#TUNE IN NEXT TIME <3333 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thelov3lybookworm · 18 days ago

Text

Am I Forgiven?

Summary: one chance is all he gets

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2650

Warnings: tinyy bit of angst, keir, rhysie poo being nosy. language ig? let me know if theres more i need to add here hehe 🫶🏻

A/n: based on this request by @nightless <3333 hope you like this pookie and please forgive me for taking over a year almost to post this 😭😭😭

(i feel like i kinda went off track but i tried to stick to the plot and my mind took the steering and was like. 'hmm this new route looks cool' im sorry lmaoo)

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n felt her eyebrows rise, glancing at the back of Keir’s head. She had thought the high lord would try to sweeten his offer, maybe start slow. But he apparently was in a no bullshit mood, and Y/n was not complaining. The quicker the ordeal was over, the quicker she could go back to her back and forth with the General.

Y/n was only here to help protect Keir, maybe even intimidate the high lord, though she knew that would only really happen in Keir’s dreams. That meant Y/n didn’t need to pay attention to whatever big words the two males threw at each other, and so she let her eyes wander.

Morrigan, Keir’s daughter, definitely got her looks from her father, but no one would point that out loud, not wanting to get into anyone's bad graces.

The shadowsinger was one of the most beautiful people Y/n had seen. Pity that he was so cold and closed off from everyone.

If he had been even a little less cold, Y/n would have had him in her bed long ago.

It was a good thing she didn’t really like pretty males.

She liked her males built, rough, and roguish.

Which, fortunately for her, her mate was exactly that.

Unfortunately for her, he was the Lord of Bloodshed, the General of the night court’s armies.

Cassian.

The thought brought a sly smirk on her face as she met the hazel eyes of the illyrian, who already looked ready to pounce over the table to get to her.

Y/n turned her attention back to the high lord before he could see the same urges in her eyes. She had mostly tuned everyone out, so when she heard the words muttered by Rhysand, shock jolted her entire body.

"So your darkbringers will fight when need be, and in exchange, you get to visit velaris. We’re settled then."

Y/n glanced at Keir, wide eyed, who simply offered a nod to the high lord before stalking out. Y/n had no choice but to follow, but she did shoot a last look at Cassian, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

She knew how hard it must’ve been to receive such news, considering he called the place home and considering how much the elite members of the high lords inner circle hated hewn city and its people, Y/n would not blame him if he lost his mind in the cavernous meeting chamber.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Keir had led Y/n and Bastian to a smaller room, ordering the two to get the darkbringer army ready and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, to increase their training time and try and test every single one of the soldiers to make sure they were giving their best. And after half an hour of unceasing droning about the upcoming war, he told them to leave, mumbling something about freedom and velaris under his breath as the two generals escaped the empty yet full room, hurrying to get away before Keir decided he needed to ramble more.

The moment they were far enough away, Bastian let loose a breath, stepping off to the side and leaning against the wall. Y/n followed, standing toe to toe with him as she focused her eyes on the rock formations next to his head.

"How soon do you think the war will be upon us?"

Y/n took a deep breath, meeting the onyx eyes that always seemed to know her a little too well. "I don’t know. But it will be soon, I’m sure."

He was quiet for a moment. "When are you going to tell him, Y/n?"

Y/n turned away from him, letting her eyes survey the nearby brothels and shops, full of drinking and revelling patrons.

"Y/n?"

She sighed. "I don’t know, Bas. I feel like he knows already, but then he leaves every time. Every visit, I wonder if he will stop running in circles and finally talk to me about it, but then all he does is flirt all night and then vanish when I start to feel like we might be getting somewhere. I don’t know what to think anymore."

Bas hummed, rubbing his brow. "Maybe just talk to him? Tell him to get his shit together. After all, you do love ordering the soldiers around. Maybe he needs to get a taste of that to stop being a child."

Y/n rolled her eyes then, shaking her head. "Good night, Bas."

He laughed, then clasped her shoulder as she began walking away, halting her in her tracks. "Jokes aside, I mean it, Y/n. you should talk to him."

Y/n blinked at him, then nodded uncertainly. And with a last squeeze, Bas walked away, humming his favourite off key tune.

Maybe he was right. She needed to talk to Cassian.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Cassian’s pov.

Cassian was not someone who squirmed. Sure, when he liked someone and wanted to impress them, he’d be jumping off the walls. But he had never felt uncomfortable under his brother’s gazes, let alone Rhysand's gaze.

Azriel was supposed to be the intimidating one, the one who looked at people and saw right through them. But the way Rhysand stared at Cassian, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, Cassian wondered if he was trying to stare into Cassian’s soul.

Or maybe trying to get through his mental walls to find out the answer to the question he very clearly had.

When Cassian was tired of being stared at like a medicinal herb specimen while he scanned the crowd in Hewn City, he finally snapped. "What?"

"What’s the deal between you and the General of the Darkbringers?"

Instantly, Cassian felt his blood cooling.

"Is there supposed to be a deal?"

Rhysand scoffed. "Not really, but the way you two act around each other suggests otherwise."

Cassian narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed to a far corner in the throne room where a couple had started kissing. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The high lord snorted. "Yeah sure, I believe you."

Cassian remained quiet, and before long, Rhysand was opening his mouth again. As expected.

"You know, I was wondering if she has something going on with her right hand man. What was his name? Blaise? B-"

"Bastian." Cassian half snarled, his gaze swinging to the knowing eyes of his brother, and he realised that this was his plot all along. He’d been poking Cassian about mindless matters the whole evening, and to add to the annoyance of the general, Rhysand had hit where it hurt the most.

Cassian had seen the two, Y/n and Bastian, interact. And while they probably merely shared camaraderie, it irked Cassian to no end that another male got to talk to his mate so freely and get no repercussions for it, while Cassian had to skirt around everything he wanted to say to that magnificent female, having to settle to flirting when he wanted to tear open his chest and present her with the organ that kept him alive.

"So, I’ll ask again. What’s the deal between you two?"

Cassian released a frustrated sigh, then turned his gaze to the wide double doors, knowing his eyes showed his longing more than he wanted them to.

"She…"

But then she walked in, and his breath caught at the way her eyes instantly met his, as if she had come here solely for the purpose of finding him. And as he watched her stalk to him, her posture impeccable and confidence unwavering, not even sparing a glance to the people as they stepped out of her way the moment they spied her march up to the thrones the rulers occupied without care, he knew he was right.

She stopped only once her boots hit the first step leading up the dais where the high lord and lady sat, brows high. She bowed her head, eyes looking up at them.

"My lord, my lady. Would you mind if I steal away your general for a few moments?"

If possible, Rhysand’s brows rose even higher, glancing once at Cassian before shaking his head. "We wouldn’t mind at all."

Y/n shot Cassian a look, which promptly made him move to follow, but he also could not help but be worried.

She looks like she’s gonna cut off my balls.

The further away he moved from his brother and his high lady, the deeper in the crowd, it got harder to focus on worrying about his assets over the sound of the loud, seductive lilt of the orchestra that blared from the corner.

Once again, he felt Rhysand tap on his mental shields.

‘What?’

‘Is she your mate?’

Cassian stilled for a moment, then kept moving before he lost sight of Y/n’s back.

‘Yes.’

Rhys was silent for a moment, prompting Cassian to wonder whether he had left his mind when he spoke again.

‘Look, I will understand if you don’t want to accept the bond, but do not fuck this up. Reject her after the war is over. If she gets upset, everything will be ruined-’

‘Shut the fuck up. What makes you think I don’t want her?’

Another pause.

‘I thought if you hadn’t yet accepted the bond, you didn’t want to-’

Cassian shoved Rhysand out before he could rile him up even more, pulling his wings closer to himself as he finally escaped the throng of revellers and stepped out of the throne room.

He did not have it in himself to tell his brother that he was the reason Cassian had suppressed his urge to claim his mate right the moment the bond snapped.

He had been worried that Rhysand, despite how much he loved his family, was also the high lord, and he would do anything to keep the court safe, no matter how much he despised it. And if Y/n had accepted the bond already, there was a high chance Rhys would use her to win this war, as he already was planning to.

Cassian did not want to go against his brother, but neither did he want to let his mate be used.

Fingers snapped in Cassian’s face, making him jerk back, wide eyes scanning his surroundings, snagging on the jutting rock’s overhead, the cavernous ceiling, the scarce lighting, before finally focusing on the reason for his abrupt departure from the throne room.

She stared back at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you so distracted because you don’t want to talk to me?"

He blinked, swallowing.

How would he ever tell her that she was as far from the truth as she could get.

Instead, he offered her a smirk. "No sweetheart, I was wondering which wall I would like to take you against first."

Y/n was no shadowsinger, but she was a darkbringer. That brought along night powers, faint wisps of dark sky swirling around her wings frantically that were generally utilised for hiding better as she raised an eyebrow at him, and despite her calm exterior, Cassian knew she was getting agitated by his continuous refusal to acknowledge the mating bond.

He suspected that would no longer be the case very soon if the anger also glimmering in her eyes was any indication.

Also the tiny, foreign emotions taking root in his chest that came from the other side of the bond, because no matter how hard the two tried to block the pathway connecting their souls, it was as if the mother refused to let it be shut completely.

"Cassian, I am tired."

He swallowed again. "Well, that’s nice. Maybe I can give you a massage afterwards, oils and all. Maybe a bath together-"

"Do you feel it too?"

His mouth snapped shut, and he wondered if not speaking would help him at all.

And then he caught a whiff of his scent from her skin, and that set somethin feral that had till now been bound in his chest loose.

"Why the fuck do you smell like Bastian?" He spat out the name, as if even having to move his facial muscles to speak the offending male’s name disgusted him to the core.

Which it did.

Y/n blinked, her brows raising. "Are you serious right now? I just asked you a question and you respond like a typical animalistic illyrian." She shook his head, and the smile that lifted the edges of her lips sent cold fingers skittering down Cassian’s spine, knowing he had messed up. "But you did answer me, didn’t you? Even if indirectly. Pathetic."

Y/n turned away from him, her wings splaying out in a furious stretch before wrapping back tightly against her back.

"Wait, Y/n."

She paused, glancing back at him, incredulous tilt to her lips as she surveyed him. "I have been waiting for quite a long time now, Cassian."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he released a frustrated exhale. "I know that Y/n, but I was doing it to keep you safe."

She barked out a harsh laugh. "Keep me safe?"

He nodded. "I didn’t want you to get caught in between Keir and Rhysand. And you know you would have if they’d realised what we shared sooner."

She was no longer grinning at him, the mocking expression having long melted off of her beautiful features. "And you could not have handled it better?" She took a step towards him, and despite her menacing shadows swirling around her, Cassian relaxed, happy she would stay for a few precious moments longer, even if it was just to yell at him.

"Cassian, I know you can feel my emotions too. You know how badly I wanted to talk to you and figure this out. You really could not have come to me and told me that we’d have to keep the bond under wraps instead of flirting with me and then leaving me waiting for you?"

Cassian dipped his head, shame burning through him. He had nothing to say, knowing she was right and nothing he uttered could possibly justify his actions.

If he really wanted to keep her safe, he would have left her alone. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was his mate. And he would have damned himself and everyone around him if he had to ignore his mate.

"Y/n, I- I’m sorry. I know I have wronged you, making you feel like I do not care, but please, give me one chance?"

