.

He had been talking to his mother about you? Well not about you but about hypothetical girls which just so happened to be you. You felt your cheeks warm and you weren’t so sure it was the humidity of the room making you feel so lightheaded.

Ever since Izuku had incorporated Shouto into you usual Friday get-togethers, you’d been seeing a lot of Shouto lately. A lot. At first, the notion of the two of you hanging out without Izuku as a buffer made you a nervous wreck, afraid you’d end up embarrassing yourself in front of Shouto the way Hitoshi always said you would. You’d tried to insist on Midoriya coming along but he always had something better to do at the most inopportune time.

“Sorry Y/N, I’ve got a history exam to study for.”

“I’d love to Y/N, but I can’t miss another gym session tonight, you two go on without me,”

“I actually agreed to help one of my classmates move some new furniture into her place, but maybe next time,”

“Sorry, I’m already hanging out with a couple of the other students interning at All Might’s agency but you two have fun,”

You had no idea Izuku was such a popular guy but you couldn’t say it was that much of a shock. He was cute, funny, kind, and genuinely charming. No one in their right mind wouldn’t want to be around him and occupy his time, but he was usually so busy with schoolwork, training, or working with All Might that you supposed that was part of why (at least to an outsider) it seemed like he kept to himself.

Now when it came to Shouto, there was no mystery there as to why wasn’t drowning in company. He just seems so.... unapproachable. And he was blunt to a fault, which could arguably be very off putting to some people. However, you found that the more time you spent with him, the more your nerves eventually ebbed away and you found yourself remembering exactly how you fell for him the first time when interning together at his father’s agency. There was something about him that felt so open and honest, a side effect of his bluntness no doubt. There was something so fascinating about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. That and his prince-like good looks really made him almost irresistible. Almost.

Despite how mesmerized you were with him and how delighted you were that the two of you were growing closer, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t quite right. You mind kept drifting to that seed of doubt that maybe, this was all just some cruel joke the universe decided to play at your expense and the rug would be ripped out from under you at any moment.

You knew you were nowhere near Shouto’s league, nor were you anywhere near his type. You didn’t actually know what his type was but you did know that you weren’t anyone’s type nor first choice. You thought about all the times Hitoshi had urged you to get over your silly crush on Todoroki because you would only end up hurting yourself. Your best friend was always right when it came to living in reality, you needed to adjust your expectations for what was and wasn’t within your grasp. And Shouto Todoroki was definitely not in your grasp.

So adjust your expectations is exactly what you did. You enjoyed hanging out with Shouto one-on-one but you made sure to keep your own feelings in check, determined not to feed into any delusions that would eventually come back to bite you in the end.

“Y/N?” You perked up at the sound of your name, not even realizing you had spaced out.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I asked if you were ready to move on to the exhibits upstairs. They have quite the extensive aquatic garden selection.” He lips were pulled into a small smile that was almost easy to miss. One look into that intense gaze and you knew you were going to give in.

“Lead the way,”

///////

Izuku could barely keep his eyes open, liable to fall asleep right in front of his breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time a college student took a cat nap in the dining hall.

“Your food is going to get cold. Besides the longer you wait to eat, the harder it will be to wake up because your body is lacking the proper energy. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day for a reason,” Iida lectures across from him. It was just the two of them this morning since Uraraka decided to sleep in and Izuku’s beginning to wonder if he should have chose to do the same.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Izuku yawned picking up his chopsticks. Just as he was about to dig in, he was surprised to see Shouto sit down, looking more pleasant than he’d ever seen him at 7a.m.

“Morning everyone,” he smiled, starting on his breakfast.

“Long time, no see. We haven’t seen you at dinner in weeks now,” Iida stated drinking his orange juice.

“That’s because I’ve been eating dinner with Y/N.” Iida paused drinking his orange juice at such an admission but his eyes gave nothing away. Izuku, on the other hand, felt his gut wrench and it had nothing to do with his empty stomach.

“Oh. Every night?” Iida asked but it was clear he wanted to say something else.

“Every night. She’s quite easy to be around. I like it,” Shouto smiled while gazing at the plate in front of him. Izuku wanted to excuse himself but it was like he was glued to the seat.

“Which brings me to my question,” Shouto turned to Iida, a very serious look on his face. “How do you get a girl to be your girlfriend? Do you just ask or are there any rules to follow? I’d really like to do this the right way.”

Iida’s eyebrows were nearly at his hairline as his wide eyes glanced between Izuku and Shouto. Izuku knew Iida wasn’t stupid, he had probably picked up on his crush a while ago and was just too polite to mention it. Shouto, of course, didn’t have the same intuition.

“A-and the girl you want to be your girlfriend is... Y/N? From UA?” Iida asked slowly, a way of buying time as he processed what to say in such an awkward situation.

“Of course.”

“I see. Well maybe you should talk to Izuku about this, he knows Y/N better than I do,” Iida was clearly trying to take himself out of the equation and get Izuku to fess up to his own situation in one go.

“Hm, that is true. If you were to ask Y/N to be your girlfriend, how would you do it?” His determined gaze was now honed in on Izuku.

“Um, maybe.... start with a date,” Izuku grumbled. He wanted to sink into the floor. He may have decided to not get in the way of you and Shouto’s budding romance but that in no way shape or form meant he was willing to aid in that courtship.

“Oh, we’ve already gone on one. Several actually,” Shouto mentioned casually and Izuku really did feel like he was going to be sick.

“Sorry, I don’t know. It’s not like I have a girlfriend,” muttered, gathering up his tray. He left, throwing the untouched food away on his way out.

He knew this was coming, he knew he shouldn’t be so dramatic. He’d always known about your crush on Shouto the same way he’d always known that Shouto had a soft spot for you. It was bound to happen eventually and eventually was finally here.

So why did he have to be the idiot to fall for you anyways?