Cassian watched as her eyes softened the tiniest bit, her shoulders slumping.

"Just tell me why you kept me hanging."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I was scared Rhys would try to use you, and I did not want you to think that I only… accepted the bond to get closer to you."

She stared at him, then dipped her head. "I guess that makes sense."

He watched her, uncertain. "I… does it?"

She shook her head, a smile slipping onto her lips. "I am still mad at you, so don’t go getting too happy. I am not letting you off easy, but…"

"But?" He pressed.

"I guess it’s for the best that we don't do anything now because I need to focus on the darkbringers and make sure they are trained. I’m sure you also have duties, whatever it is you do."

Cassian blinked. He could not believe she was being so gracious. He had thought she would be angrier.

"So… does that mean there is a chance I will be forgiven?"

She snorted, turning away. "One chance, a lot of grovelling. And maybe I will consider it."

She walked away, hips swaying lightly, but then paused, head turning to look at him.

"For the record, I’m sure these walls would be pretty uncomfortable against my back."

And then she was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

permanent taglist: @berryzxx @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

@illyriassweetheart

#cassian #cassian x you #cassian x reader #acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #night court #General of night court #lord of bloodshed #mating bond #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon

148 notes · View notes

hwajin · 6 months ago

Text

✞ 「 .✶۪ .° ✞ : 𝐇 𝐈 — 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 !! : a series

☆ — chapter one; Soda Pop :

✞ 「 .✶۪ : see series masterlist and warnings here

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter word count: 12.1k

✞ 「 .✶۪ : chapter warnings: fluff and angst, y/n's kind of an asshole, first mentions of cheating!!, stupidity and immaturity

✞ 「 .✶۪ : heavily inspired by: 'nana' by ai yazawa!

author's note: it's finally here!!!! i've been crafting on this series for a good year now, and while i know it's nowhere near good because serieses aren't my strength at all, i hope you'll still enjoy it!! pleaseee please please let me know what you think of it, every bit of feedback is highly appreciated <3333 enjoy <3

The sound of console buttons and video game soundtrack filled the stuffy studio, particles of dust dancing in the burning summer sun. Han bit against his lip piercing while he plugged his guitar into the old AMP the bunch of you had found on a flea market two years ago – it’s been roughly thirty dollars, and you had sworn to have found heaven back then; admittedly, though the old box was working to its’ best abilities, it was high time to hunt for a new one. Han’s heavy silver rings scratched against the yet untuned strings of his instrument, and the sound was almost uncomfortable; though never quite, for it was music after all.

You would never grow tired of it, you thought. Of music, of everything revolving it – it was your everything, your earliest memories, your dearest experiences; your closest friendships, even. Ever since your parents had bought you your first electric piano – one for kids only, and not of best quality altogether though you had loved it all the same – notes and tunes had been all around you, always. With seven years old you’d been signed up for your first piano lesson, which no other kid in your course had been as excited to visit as you had been; with ten years, mere three years later, when Han had moved into your neighbourhood with his parents, you’d convinced your own to let you visit guitar lessons with him. They hadn’t needed much persuasion; they’d noticed early on just how much you enjoyed the hobby, and they’d never been ones to forbid you passion. There had been fights when your parents had realised you’ve been far more serious about music than they had imagined, or hoped, even; at fifteen years old you had planned to drop out of school with your best friend, and both your and his parents had lost hours of sleep and nerves convincing you of the opposite. Two years later, at seventeen, both you and Han were sure not to apply to college, initially – that, too, had caused tears and frustration over both of you and your parents. You and Han, having felt pressured to take action, had decided to apply to a college, somewhat pretentiously, where you would start an amateur band – it would keep both you and your families happy.

You set up your microphone, guitar long in hand, the worn-out leather band cutting into your neck, pulling at loose strands of hair, the weight of your instrument laying heavily on your shoulders. You were used to it; enjoyed the feeling like nothing else.

“Guys, wrap it up, some of us have classes soon.”

Just then Changbin’s groan sounded against Jeongin’s shout of victory – in three years of knowing the pair there has been only one occasion on which Changbin has won a game of Mario against Jeongin; that the younger had been knocked out drunk back then, Changbin never wanted to admit. The older man threw his console onto the carpeted floor in frustration, emitting a cloud of dust where it hit – his determination to win was admirable, if you were honest, though his pouting and sulking was amusing every time anew.

“Bro, I swear you’re dead next time.”

Jeongin snickered as they both made their way to their positions behind you, and the rest of you erupted in a fit of protests and laughter. “You should accept defeat to be honest, I’d be embarrassed by now if I was you – there’s bad game play, and then there’s you.”, Han’s voice thinned out towards the end of his sentence when Changbin shot him a deadly look – the younger momentarily busied himself with his guitar again, merely smirking to himself at his friends’ sensitivity.

“Guys, c’mon now, we don’t have all day.”

The two friends both mockingly imitated you, though got behind their instruments – Jeongin stood behind the long-ready piano, Changbin picking up his long-tuned bass. The small college studio momentarily filled with vibrations and resonances of instruments – Jeongin playing warm-up chords, Changbin letting chime a long tone, Minho, who all of you – after you’d seen a commercial on the TV you had now long forgotten – had started calling Lino over your years of friendship besides his very active protest against it, gave a couple experimental sounds against the snare of his drums behind the thin plexiglass he was seated. It was heaven to your ears. There was nothing, you’d argue, that you loved more than the sound of the small room filling up entirely with the harmonies of your instruments, every single one coming together to play the songs Han wrote so diligently for your little amateur band besides his college assignments. Not that he was taking them too seriously, anyways – he planned to be a musician, no matter the cost.

“Alright, everyone in position, everyone ready?”, you waited for the lot to groan softly in agreement, looking back at them all to give you a nod, “I’ll count in…”, the tension in the studio thickened now, all bickering forgotten; and everyone waited for your commando, “five…”, a beat, your voice sounding through the room, “six…”, another beat, your voice louder now, your fingers ready on your instrument, everyone else watching you intently, adjusting in their position, “five, six, seven, eight!”

The room erupted in deafening volume, Jeongin’s synthetic piano sounding softly against Lino’s loud kick drums, Changbin’s bass harmonising with Han’s guitar; your voice sounding above it all.

It hadn’t been until you were out of school four years ago when you had started singing, so, naturally, you weren’t the strongest vocalist; it was Han who had convinced you to give it a try, arguing the tone in your voice to be unique, and diminishing, simultaneously, the necessity of looking for a vocalist for the band you had started planning back then, already. Your skills had gotten better over the years – your bandmates had made it fashion to remind you of it, no less because you yet needed to learn to acquire confidence in your skill. Four years later – you liked your voice, and the five of you had found the sound that fitted it best, despite your remaining weaknesses.

‘Hope’ – the name of the band, the name of Han’s and Jeongin’s favourite cigarette brand. You had been nineteen and not very creative, had all, except Lino, met on the first day of college which only half of you took seriously – you were one those after your initial rebelling against it, wanting something stable and secure in case practical music wouldn’t work out in the long run; so, you’d decided to study theoretical and historical music, hoping to find yourself in the same field after all. You enjoyed your studies – as much as one could enjoy talking of chords and cadences and harmonies instead of playing them, or discussing composers of genius minds who have died centuries ago –it was no comparison to the time you spent in the studio, the passion it brought, the utter joy that coursed your veins whenever you held your guitar in hands, stood before your microphone stand. Mozart and Bach could only spark your interest so much, if the small, dusty college studio and your bandmates in it were right around the corner.

Changbin and Jeongin were both English students; both figured that taking a universally, to quote them, ‘easy major’ would allow them to focus on their music, and to spend as little time in a classroom as it was humanly possible to still pass – you wondered if they’ve ever seen one from the inside, altogether.

Lino on the other hand, a business major and taking his studies with diligence, though never seeming to be actually doing his assignments, only ever having finished them with perfect grades, seemingly magically, didn’t put too much hope into an amateur band, and simply enjoyed his hobby while working towards his future career. It was a shame, though – he was a genius drummer, his loudest when he carried two sticks in his hands; you didn’t remember if you’ve ever truly heard his voice over the past years, though he was compensating his usual silence the moment he sat behind his instrument; and if it wasn’t his instrument, he preferred spending his time with cats rather than with humans.

And lastly there’s been Han and you. Best friends since you were little, though you’ve never visited the same school, so all the more excited when you had decided to apply to the same college together – despite not for the same majors, you would still be together. The band was his idea, initially.

“LOOKING FOR: DRUMMER, BASSIST, PIANIST, SECOND VOCAL FOR AMATEUR BAND. CONTACT HERE.”

had been written on the hundreds of flyers Han had taken with him for the first day of college you had anticipated giddily, and he had hung up the pieces of paper on every free space of wall and pillar he could find around campus – back then you hadn’t been aware of needing a written permission of the colleges’ office to hang up advertisements, and Han was forced to take down his flyers within the same week –, you had laughed at him and called it silly; though Changbin and Jeongin, friends since a little before college, had sat next to you both at the first-semester-students ceremony, and had caught eye of the papers in Han’s lap.

“Wait, it’s your flyers we’ve seen around? We’d be so down!”

You had eyed them sceptical back then – they had looked far too typical for an amateur-college-band, almost, heavy silver chains hanging around both their necks, their nails coloured pitch black, Jeongin looking at you with a nose piercing and blond streaks in his hair, their outfits raven and dark; though you had looked at Han, unevenly self-bleached hair, an eyebrow piercing adorning his face, his own scratched down black nail polish begging to be reapplied, boots on his feet two numbers too big, and you’d noticed, almost shamefully, that all four of you had looked like the prime example of people to form an amateur-college-band on the very first day of classes. It hadn’t needed much more conversation after that; the two friends had been welcomed into the band that had previously consisted of only you and Han, and Lino had contacted you three days later – right before Han had bashfully taken off his flyers.

It had needed some time until the five of you had started to click and work together; though yours and Jeongin’s voice had mixed well from the get-go, and everyone’s skill had been to a far higher standard than either you or Han would have anticipated. Lino had surprised you the most; while Changbin had been cocky from the first day you met him and Jeongin had been confident about his skills, Lino hadn’t talked much, nor had he looked, even, like a typical drummer. Not that there was a certain look to them, you simply wouldn’t have expected that under the quiet nature there was so much vigour and emotion, so much volume the moment he had given you a first idea of his level and skill, to see if he was a fit for your band at all; it had been fascinating, was to this day.

The song ended, the cups of your fingers aching, your neck strained, your voice in need of water; it was a successful practice. Jeongin and Changbin both expressed sounds of satisfaction, Han joining them while the echo of your instruments vibrated in the room for a couple moments, before they died out eventually.

“That was so good! The best we did so far, I think!”

Voices sounding through the room, and you turned around to look at your friends. Everyone joined into exclamations of praise, turning off and unplugging their instruments, stretching, cracking their knuckles. Conversation of pride filled the room; the praise never lasted long, though.

“Bin, stay in my rhythm a bit more next time, especially in the second half – don’t get too excited.”, Lino’s voice from behind the glass while he made room to get up from behind his seat. When you had first started practising with him, the tone in his voice during words of critique almost scared you, though with time you acquired to him, and learned to love his honesty – he was never condescending about mistakes, and always accepting of bettering his own errors.

“Yeah, I noticed too, my bad. I lose my count after the chorus. And I was distracted by you two,” Changbin gave a quick look between you and Jeongin, “you need to harmonise better. There was some dissonance after the first part, you need to sit down and figure out the second half better.”

You nodded at Jeongin, he returned it, knowingly. There were never hard feelings after critique, not anymore – initially, when you had started out, all of you had wanted to prove your rights, all far too proud to accept defeat, though now you loved your bandmates for being able to speak what’s on their mind, for it would only improve you as a whole.

“Well, and you two lovebirds were perfect, as always.”, Jeongin commented nonchalantly while unplugging his piano and mic. He meant you and Han, though neither of you were bothered by the comment. It was a running joke; you bore the longest friendship in the group, harmonised near perfectly every practice – how could you not, if practising and playing the guitar together had been everything you’ve busied yourselves with when you’d been younger? Despite having tried to convince the rest of the band that neither you nor Han bore any feelings for the other, nor would fuck to ‘get it out of the system’, as Changbin had so lovingly commented once, the jokes never ended; you had simply grown indifferent to them. You snickered, shooting your best friend a quick look; he winked at you approvingly, turning off the AMP and packing away his fire-red guitar – you followed him, unplugging and turning off everything that needed to be unplugged and turned off, before putting your own black instrument on the designated stand in between Han’s and Changbin’s ones. Lino already waited by the entrance door, bag thrown lazily over his shoulder, a pack of ‘Hi-Lite’s in his hands, one cigarette between his lips. He offered Changbin one when said male reached him by the door, and didn’t bother offering the rest of you any – you didn’t smoke not to damage your voice, Han and Jeongin couldn’t stand the brand the other two men smoked. Han got hold of his bag lying on the old leather sofa and his scattered belongings – headphones, notebook and a pen, a snack he had bought earlier, a pack of his beloved ‘Hope’s – and gave Jeongin a cigarette while catching one between his teeth himself. The bunch of you made it out of the studio – Lino, as the oldest, bore privileges over the key to the studio, locked the room and scurried over to the rest of you as you already made your way to the main building of the University. You weren’t a college band, not officially, though your location of practice was on campus – you had asked Mr. Hwang, your music teacher and head of the music department, if there, by any chance, was a forgotten room the five of you could use. To your surprise he had been most enthusiastic about both your question, and your band in general; allegedly he’d been in one as well when he was younger which had never lead to success, so he took pleasure in encouraging you with your own; his visiting during your practices weren’t a rarity, and the five of you were quite fond – and amused, slightly – of his support.

“Ji, you have fire?”

The guitarist searched for a lighter in his jeans’ back pocket, handed it to everyone after lighting his own cigarette.

“God, I need this before class.”, Changbin expressed in exaggerated exhaustion, blowing out blue smoke into the hot summer air. His black hair fell over his darker eyes, and you giggled at his comment.

“Do you, now? As if you and Innie will go to class today.”

Han laughed softly at your words, blew out his own puff of smoke while Changbin and Jeongin started to get defensive – a habit they acquired lately, because both of them were on the verge of failing their semesters. You knew they’d skip their lessons anyways.

Lino was the first to bid goodbye, having to walk opposite of the rest of you for his classes. He left saying he’d be back after his hours for another session of practice; the five of you had acquired to practice twice a day, more if the time gave chance. You all saw him off, continuing your journey further down campus. The heaviness of your boots crunched against the pavement beneath your feet, the black of your clothes attracting the burning sun and making you sweat more than it was comfortable; though you were used to it. Changbin and Jeongin separated at last, despite making their way to their classroom they surely wouldn’t have enough self-control to truly sit there for a whole two hours. You teased them about it one last time before they saw you off with curses and middle fingers, and you and Han made your way to your favourite spot on campus; the vending machine right behind the music building.

Ever since you had started college you had come here with Han to get a drink before most of your classes – it surely wasn’t a healthy habit, it was your favourite one, though. You had deemed it a necessity to find a spot which throughout your college years would work as a safe haven against teachers and possible annoying co-students, a spot where you could talk music and gossip and, inherently, everything and nothing, entirely undisturbed. The vending machine didn’t stand far from a huge weeping willow, working perfectly against the summer sun, and it was being refilled only about once a week – it was an old and shabby machine, and you’ve never seen anyone but you two in the proximity of it.

“God, I’m so unmotivated for class today. Wish I could spend your free window with you.”, you expressed in anguish as you and Han reached the dispenser and the shadow of the tree with sweat-laced faces. Han chuckled while plopping down on the bench by the tree trunk, leaning back, eyes closed and played malicious joy writing his features.

“I told you, we should both drop out and focus on the band. I don’t even know if I’ll go to my one class for today.”

Your loose coins clinked soundly in your palm before you threw them into the vending machine, pressing the number two for a classic can of Coca Cola. You huffed out in amusement at Han’s proposal, snickered at his laziness.

“It’s like you wanna fail. You know your mom’s gonna kill you if you change your major again.”, you bickered while taking the cool bottle out from behind the plastic hatch; the cold condensation felt nice against your hot skin, and your mouth watered in anticipation for a freezing drink. “What are you doing with all your free time skipping class, anyway.” Your tone wasn’t condescending, nor was it much lecturing; you’d lie pretending you didn’t care for your best friends’ education and future, though, and his nonchalance towards it was concerning more often than not – you weren’t even sure what his major was at this point, and it worried you that he might not know, either. He did have the talent to become a successful musician, yet the industry had never simply relied on skills; it was luck and appeal and timing as much as all else.

“Well, first of all; duh, I wanna fail. At least I won’t have to study anymore, and my mom won’t be able to tell me I didn’t try.”, he returned with pride you didn’t quite deem appropriate given the context, and you tsked while he made his way from the old bench to the older vending machine, playing with the loose change in his pocket.

“And second, I use all the free time to write songs for the band you’re in, by the way, so you’re welco-”, he traced off, something external catching his attention mid-sentence, something yet unknown to you, and the man went from cocky demeanour to absolute and utter frustration in mere seconds, “No!! No, this is so unfair, they haven’t refilled my fucking root beer yet!!!” His sorrow echoed through the open, and you needed a moment to register his words, the true mundanity and vanity of them before you started laughing at him whole-heartedly. He went to lean against the glass of the vending machine dramatically, a puffed cheek against dirty glass and it mushed his face, driving to humour you further. One hand of his slid down the glass where the empty spot of his favourite drink stood in all its’ pride; it was almost Oscar worthy, and, to take matters further – and to make you laugh some more, you were sure – he topped it off with fake-crying; you almost choked on the Coke you had started drinking already. You had always adored his humour, his ability to bring light-heartedness into all and every situation – you knew he prided himself in the sounds of your laughter, often took jokes far beyond limit, until your stomach pained, and tears smudged your mascara.

“You know, I don’t even feel bad for you. Root beer is fucking disgusting; it’s a sign that you should change your go-to drink.”, the cold, bubbling liquid felt nice against your lips when you took a gulp after your snarky comment, which earned you a snarkier look. You shut up with a last giggle, and watched your friend carefully eyeing the available options for a drink, brows furrowed as though a far tougher decision than it was, lips caught between his teeth in utter – yet playful – seriousness.

You loved him. Not romantically, never romantically – you cringed at the thought alone as you sat and lay your eyes on him, huffing out in amusement about his seemingly real frustration; yet you loved him. There was no other person dearer to you than him; you’d had your ups and downs as young teens, when hormones had been the only thing ruling your bodies and brains, though you had survived that time, and had been closer than ever afterwards. He was fun; there had never been a boring day if it was him by your side. He didn’t take himself nor others too seriously, viewed the world carelessly, which you had always admired – there’d been days you needed a listening ear, and days where you needed someone to get you out of the static of your own thoughts. Han had always been able to provide both, never not taking you seriously, besides his immaturity, for the lack of a better expression; he had always been the shoulder you cried on after heartbreaks, or fights with your parents, or ulterior and general hopelessness; and he had always been the happiness you craved for right after, his talent to distract you with music or video games or his own banal miseries far more admirable than he’d ever admit. Around him, you bore no filter, and you knew he didn’t either; with him you were human, had always been.

“Guess I have to be basic and take a Coke too, then.”, he tsked as you watched him dial the same number you had after throwing in his share of coins, and you laughed at his comment. His lip piercing was caught between his teeth as he made his way over to you onto the picnic bench, swinging one of his legs over the seat – his large boots always looked too big against his slim body, almost comical; yet it suited him, strangely. His dry, bleached hair fell over his eyes in bangs as he settled in comfortably, sipping his drink with another exaggerated sigh and faked disgust on his features at the loss of his beloved beverage; you scoffed in amusement, taking another big gulp of your soda. While Han enjoyed a free window after practice – and had both the courage and enough lacking willpower to not visit the class he had scheduled right after –, you had to rot away in music class until the five of you were able to meet up again, for afternoon practice; the hours during classes you always spent counting the minutes to be back in the studio, and sometimes the temptation of dropping out and embracing the band full time with Han by your side was so calling, that mid-lesson texts of it, and hopeless, juvenile plans of a music career weren’t a rarity between your best friend and yourself – the guilt of giving up with no solidity beneath your feet yet always took the upper hand, so big plans of bigger stadiums stayed texts, and you continued spending your daily classes in excruciating boredom.

During the couple minutes you had together, right after practice and before your next set of lessons, Han and you talked of everything and nothing. More often than not, it was involving music, his ideas and plans for new songs, possible schedules to practise, mistakes you and he had noticed in the rundown before and needed to correct for the rundown after. Rarely, though not never, both you and him would express doubts or feelings of hopelessness regarding the band and its’ future; another point you were ever comfortable speaking of in the presence of only him. Not because the others wouldn’t understand, or care; they surely would, and you thought they could even be decent listeners and advisers, much to your surprise had you first met them. Yet you preferred to save insecurities for later, when you and Han were in lonesome, could talk undisturbed; neither did you know of the importance the other three bore for the band, nor did you think it a good idea to talk of pointless negativity – ‘Where do we go after college?’, ‘What if the band never really breaks through?’, ‘Do we want it to break through, or are we simply five friends enjoying music and each other’s presence?’ –; you deemed those thoughts to lead to discouragement to practise and play altogether, let alone keep the motivation should you ever decide to take the professional route. Yet, you could always talk of such fears with Han, for he always shared your worries; though currently, he was rambling about a new song he was planning – one he was allegedly writing specifically for you, and for your voice.

“I’ll show you the song when I’m done, I still have to edit a ton and it’s basically completely unfinished, and…”, a sip from his Coke and he looked at you, curiously, “I know you’re not the most confident in your voice, and the song might be out of our skill range…”, Han watched you listen to him carefully, piercing eyes following his every word, “but I’m writing this song to fit your range and tone perfectly, like- I’m writing it for your voice.”, his hands fiddled with the tin of the can under your gaze, almost nervously, as if confessing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks painted pink, only a shade or two yet you noticed, and he seemed to suddenly blink more than usual; strange. You emptied your Coke in a last gulp and Han’s eyes caught yours before you scoffed, softly.

“It’s unlike you to be so nervous about it. I’m sure it’s gonna be a good song, and I bet we will like it – I know I will; it’s written for me, basically.”, you snickered, and Han merely replied with a choked chuckle.

“I’m not… nervous about the song. I actually think it’s the best I’ve made so far, and, like- I think it’s gonna sound insane live, just… I don’t know. Whatever.”, another chuckle, forced, almost, and he avoided eye contact; very strange, truly.

You watched him carefully, wondered where the sudden insecurities stemmed from. Music, and songwriting in particular were his passions as much as they were yours, yet admittedly, he bore far more talent than you did; you had always admired it rather than growing envious of his skill, so far more confused now at his sudden humbleness.

“Show me the song when you’ve finished writing it, I bet it’s nice. Don’t be weird about it.” You nipped at the can of Coke one last time before throwing your worn-out bag over your shoulder, sighing exasperatedly. “Anyways, I have to hurry now. Don’t want Hwang to scold me in front of everyone for being late again.”

Han mumbled a reply, and you cocked your head at him in curiosity one last time – he wouldn’t leave a nagging thought uncommented, not if it was truly bothering him, though maybe he wouldn’t want to distract you before class. He would surely, you thought, mention whatever was making him nibble at his pierced lip and light another cigarette before you were even out of sight later before practice, and you took a mental note to ask him when you’d see him again. You left your empty can of Coke by the bench – you always allowed Han the pleasure of the deposit money for both his and your drink; he never not returned it by standing you a soda every once in a while – and made your way apart from him, from the cooling shadow, from the freezing drinks inside the dirty vending machine, from the comfort of your best friend – you bid goodbye with a last “See you later!” and disappeared behind the corner towards the music building, not without questioning Han’s last seemingly troubled expression.

☆.☆.☆

You sat behind your shabby, wooden desk in the hot, sweat-scented classroom, dimming out the chattering and gossip all around you with your earphones, scribbling doodles and lyrics into your notebook. Your blue pen materialised hearts and clouds and words into your yellowish piece of paper as you waited for Mr. Hwang to enter the classroom, as you waited for the two hours of boredom to pass as quickly as it was possible – or for your teacher to talk of a subject which could interest you, for that matter.

You furrowed your brows at the verses you were trying to make sense of; you weren’t much a songwriter, and despite Han’s patient teaching for the past couple months and your urge to improve your skill you were far from happy with any recent results. Your texts didn’t seem to carry a red line, context was hard to make sense of; you wondered if you had any talent for songwriting at all, or if you should leave said work to your best friend. You’ve acquired a habit of writing down anything you could think of for the sake of practice, to gather any spark of inspiration in written form, and going over it with Han on later occasion – only few verses and sentences of yours found themselves in a couple of his songs, and though you wished it could be more, he made it fashion to remind you it was already something to be proud of.

The heavy creak of the door and the following footsteps were the reason you stopped the music which blasted in your eardrums before taking out your earphones, the silhouette of your teacher strutting through the now murmuring classroom, whispers which sounded like questions, and a general confusion spread between the students; unbeknownst to you, yet, as you packed away your phone and opened your notebook on last weeks’ notes, before you finally converted your eyes to the front, finally caught a peak of you teacher; though it wasn’t the teacher you’ve expected to walk into the classroom, not Mr. Hwang, and your jaw would have hit the rough wood of your table if you’d had been any slower at gathering yourself. The man – not a stranger, though unseen and unthought of by you for the past five years – made his way into the spacy classroom, brown briefcase in hand, white dress shirt hugging the lines of his muscles, the ones on his arms exposed as he’d rolled up his sleeves. His attire was missing the tie you remembered him in, and, different to five years ago, the two top buttons of his shirt lay open around his chest – not showing inappropriate skin, though enough to tease, almost, to make you drool in your seat. His black dress pants moved with him as he settled behind his desk, briefcase on the table, one watch-adorned wrist making its way into his pants’ pocket leisurely as he looked around the class. He was visibly older, now that you had a good view of him – smile lines deeper, skin more textured, a certain calmness writing his pleasant features –he was just as attractive as you remembered him to be; more so, you’d dare to argue.

“Hi, my name is Mr. Bahng. Professor Hwang suddenly fell ill, unfortunately, and I’ll be his substitute teacher for the time being. I normally don’t teach college classes, but other professors sadly didn’t have the time – I’m well acquainted with Professor Hwang, though, so I agreed to take over his class for a few weeks.”

He was friendly. A charming smile adorned his face, a slight blush played around his nose as he looked around the room, looking at each student for a second or two before locking eyes with the next. For closure, for trust. Then he locked eyes with you, and it felt just like five years ago, when you were fresh eighteen years old, and a bored high school student in your last year before graduation.

.☆.

“I’ve never been so excited for class, oh my god.”

You had sat giddily in your seat, anticipating the arrival of your new music teacher. You had only seen him once so far, last week, when he had freshly relocated to the high school you’d gone to, and had been, quite literally and much to Felix’s misery and irritation, head over heels for the man – not because your friend had borne a crush for you; simply because you’d been utterly annoying with your high school love for your teacher. You’d known your yearning had been futile even back then, had known that Mr. Bahng wasn’t possibly interested in a mere girl who had just turned eighteen, yet you’d been young and in need for fun distraction, for amusement. And if that meant drooling over a young, hot teacher who had been just your type, it seemed, then you couldn’t complain.

Next to you, Felix had huffed in amusement as you kept eyeing the entrance door of the classroom, then the clock on the wall in front of you, then the door again. He had prepped his material for class already, in much contrast to your own entirely empty desk; saved for a piece of paper and a pen borrowed from your dearest high school friend.

“Your crush is getting unhealthy… he’s not gonna fuck you, you know.”

Felix hadn’t been judging, yet his voice had been teasing. You’d shot him a glance, had tsked at him which your friend returned with a mocking impression of you – fluttering eye-lids, airy lashes, a dumb-ish smile adorning his face.

“I know he’s not gonna fuck me… that’s not the point, though. Class is boring, and you take your academics way too serious to distract me from it.”, you’d retorted sarcastically, which Felix had accepted with a light-hearted scoff, going back to his notes from last week. You hadn’t been wrong; he wanted to get into college, and with good grades preferably. He’d known you had other priorities; he’d respected, enjoyed, even, your passion for music, and you'd always have the talent for it. The two of you had always been inherently different, though it had never bothered your friendship in the slightest.

Just as Felix had been about to retort with a snarky comment – or another far too accurate impression of your behaviour whenever Mr. Bahng was around – the door to the classroom had opened, and your music teacher had walked in – dress shirt buttoned up all the way, sleeves rolled down even in the hot weather, a careful tie adorning his fit. There’d been fewer lines of muscle back then, though they had been prominent enough to drive your teenage mind utterly insane. Your eyes had been glued onto him as he had welcomed the class, and Felix had struggled containing his laughter; you had been bashing your eyes at him, and you had been wearing a stupid smile around your lips at a mere look at him, just like your friend had mocked about earlier – and you had been either unaware of it, or you hadn’t been bothered enough to care.

You had eyed your teacher the entire lesson, and as much as Felix had wanted to stay focused, he had giggled and laughed at you, amused at your heart-eyes for someone so entirely unattainable. More often than once you had been in need to copy Felix’s notes because your thoughts – and eyes – had been elsewhere than the board, and more often than not Felix had pretended to stop helping you out in class any further, until you’d gotten over your crush; only in light hearted manner, though, because he couldn’t truly deny you of his help, would have felt far too bad to. Though, Felix had always admired your self-reflection in the matter of Mr. Bahng – there hadn’t been one incident in which you’d been unaware of the hopelessness and the unattainability your one-sided love presented – much to his dismay, because during free windows you would complain about it to no end –; and altogether, you had never spoken of love, in the first place. It had been butterflies, distraction from lessons, stupidity and immaturity – and you had always been aware of it; had always been aware of the impossibility.

.☆.

“Oh! And…Y/N, right? It’s nice to see some familiar faces!”

While you had been deep in thought, eyes wide and mouth agape – looking but a deer caught in the headlights, and upon the realisation of your expression you grew bashful – Mr. Bahng had named few students he remembered teaching back in school, happy some chose to follow the musical path before he started with the class, not lingering on you for a second longer after you nodded and smiled in approval; it almost frustrated you, his lack of attention to you – though anything else would have been strange, admittedly.

He had changed almost tangibly, though not by a lot, and into a direction far more pleasant than you'd had dared to expect. There was a change to his behaviour; when you had first seen him teach, he had been nervous, clammy; despite never in loss of control over the class he had clearly not borne much faith for his skills as a teacher yet. Now, standing before you in all his glory, black hair carefully slicked back in purposefully messy waves, constant lazy smile painting his features, he was more confident, far more secure in himself. It made sense; he’d been a fresh teacher five years ago, when he had walked into your classroom in uncertainty, so the gained experience surely did his practice advantage. He spoke with ease – about what, you weren’t quite sure –, each of his word dancing past his lips in serious and clear, yet laid-back manner, his writing on the board as messy as you remembered it, and more cursive now, his eyes finding home on every student sitting in class for a few moments before he moved on; he wasn’t pushing, yet he lured you into trusting him, into listening to his lesson – if you hadn’t been far more interested in his alternative qualities.

Mr. Bahng had always been a good teacher – though it had barely been the quality you liked about him most. You weren’t realising the pain your teeth caused your lips while you were looking at him, melting at the sight you had entirely forgotten over the past years. It was embarrassing, the way your eyes scanned the outline of his shoulders straining against his white shirt when he stretched to write on the board, how they followed the lines of his arm, the tensing of the muscles there when he applied pressure to the charcoal. You watched his hands – veinier than you remembered – as he erased older writings with a wet sponge; the water dripping down his skin felt far more erotic than it should, and, as though teasing on purpose, he got rid of the fantasy far too quick with a simple tap of a towel, leaving his hands dry, and you hot and bothered.

It was embarrassing, the way you couldn’t get your eyes off the curve of his back, and how the tucked-in button-down hugged around his torso, the slimness of his waist in contrast to his shoulders. He presented himself so very matter-of-factly before a class not his own, and it didn’t leave you cold – the subtle dominance, the care he radiated got you squirming in your seat, fiddling with your pen. The two hours you usually spent listening and taking notes were spent in utter awe at the man, in fantasising – you suddenly wished to be kissing down his chiselled jaw which tensed with every of his word, dreamt of licking down the vein on his neck which appeared whenever he turned his head to his right. His hands danced upon your body in your imagination, pressing you against his table, hovering over you and engulfing you whole, sending shivers down your spine with every kiss he granted upon your neck, with every bite he teased against your skin –

You coughed, without much purpose but it tore you out of your thoughts, and you straightened your back to sit up-right in your chair. You grew bashful at yourself, your imagination and the wet patch between your legs; you wouldn’t have expected the man to have the same effect on you as five years ago, and if you truly thought about it, it was quite embarrassing. You hadn’t even thought about your high school music teacher the moment you had graduated, had forgotten him entirely; now you were sitting in his class again years later, as though freshly eighteen anew, a dumb student yearning after a far older man; only now, you noticed as you watched him talk, the circumstances were far different – far more to your advantage. Technically, Mr. Bahng wasn’t your teacher anymore; he was teaching you, though you doubted it to count. He’d be gone again in a few weeks, when Professor Hwang felt better – so, you convinced yourself, he wasn’t your teacher, not technically. The age difference had stayed the same, quite obviously; though now it didn’t seem to quite bother you, not anymore – you’ve been with guys his age, and not rarely. Now you were older, and your crush of far better solidity, realer, almost; you could have him, could manage to wrap him around your fingers. The chances were far better. You weren’t, in fact, freshly eighteen anymore, nor were you a dumb student; and you bagged experience. It wasn’t of advantage to you that he remembered you from school – there was a risk you had stayed a student in his memory, young and immature and far too involved into a music teacher, though you didn’t think that would stand in your way; Mr. Bahng would be easy prey, surely. He wasn’t an impossibility anymore, he was there and real, easy to seduce.

“Let’s see… Y/N, you know the answer? You look sort of distracted.”

You hadn’t much realised the shameful path of your thoughts until the very man you had been sinfully thinking about had started speaking to you himself; you had, in fact, been distracted, and, much to your embarrassment, did neither know the answer nor were you aware of the question he had asked, altogether. You blushed, apologised bashfully – he simply continued with an understanding hum and a quick, kind gaze your direction, before picking another student to answer his question; you needed him, as soon as you could have him.

You’d be ashamed of your fantasising and longing, if it had been under different circumstances; though expectantly, you weren’t at all surprised about the tension flooding in the pit of your stomach at the sight of Mr. Bahng, or the way your thighs rubbed together when his eyes scanned yours for mere seconds; it had been ages since you’ve last been intimate with anyone, and your body was urging for closure, for contact and touch – it wasn’t an absurdity that the man who had caused many sleepless nights prior was now the culprit of a similar outcome.

You picked up where you had last stopped your train of thought; you could seduce him. Surely, if you craved intimacy and closure there were far easier men to aim for – but where would be the fun in that, truly? You had always liked a challenge; you had always liked him. And though your skills hadn’t been of much use lately, you believed yourself to have the charm – there wasn’t anything speaking against your plan, if you thought about it. If you disregarded the morality of the situation, that was.

The two hours of boredom flew past you today. Your notebook was entirely empty; you already dreaded having to find someone ready to lend you their notes of the lesson, though you cared only little while you watched student by student disappearing into their next lessons after Mr. Bahng had dismissed the class, each student opening the opportunity of talking to your teacher further and further. You took your time with your own belongings, dragging out the process of packing away your paper and pen, searching around in your bag for your headphones though it wasn’t at all necessary as they lay right atop your other stuff, only standing up when the last student left the hot classroom; and you found yourself alone with Mr. Bahng. He smiled up at you kind and unknowing as you made your way up to his desk, eyes not much lingering on you as he continued collecting his own materials and leaving the desk ready for the next professor; only when your smiling figure hovered over his own across the desk he looked up at you from beneath his lashes, his seating position painting the illusion of curious puppy eyes – he was far more attractive in the close up, and excitement, a sense of anticipation filled the entirety of your chest.

“Y/N, hello! Do you… need help with anything?”

You stood and stared; you hadn’t even thought of things to talk about with him, hadn’t prepared a pretentious question that could work as a possible opener – suddenly you grew embarrassed, bashful. You felt stupid under his gaze; what the hell were you doing?

“Oh, no… I just wanted to say hi! I haven’t seen you in ages… are you doing alright? Are you still teaching in *insert name of school*?”

Not bad, you thought, though you cringed at yourself; you wondered where all the previous confidence went the moment you stood before the man. The effect he had on you was far too embarrassing. You were far too old to feel like a teenager in love.

The teacher cocked his head at you, brows raised; he hadn’t expected the question, hadn’t anticipated small talk, seemingly. Yet he huffed out in amusement after blinking at you for a few seconds, and your heartbeat against the bones in your chest was deafening. You hoped he couldn’t hear it.

“Uh, yeah, it has been a while… I didn’t expect to see you here, to be honest.”, he snickered, stood and continued packing his stuff. “You were… never really good in my class. I never knew you had an interest in music.” Seemingly harsh words though it was a light-hearted comment as he ended it in a laugh, and you joined his amusement. You were sure you were blushing, though you decided to ignore it.

“Yeah… I never had an interest in school, you know. I always liked music, though. I just prefer listening to and making it, instead of… just learning about it.” Your voice sounded smoother now; he was easy to talk to, kind, funny. He gave you a quick look before continuing collecting his variation of pens and a last notebook, a smirk dancing around his lips – god, you needed him.

Mr. Bahng hummed approvingly at your words, locking eyes with you after snapping in the locks of his briefcase. A smile and a cocked head, and you bashed your lashes at him; just like Felix had mocked five years ago. What were you doing, truly?

“Making it? You’re a songwriter?”

The genuine interest in his voice made you light-headed, stole every thought from you. His dark eyes pierced through your own, unmoving and sure, and you almost trembled under his gaze; if you wanted to get anywhere with him, you needed to channel the charm you thought you acquired, and grow resistance against the giddiness he caused in the pit of your stomach. Your current attempts were all but miserable.

“Uhh, not really. Not yet, that is. I’m... my friends and I are in a band, though. We’re practising here on campus.”

You tried to sound as laid-back as possible, watched his reaction carefully; you enjoyed being able to look at him to your desires, eyes travelling his features up and down, growing weaker any time you passed his plush lips he couldn’t seem to stop wetting with his tongue, or his jaw which tensed with every word he spoke. He was as irresistible as you remembered him to be, and you needed to learn to have the same effect on him. You had a time limit after all; Professor Hwang wouldn’t be sick forever.

His brows raised the moment he heard the word ‘band’ – his mouth formed a silent ‘ah’, and your body heated up at the anticipation of his next words; he was interested in you now, and you deemed that to be of advantage to you.

“In a band, huh?”, he huffed in reminiscent amusement, eyes growing softer, “I love that. I’m jealous, actually. My friends and I had always been so busy in college, but making music together has kinda always been… a dream, you could say. If I can be so honest.”, his cheeks blushed at the sudden confession, the tips of his ears reddening; he looked even more insatiable when flustered.

The man swung his briefcase over his shoulder; the conversation was obviously coming to an end, yet you felt as though you couldn’t let it. You didn’t expect to fuck him right then and there, today, to succeed with your plan in the short span of ten minutes – yet you needed more of a lead than you currently had.

“Well, you’re never too old to start. Except, you know, you’re busy with… a wife and kids, or whatever.”, you laughed at your own joke, eyeing him curiously; and the man didn’t join your amusement. His smile drooped, the creases between his brows deepened; and only now you noticed the shimmering gold band around his left ring finger. Undeniably, he did have a wife, and kids possibly; his reaction and the ring spoke for themselves. Yet, undeniably also, and much to your contentment – he didn’t seem to be on good foot with the subject. As the pair of you continued making your way to the door of the classroom you apologised upon having noticed his silence and sudden clamminess, yet, internally, didn’t regret your joke in the slightest; any form of closure and trust you could tickle out of him would work best for you in the long run. You flinched at your own sadism and the utter lack of remorse you felt at your planning. Though, there wasn’t any reason yet to feel guilty; as of now, and as far as everyone could be concerned, you were a student talking to a substitute teacher you’d known from high school. Whatever developed would be as much in your hands as it would be in his own; after all, no matter what your ultimate plan would be, Mr. Bahng would need to be the one accepting or dismissing your approaches. So really, no matter how you viewed the situation, you couldn’t be the villain in the picture. Not really.

“No, no, don’t worry. We’re just… my wife and I had been hitting rough patches lately, for some time. Nothing crazy, just- typical marriage stuff. Not that it is of any interest to you.” Flustered again, his face changing into a light tone of pink, and he hid behind the classroom door he held open for you. 'Rough patches. Some time now.' – his words shouldn’t fill you with the excitement they did, and for only a second you wondered if your plan – dumb, now that you truly thought about it – was futile, immature altogether. You’d be a homewrecker, you’d be moving in morally grey area, you’d get yourself into a messy situation which would distract you from music and the band if you let it get to you; though then you watched the teacher exit the classroom behind you, a hand in his pocket to fish out his keys, warm and curious eyes on you as he locked the door – any doubt ceased to exist that very moment and having the man fall for you over the next couple weeks materialised as a plan in your path of thoughts again after you bid goodbye, the pit of your stomach ripe with giddiness as you hurried to the studio; Han would die hearing the news.

☆.☆.☆

When you opened the door to the studio the soft vibrato of an electric guitar filled your senses; right before Lino’s classes start, he hands the key over to Han, to let him use the studio in his free windows while waiting for the rest of you. You knew the stuffy room was Han’s favourite place to be creative in, to use for writing songs and practice whenever the five of you couldn’t get together. You would always be the first to meet him right after your music classes, the others arriving about half an hour later – though today you took longer, so you didn’t have much time to gush about your news.

“Hi! You’re late today. Did Hwang keep you?”

As soon as Han had heard the door open his eyes had searched for your figure, and the sounds of his guitar died into nothingness. He took his instrument off – the worn-out fabric having left a visible red mark on the soft skin of his neck – and plopped down on the sofa positioned in a corner of the room, right beside the set-up of instruments. He chewed on a piece of gum, lounging onto the old brown leather after placing his guitar on its’ standee; he hadn’t yet noticed the buzz you radiated as you closed the door behind you and made home in the dusty studio, throwing your rucksack against the sofa carelessly. Without awaiting an answer from you, Han started talking mindlessly, scrolling through his phone in the process.

“I actually thought we could practise this new song I finished earlier. I could play it for you when everyone’s here and go over it all. It’s not the one I was telling you about befo-“

“Wait, wait, wait, I need to tell you something. Urgent. Don’t need the others to know.”

Your voice cut off his, and Han’s eyes lost the screen of his phone now. He converted them to you, perplexed; finally, he noticed the blush around your cheeks and neck, the mischievous sparkle in your eyes, the smirk on your lips – you had been up to no good. You stood against the backrest of the sofa, watched him sit up a bit to look at you properly. His eyes were curious, his phone gone in his jeans’ pocket again, his brows slightly furrowed; the look in your eyes was almost scary, your hovering body over his own near bone-chilling.

“Do you remember Mr. Bahng.”, your voice was almost trembling, and he thought to see stars in your eyes at the sound of the name, whereas his heart stumbled in its rhythmical beating at it and calmed only seconds later. The tempo had increased though, and he felt the heavy muscle pump against the bones of his rib cage in silent fear of your next words. He looked at you wordlessly, speechless.

“My high school music teacher.” Your face emitted the same excitement and giddiness as it did when you talked of your many celebrity crushes, in anticipation of something Han wasn’t even sure of, nor wanted to know. You must have taken Han’s silence for memory loss, though he surely didn’t need the explanation.

Mr. Bahng; the name couldn’t not ring a bell. Though the both of you had never gone to the same school, there hadn’t been a single Wednesday in which Han hadn’t been victim to your gushing and thirsting over a man almost double your age, and the whining about the unfairness of the situation – if you’d been born just a little later, or Mr. Bahng just a little earlier you would have had a chance to get into his pants, yet you’d been left to only yearn for him from behind your desk, every week anew, a hopeless teen in a bad romance movie. Han did remember your high school music teacher; though he couldn’t make sense of the importance of him now. And he was scared to find out about it.

After his further silence you continued, Han’s face unchanged.

“Hwang is ill, and Mr. Bahng is gonna be my substitute teacher for a couple weeks. He’s so hot actually... I forgot how hot he was.”, excitement in your voice, and suddenly words gushed out of you in a waterfall, “He like- I didn’t expect him to walk in at all and then he suddenly stood there at the desk and he remembered me and he got so much hotter and like- I sat there and I felt like I was in school again but I realised I’m not in school anymore and am way older now so the age difference isn’t that weird anymore, you know?” Han almost hadn’t caught the question, realised too late that you expected him to say something, anything. Wrongly so, because he was still processing your words. You were excited, far too much for his taste, though he wasn’t sure why he despised the anticipation in your voice when you talked about your teacher. And, besides; ‘age difference’? ‘Not weird anymore’? He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to, because he couldn’t find any correlation in your words. When Han didn’t make a sound after a whole twenty seconds, when he kept looking at you with big, questioning eyes and a mouth agape you sucked in your breath, stepped closer to the backrest of the sofa. “Do you know what that means!?”

That sparkle in your eyes again, and Han did, in fact, not know what any of your words meant – still his heart sank, his gut felt as though having taken a punch. He wasn’t expecting anything he’d be excited to hear.

“I can fuck him now.”

The boy choked on his piece of gum, coughing in reaction to your words – his eyes watered, his palm beat against his chest in order to get rid of the sting in his throat, to fill his lungs with proper oxygen again. He hadn’t expected your words; and yet internally, he must have. His body had reacted before you had declared your news; when you had first mentioned your teacher. The name itself sent a set of shivers down Han’s entire body. The absurd confession of wanting – and planning, apparently – to fuck said teacher was even worse. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain found home in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the veins pumping right beneath his skin. His hands felt clammy, far too sweaty. What was that reaction? It’s not like he was jealous, he couldn’t be; your words couldn’t make sense to him, though, sounded utterly wrong. Fucking? Your teacher? It wasn’t like you.

“That’s insane. He’s your teacher.”, Han retorted after far too many moments of silence in which you had nothing but stared at him, expectantly. Han reciprocated your gaze with an emotion in his eyes that caused you to furrow your brows; it wasn’t agony, per se, but it was more than worry. It confused you.

“Well, he’s not really. He’s only here for a couple weeks, it doesn’t count.” You made your way over to take a seat next to Han, shoving his legs to the side to make room. He let you, feet flapping off it without resistance, the heaviness of his boots against the wooden floor echoing through the room; the strange expression in his eyes deepened, and it was too intense for you to keep looking.

“That’s still… he’s still a teacher. Like, he’s in a power position, you can’t- you can’t just fuck him. That’s insane.”, Han’s voice was far too agitated for your liking. “And besides, I doubt he’d fuck you. You’re just, like- a student. What’s in there for him except the loss of his job.” He didn’t look you in the eyes while talking – a rip in the old leather sofa was far more interesting to him suddenly, and his teeth nibbled on the silver metal of his piercing. The fingers in his lap fiddled; he was too nervous, too upset and it angered you.

Your head snapped at him; you wouldn’t have expected him to be so against the idea. Maybe you had been dumb, after all. Could Mr. Bahng lose his job? Have you been delusional, too enamoured by his looks you had forgotten over the past five years and influenced by the lack, the drought of any recent intimacy? But then again; Han’s reaction enraged you. It felt like jealousy, far less like the worry you would have understood. And you couldn’t make sense why it did.

“First of all, don’t act all high and mighty when I know you’d happily sleep with like half your current professors if you’d be given the chance – the only thing you ever tell me about class is how good Mrs. Yoo's ass looks in the skirts she’s wearing.”, your voice sounded loud through the room; not truly angry, but defending, maybe. You were too stubborn to admit the stupid plan was all but immature; and you despised that Han wasn’t as excited as you had been. His behaviour ticked you off; it didn’t occur often that the both of you weren’t on the same page about something.

“And besides, maybe Mr. Bahng is horny for me, too. His marriage is shit, as much as I know, so he might- “

“Marriage?! Y/N, don’t tell me you’re serious?” Han’s voice vibrating through the studio made you flinch in your seat, and you looked at him, eyes wide and brows scrunched into one thin line. You knew where he was coming from; but he acted differently altogether. You knew he wouldn’t be in one boat with you about the marriage bit, but you hadn’t imagined him to react this way, throughout the entire conversation; he was jealous, and you had never seen him this way. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, and the irritation over it caused your head to ache.

“Well, I am serious. Just because you can’t get laid doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with someone I’ve had a crush on since forever, now that the opportunity is there. Besides, I haven’t even fucked him yet, so get your head out of your ass.”

Your words were harsh, and you regretted them the moment they had materialised in the stuffy room. The studio tensed, your bodies did; and you stayed silent. You didn’t apologise; your stubbornness wouldn’t let you. Additionally, you didn’t even believe to be in the wrong, not entirely. Sure, you were moving in morally grey areas, and you had hit a sensitive spot within your friend; but you hadn’t lied, and he knew it as much as you did. Yet he only kept looking at you, for two seconds, for six, for ten; with every second you grew more and more bashful under his gaze, with every passing second the words you’d said sunk into his brain, embedded there. Until he truly grasped them a whole of twenty seconds later; the fact you were ready to screw your teacher, the fact you’d thought Han would have been excited about the news, the fact you wouldn’t apologise now or rethink your plan in the several moments he was granting you stabbed a wound into his fastening heart. A wound the motive of which he wasn’t all too sure about, yet it felt deeper than he’d anticipated it to. You stayed silent and he stayed looking at you; until he couldn’t bear holding your gaze anymore.

“I need to go out for a smoke.”

The guitarist got up, almost tripped over the dirty carpet under the sofa as he made his way out of the studio. You were fuming, felt guilty, felt bad; you were 22 years old; how could you still fight with Han as though you were both mere teenagers? How could you continue being so very stubborn, believe with so much conviction to still be in the right?

Han didn’t get the chance to open the door to the studio; before his hand could reach for the door handle Lino walked in with the rest of your bandmates, all chatting and quarrelling about something unknown – and, in your current state, uninteresting – to you, before they all fell silent at the sight of the both of you; Han’s head hung low, the usual excitement when everyone arrived absent, you sitting in the corner on the sofa with crossed arms and a look in your face which nothing but scared the rest. Changbin looked from Han to you and back to Han again while Lino and Jeongin made their way inside – slowly and quietly – to set up their instruments; not without questioning looks in their faces. The tension in the room was tangible, and the silence between the two of you was unusual, so you didn’t blame them for their sudden bashfulness.

“Yo, did you two fight? You look beaten up man.”, Changbin expressed with a palm to Han’s shoulder. You ignored his question, got up from the sofa to set up your guitar. You would get it over with practice, and see Han again tomorrow; everything would be settled by then, as always. You would talk again as though nothing happened, if you only survived today.

“It’s nothing, just need to get out for a smoke.” Han’s voice not convincing and to make matters worse, he shoved Changbin’s hand off, and the elder looked at the others with confusion-written eyes when Han left the studio without another word. All three of them looked at you then, wordlessly; though you continued setting up your instrument, throwing the leather band over your neck, plugging the cable into the AMP before turning it on, and soft vibratos halled through the room as you started tuning your guitar. None of them said a word, neither did you; you didn’t as much as look at them. Maybe you weren’t all that grown-up, far more immature than you believed yourself to be. Maybe the idea with Mr. Bahng was stupid, and Han had been right entirely; and the fight for nothing, inherently. It wouldn’t be the first time your ego was too big for your wrongdoings to be visible to yourself – though, in the heat of the moment and in your anger, you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, so you continued sulking, until Jeongin declared to go out for a smoke as well, and the others agreed to join him; leaving you in the studio by yourself, alone with your thoughts – you were thankful for it, if they’ve left on purpose or not.

Han was in the wrong, you thought. Not that you were entirely in the right, either; but he had overreacted, surely. Mr. Bahng wasn’t really your teacher – he wouldn’t lose his job if he fucked you, not if no one caught you until he was gone again. And that was only a matter of weeks; you weren’t sure how long it would take to persuade him – if it would work at all –, so, for all you cared he could be gone before you caught the chance of getting into his pants. You remembered your previous train of thought, and Han’s words; if there was nothing in there for Mr. Bahng, the situation would dissolve, anyways. Eventually, it was up to him if he’d accept your seducing or not – you would simply open the opportunity, everything else wasn’t in your hands anymore. The marriage was the only thing you felt worse about after having talked to Han. You felt guiltier now, were aware that you shouldn’t pursue a married man; and yet, again, you remembered your thoughts you had brewed on when you’d sat in the classroom. If Mr. Bahng’s relationship was so great and worth working on, he would shut out your attempts. He would pretend not to notice your flirting – however you would you didn’t know yet – or he would shut you off clearly, verbally. You would only offer yourself; the rest would be up to him.

It was your stubbornness, surely, and maybe you should simply sleep over your thoughts for a night, but no matter from which perspective you looked at the situation, you couldn’t truly feel guilty. Or maybe you didn’t want to – whatever the reason was, though, giddiness filled your insides again at the thought of next weeks’ class and the possible start of your attempts; until then Han and you would laugh about your fight, and he’d be as excited as you were.

Outside, Han was puffing blue smoke into the scorching air. Changbin and Jeongin talked of something he didn’t pay attention to, Lino eyed him occasionally, which he didn’t notice; neither of them talked to him after he had shut off the question if he was fine with a voice that led them to understand he wasn’t really, but wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, either. He was thankful they didn’t push him, that they acted indifferent.

It’s not like he was jealous – he was simply being a good friend to you. Who knew what kind of trouble you would find yourself in if you fucked your teacher; surely, he was only being caring, prioritizing your well-being. The stinging pain in his heart when he remembered your excitement he chose to ignore, and the insides of his stomach flipping and squeezing together in agony at your carelessness about his reaction, about the entire situation he couldn’t quite interpret, so he chose to ignore that, too. Because if he thought about it too much, confusion and perplexity formed his entire being; confusion about his own reaction, perplexity about the fact he had expected to be excited with you but couldn’t be, physically. As though something was holding him back from feeling happiness about your own, when it involved another. He was angry, he was irritated with himself; atop all, he hated fighting with you, deeply. You were the one person he shouldn’t fight with, ever, the one anchor in his life. If things were bumpy with you, everything else felt out of balance.

“C’mon, let’s practice.”

Han hadn’t noticed how the others had grinded their cigarettes with the soles of their shoes, and with a pat to his shoulder Changbin entered the studio first, followed by Jeongin, then by Lino; who didn’t go in without a last concerned look at his younger friend who was eyeing the asphalt beneath his feet. Han almost didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to face you – he feared his bodily reactions if he happened to see you, he feared to feel the sting in his heart again, the one he found so hard to understand, to name. He threw his cigarette on the ground, tapped out the burning, orange blaze with the pad of his boot. He would get over with practice; tomorrow you and him would be back to the old same again.

taglist: @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang @astraystayyh @chrizzztopherbang @qtieskz @rylea08 @miss-fallon @sikebishes @h0n3yj4y @lashaemorow

#skz smut #bang chan smut #han jisung smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines

104 notes · View notes

galesdevoteewife · 6 months ago

Note

Wedding Ask! I'd love to read the answer to all of them, but let's start with 4, 6 and 29.😊

♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 Thanks for the ask!!! <3333 Let's goooo!!!

4. Pre-Ceremony Events - Not quite, they didn't have much time for that. The couple hardly saw each other in the month or two leading up to the ceremony. Gale-IwantEverythingtoBePerfect-Dekarios was fully occupied with ceremony planning and preparations. Tara and Morena assisted in sending out family invitations. And Zilvera, on the other hand, was everywhere, from Astral plane to hells, on the mission of gathering their scattered friends. Of course they barely made it on time, covering with guts blood slime dirt and all sorts but that's a story for another day <3

6. Venue - Hehe it's outdoor in the Ardeep forest!

Everyone who wanted to bless the newlyweds was welcome to the wedding party. Gale designed a series of small trials for their guests, ensuring that only those with good intentions could attend. (A conclusion after back-and-forth with Morena. Some of the family relatives were unpleasant companies and Gale didn't want them.) First, his programmed illusion in the tower's grand hall explained the rules and handed out the invitation letter. Guests who solved the puzzles would be transported to a forest shrouded in magical mist for the second step: trials of kindness.

Something like the Lost Woods from Zelda

Those with good intentions would arrive at the venue: enchanted instruments played lively dance tunes in the air. Tables adorned with flowers, laden with a plentiful of varied gourmet selection and beverages. Warm strings of lights illuminated the space, and the guests were greeted by the elegantly dressed Tara and Morena, who took them to their seats. Everyone chatted, dined, and danced, awaiting the ceremony to begin.

On the other hand, those with ill intentions or who failed the trials would find themselves trapped in the misty loop until the next morning. As the first sunlight pierced through, they would find themselves standing on the outskirts of the forest. (With some compensation cookies and milk for breakfast.) [1] more about the forest if anyone's interested: Dragon #270

29. Private Moments - When the party quieted down, most people, including Gale, were drunk, happy, and satisfied. The wizard fell asleep among his family and friends, while Zilvera sneaked off for a walk alone to process the emotions. The love and blessings showered upon her that night overwhelmed her, more than anything she ever experienced. No battle or close call can ever compare how the night makes her heart beat. She found herself crying for reasons even unknown to her. Then she returned, quietly nestling in her lover's arms.

#bg3weddingseason #thanks for the ask <3333 #Please ask me!!#nuhhh fun <333 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale romance #gale x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 gale

12 notes · View notes

bratshaws · 2 years ago

Text

through the hourglass 122. brb x oc

a/n: I love writing the dagger squad as a menace, i really do. reblogs and comments are super encouraged <3333

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none.

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77/78/79/80/81/82/83/84/85/86/87/88

/89/90/91/92/93/94/95/96/97/98/99/100/101/102/103/104/105

/106/107/108/109/110/111/112/113/114/115/116/117/118/119/120/121

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @dhwanishah09 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva

He could hide the fact that Beatrice was pregnant, again, from his friends. They were busy with work, busy with their own lives and more specifically they were busy with Jake and Evelyn. It sounded a bit mean but he was glad that their attention was somewhere else other than him and Beatrice.

He told her he could do it and he was doing it. Even though he was really happy and almost whistling a tune as he went to work, he couldn’t share the news with anyone yet.

Beatrice was right, the first trimester was the most fragile one and they still needed to know how far along she was considering that her period wasn’t always on time and when it comes to stress it was obvious that it made her period stop. And he had to think that now there wasn’t just him Bea and Nikki…now there was another little baby.

“Sir!”

Bradley stops walking to look back at Faraday, the young officer saluting him. Usually Rooster would hate whenever the recruit did that, but he was having a good morning, so he saluted back,”At ease,Faraday.” the young man’s eyes widened but he nodded with a grin, “What do you need?”

‘Nothing much,sir.But me and the boys are wondering how the miss and little miss are.”

“They are very good,thank you for asking.”

“And if we could give the baby another gift.”

His brain short circuited for a second, it must’ve shown in his face because Faraday whispered a ‘sir?’ that made him snap back into consciousness. He was talking about Nicole of course, “Ah, there’s no need.” he says as soon as he recognizes where he was, “She has enough toys and Christmas is next week,so.”

“Ah…”

They stay quiet for a second, making Rooster sigh, “You guys already bought it,didn’t you?”

“Yes,sir!”

“Okay, listen,” Rooster places a hand on the recruit’s shoulder, “We appreciate what you guys do for Nikki, it’s really sweet…but you can’t keep giving us things, especially since there are other people with kids-”

“We gave Hangman a gift too!”

“...that’s…nice,but still…people will question why you guys keep giving us stuff, it’s really nice and we really like it, but I’m your superior and that can appear as if you are ass kissing.” he arches his brows at the send of his sentence, “You get that,right?”

Faraday blinks at him, then looks to the side in thought, ‘...well,sir, you and the Daggers are the nicest officers here.” he explains, “As in the veterans.”

Ouch.

Faraday didn’t seem to get that his comment made the other pilot wince visibly, being called old wasn’t fun for anyone, but especially not Rooster. “Thank you,Faraday. That’s…really nice.”

The other officer smiles, saluting him one more time, “Don’t mention it,sir! We mean it!”

“Yes,I’m sure you do.” Bradley clears his throat before looking at his watch, “I have to go now, Faraday.” his reply of ‘okay sir!’ almost sounded too loud but he couldn’t blame a young recruit for being so enthusiastic. He wasn’t that enthusiastic, was he?

No he was probably too brooding in the first year, only loosening up as time went by.

Bradley turns on his heel to march to his office, pulling out his phone to check if Beatrice sent him anything, but alas there was nothing in there. He keeps his eyes on the screen, smiling at their wedding picture and then unlocking just to see Nicole’s cute chubby face staring back at him.

He inhales quietly, then licks his lips, “Okay, so far so good.” he tells himself, “Just have to keep this up until I can leave. I can do this.” he looks around for a second, “It’s for safety,anyway.” Bradley wanted nothing more than to shout to the world that he was going to have a second child but he couldn’t, not yet.

As he enters his office he stops, one of his hands still in the door handle as he recalls a forgotten memory. He remembers, when he was much much younger, that his mother commented about how she and his father wished to give him a little sibling…they never did for obvious reasons and he knew how much that conversation hurt her.

But she shared it with him anyway.

He stood there, on the kitchen table, his pencil tight on his grasp as his mother sat next to him with a mug of tea, smiling sadly, looking out the window. Homework was no longer in his brain, all he could think about was how she spoke those words.

“I hope you have a good life,Brad.” she tells him softly, “When you grow older. Just do your best to remain safe…and if you give me grandchildren,I’ll be more than happy too.”

She wasn’t sick then, she was still the picture of healthy but her words sounded so…final. Like she knew she wouldn’t be able to see him meet Bea, get married and have his kids. It was a painful thing to think about, conflicting with his own thoughts that exuded nothing but appreciation and happiness. Bradley’s eyebrows furrow, he remembers how she was so quiet too in the final years.

Between hospital visits and school then college, Bradley never thought he’d achieve her gentle request. And when he got to the Navy, well, let’s say that was the last thing in his mind.

As he let his shoulders relax, he closes his eyes as well, “Hope you are lookin’ ma.” he murmurs, “I know you’d love to meet them…you and dad…well, you will meet them in a way when we go to Virginia.” he talked to Bea about it and she was very supportive of visiting the cemetery, she thought it’d be more than important for Nikki to know more about her grandparents as well.

Bradley sits on his chair with his hands folded in front of his lips, thumb rubbing over the wedding band repeatedly, following the way his finger rubbed against the gold surface, seeing smudges of his fingerprint on top before looking back to his desk, “Yeah, we’ll be okay.” he answered himself, his own doubts somehow making it’s way over.

He knew what he had to do, he knew how he had to act to always come back home and he honestly thought that Beatrice’s little scent pouch was her own way of a lucky charm. Ever since she gave it to him he had to admit he was able to sleep better and felt so much more…relaxed whenever he had to go.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door, he lifts his head, “Come in.” he says, then stands up when he notices it’s Cyclone, “Cyclone,sir,” a quick salute that the vice-admiral reciprocates, “Good morning,sir.”

“Bradshaw.” Cyclone’s stature and serious façade was enough to make anyone quiver in their boots, “I’m glad to see you are keeping yourself busy.” he drops his eyes to the pile of papers on the young officer’s desk, thankfully most of them were reports he already finished, “I hope,however,I’m not interrupting.”

“Uh, no sir. Not at all…can I help with something?”

Cyclone inhaled, squaring his shoulders with his hands behind his back as he walked to the desk, picking up a little toy from his desk. It was a tiny silicon unicorn with glitter and iridescent wings. His superior looked up at him with his brow up, “From your little one,I presume.”

“Yes,sir.” he nods, “I brought it with me.”

“I see…well, and how is she?”

“She’s….fine.” he couldn’t help but be confused by his superior’s questions, “She’s growing more and more every day.”

Cyclone nodded, pursing his lips and looking around a bit, “Of course, as babies do.” he says, “I have a request, Bradshaw,I know your wife is friends with my daughter.”

“Yes?”

His superior seemed almost uncomfortable, “I want to know…if she said anything about what she’d like for my future grandchild.” he says, “She hasn’t told me much.”

Oh.

That’s a bit sad.

Bradley tries to not show his grimace, scratching his neck, “Well,sir,I uh…there’s nothing that I heard about from Bea…I thought you could ask her? Can’t you?”

“My daughter has been….very protective about the little one, so she’s not sharing much unless it’s with her mother and my wife is also refusing to tell me things.” he explains, propping his hands on his hips, “I don’t even know the gender.”

“Well sir,I apologize…I…we heard nothing.” Bradley offers his boss a confused shrug, did he really come to his office to have that type of chat? Odd, he thought he’d at least call him to his own office and have this conversation…unless it was bothering him so much he couldn’t really wait that long.

“...I see.” Cyclone inhales and clears his throat, turning on his heel to leave the office, but he stills and slowly turns his torso towards Bradley, “This conversation never happened. Have a good day,Bradshaw.”

“Y-You too,sir.” he waits until Cyclone is out of his office to let out a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding and falls back down on his chair, “Shit…that was…something…I better message Bea when I’m able to.”

At least no one suspected anything so that was really good.

All he had to do was get through lunchtime.

Bradley sometimes wondered if his friends just could sniff the secret out of him because Nat was hounding up like a huntsman dog, like she knew something was off. But he promised himself he wouldn’t say anything, even if they suspected he would keep his mouth shut, for safety especially.

Phoenix stood next to him, chewing her own sandwich with her eyes narrowed. Rooster tried to focus on his own food but the way she was looking at him was nearing annoyance. He sighs and drops his fork with a frown, “What?”

“What,what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nat takes a bite of her sandwich,blinking innocently, “Looking like what?”

“Like you are trying to get something out of me.”

Natasha slows her chewing then shrugs at him, “I dunno, you appear different today.” she says, “A pep in your step if I could say so myself.” Rooster didn’t like how that sounded and he immediately worried that he gave something away, “What did Cyclone want with you?”

“How do you-”

“Word gets around, people saw him in your office.”

Bradley purses his lips “Just wanted some of my reports.” he lies because he remembers what his superior asked him, “That’s all.”

“Hmmmm…okay;” a pause, “Anyway,how’s the baby?”

Bradley stops, much like when Faraday mentioned something about it, trying to wrack his brain that the baby was only Nicole for right now. He tries to now give out too much of his reaction by drinking his soda, “She’s fine.” he says, “She’s really fine.”

“And Bea? Not getting too tired,I hope?”

No because it was early in the pr- oh, “Oh uh, no, no she’s not.” he sips even more of his soda feeling his throat as dry as sandpaper. Nat just looks at him, narrowing her eyes with her tongue rolling inside her mouth as she cleans her teeth. She folds her arms over the table, leaning closer to her taller friend with a suspicious look on her face. “...what?”

“You look different,Bradshaw.” she comments, pointing a finger at him, “You look different,can’t pinpoint what.”

“I’m normal.” he says, “There’s nothing different.”

Nat stares at him for a few more seconds, then shrugs, “Eh,okay…anyway, did you hear?’

“Elaborate.”

“About the thing they want us to do after the Holidays?” he chews his pizza with a frown, clearly he hadn’t heard anything, “They want to do some tests…with the recruits and the veterans…because of the drones and everything.”

Bradley frowned, “Almost dying three years ago wasn’t enough,huh?”

“Guess not.”

“I heard nothing about it. What do you know?”

“Just that they are building a team.” she says quietly, looking around to check if anyone was close by, “But Mav is involved.” the mention of his uncle made him look over at Nat, “I think he was the loudest voice against it and now they want him to…you know, prove it again.’

“Mav doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone.” he adds quickly, feeling a sudden protectiveness towards his uncle because no matter what, it was like people couldn’t leave him alone. Maybe he just wanted Mav to one day be able to retire without anyone pointing a finger at him and saying he’s good but there was just something missing. “You know that, we all do.”

“We do.” Nat adds, “But you know how the high brass is when it comes to Mav. And now that,well, he’s back on duty, people just want his head on a plate.”

Rooster huffed, crossing his arms with a frown, “Do you think we’ll be called?”

‘Not sure,Rooster.” she whispers, “There’s a chance.”

The thought about doing such a dangerous mission while Beatrice is pregnant again was always in his mind but he didn’t think it’d be so soon. He holds his chin on his hand, huffing quietly because that was a worry that always remained in his brain, there wasn’t much that he could do because well, it was his career, if he was called he’d have to go, “Any idea where this would be?”

“Nope, they won’t tell you until it’s time, you know that.”

“Yeah…I do know that.”

Nat frowns, crossing her arms, “You look way more worried than normal, I mean I know there’s Nikki and Bea, but something is off with you today,Rooster. I don’t know what it is.”

“I mean, I have a kid.” he shrugs, “And a wife and that weighs in my mind often you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What??”

“I don’t know what’s in that bird brain of yours,Rooster but-” she points at him, “I see that little smile on your face,” he quickly rolls his lips into his mouth and looks away, “Aha! So there is something. Come on,tell me.”

“There’s nothing.”

“Come oooonnnnn,” she pokes his shoulder hard, “Come on!!”

“You are worse than a child- stop it!” he swats her hand away and Nat just laughs because she did get a reaction out of him, it wasn’t what she expected but it was enough. “There’s nothing going on, can’t I just be happy?”

“I mean, you always look dopey ever since you and Bea got together,” she smiles, holding her head up with a hand. “You are just too easy to read.”

“No I’m not.” he mentally panicked thinking that Nat could get the secret out of him so he had to figure out an escape route, and he tried to get up with the excuse to go to the bathroom but then the whole squad showed up.

After that he just had to keep to himself, thinking about anything, about what Nat said, about the reports he still had to finish, about Cyclone’s weird visit and about how they should focus on Jake and Evelyn for a little bit. Payback asked him about Nicole, then Coyote and Fanboy, followed by Bob and Halo, they all wanted to give their honorary niece gifts.

And he appreciated it, but much like Faraday he said that Nicole already had so much and she was going to get a lot more next week and maybe they could give it to her around her birthday…which if he wasn’t wrong, Beatrice would be around eight month- he immediately cut the thought short as soon as it showed up.

He sent Beatrice a text since she hadn’t talked to him the whole morning, which was odd but he remembered that she was going to the clinic so she was probably busy. When he was done with his lunch he was glad and he quickly got up to walk away.

Bradley inhaled shakily, then rolled his shoulders, “Okay…day one is done.” he mutters, looking back to check if anyone was following him and immediately frowning when he saw Nat’s knowing smirk, “...fuck.” he looks away, “I just need to survive a few more months, that’s all.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

61 notes · View notes

mushiemadarame · 1 year ago

Note

TRICK OR TREAT :3333 this is the only gif i have to hand that i don't think i've already posted somewhere so :3

aaaaaaaaaaaaaa that gif Jay!!! another day another unexplainable reason for you not to have posted it

anyway, you are my favourite person so you get....... a wip fic you've already read (exclusively) 😅

“Hey, look at this!” Chay pulls Macau out of his thoughts with an elbow to the side. They’re lying on the grass sharing a pair of earphones from which a familiar voice that Macau can’t quite place drifts with a slow, melancholic tune. The warm early afternoon sun kisses their noses and cheeks. Tankhun’s carp pond is not far from where they lay and if he turns his head a little, Macau can see that his eldest cousin is currently feeding the fish. He’s accompanied by the usual two bodyguards he drags everywhere with him and mumbling in discontent. Even turned away, Macau doesn’t miss the displeased glances he keeps sending their way.

When Chay flips his phone’s screen in Macau’s direction, he forgets about Tankhun and concentrates on the picture he's being shown. Cutesy drawings of doughnuts and coffee cups dance across a bright pink background in front of his eyes. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s a new café,” Chay explains excitedly. “It’s just around the corner from here and it’s having a big opening tomorrow morning. We should definitely go.”

Macau mentally flips through his weekly schedule, trying to recall what day it is. Tuesday. And tomorrow’s Wednesday. Macau has classes until 12:30 on Wednesdays. “Sorry, Chay, I can’t,” he says, “I have classes on Wednesdays.”

Porchay’s face falls and he pulls back his phone. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, faking detachment.

Macau looks at him from the side, trying to discern if it’s finally the right moment to bring up the subject. He’s not entirely sure, but he tries anyway. “What about you, dude?” He starts flippantly. “What do you do in the mornings? I’m pretty sure you just cry and lament the fact that your most fun friend isn’t there, but I could be wrong.”

Chay snorts. Macau is glad to see the smile return to his mouth. “You know, just…” he replies and goes a bit shy, his smile turning bashful. When he continues, it sounds hesitant. “... waste time.” Macau sees the fingers of Porchay’s left hand twitch slightly on his chest where he’s resting it and thinks of the guitar case in Chay’s room. That can’t be right, though, it hasn’t moved even one-tenth of an inch during the entire time they’ve been hanging out together and if Macau hadn't already noticed that, the thick layer of dust all over it would be a dead giveaway of its disuse.

“So you do cry about me being gone,” he jokes again and nudges Chay’s shoulder with his own.

Chay laughs. It had taken Macau a while to pull that specific reaction of out him. Even though Porchay comes off as quiet and unassuming at first, he’s actually a very guarded person. Every time Macau manages to make him laugh, it feels like a reward and the sound of it never fails to put Macau in a mischievous mood to try and get more out of him.

“Ew, gross, as if!” Chay squeals and scurries away to get out of reach of Macau’s hands which he’s trying to shove under Chay’s armpits. They roll a bit in the grass before Macau decides he’s too lazy to keep going and they both settle back into their supine positions with a sigh.

“I honestly just waste time,” Chay continues after a couple of minutes of silence which Macau thought meant the conversation was already over. His smile is dimmer, just a remnant of their previous laughter, and his eyes are lost staring in the distance above as they cloud with whatever Porchay is thinking of.

Macau scrutinizes the side of his face but he can’t begin to read what’s going on in Porchay’s brain. In moments like these, he feels a little like decoration among the mess of Porchay’s life. He’s there, next to all the other things Porchay wants and cherishes but if he wasn’t, Porchay probably wouldn’t notice, not right away at least. It makes Macau a bit lonely but all the more determined to dig deeper, move some of the useless stuff around and get to a place where Chay will want to play with him first. It’s a childish feeling, the kind that was burned out of him the first time Vegas prioritised Macau’s attention and was left with bruises for the trouble. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, Macau thinks and then shakes himself out of his trance when the feeling starts getting a little too big for his ribcage to keep it all in.

“How come you’re not in university?” Macau tries to sport his most casual tone. “And don’t say you don’t have the smarts for it,” ─ that was the excuse Porchay had improvised when one of the cooks had asked that one time, it took three days for Macau to convince Chay to go back to eating in the kitchens after that one ─ “I’ve seen you shake your head whenever I botch my Statistics homework, you can’t fool me.”

Chay breathes out a resigned sigh and closes his eyes. He skips to the next song on his phone before speaking, Macau doesn't recognise this one. "I did pass the first few tests, actually," he says, "but I skipped the last one I was supposed to take."

Macau nudges him again, prompting him to continue but Porchay doesn't. "Why didn't you?" he asks then.

Chay shrugs and looks away. His fingers are tangling and untangling with each other where he’s resting his hands on his chest. “I didn’t really see a reason to anymore.” Macau doesn’t prod, but he’s hoping the silence will make Chay elaborate on his own. “Porsche didn’t like that very much,” he eventually continues, “When he found out, he was furious. He’s never shouted at me like that before.” At that, he gives a mirthless laugh. “I don’t even know if he was madder about me not telling him or me not going to university.” Macau doesn’t find it very funny, but he keeps silent. “I’m still not sure how he found out. He said Kinn told him but I don’t know where he got it from.”

Macau supposes Kinn might have noticed a missing tuition somewhere at some point, but he can tell Chay doesn’t really care all that much. He can tell that the reason Chay told him isn’t the whole story but going by Chay’s mood, this isn’t the right time to ask for more. “What were you gonna study?” he asks instead, hoping that’s tangential enough that Chay won’t mind answering. He realises that’s not the case when Chay immediately tenses and sits up with an abrupt move.

“Music,” he says curtly and gets on his feet. He pockets his earphone and brushes the legs of his pants from the grassy residue of their lie down. “Do you wanna go see what they’re making for dinner?” The deliberate change of subject isn’t lost on Macau. “Maybe they still have some leftover mango from yesterday’s cheesecake.”

Macau lets it slide, making yet another addition to the list of things Porchay doesn’t want to share. Later, he promises himself, We’ve got time.

#askeetie asks #ask meme #khaotunq #jay i took a million years to answer this i'm sorry 😭😭😭#mushiewrites

6 notes · View notes

viilpstick · 1 year ago

Note

Another Sister?

Note: I know i said angst is next but this idea hit in school and I had to. Kinda sucks thou skshks also it's short.

Poppy sat it her seat, her books spread out infront of her, as the seat beside her lay empty. With her exam tomorrow, she had asked Isabelle to help her out specifically in History. She mindlessly hummed a long forgotten tune waiting.

A firm knock was heard and Poppy smiled, opening the Door with a smile. Her expression morphed into one of confusion seeing a familiar blonde instead or Isabelle.

"Miss Adeline? Do you need something?" Her body tensed up, posture correcting itself. While she hadn't gotten a bad impression from Adeline, the air around her didn't feel welcoming most of the time, to her at least.

"Isabelle had some dorm meeting to attend to so she asked me to fill in. "

"Oh! " Poppy quickly moved out of the way, opening the Door fully to let Adeline in. Adeline walked in to note a rather strong floral scent from her room. Seeing the stuff all set, she sat at one the chairs and patted the one next to it after the lack of Poppy's movement from her place beside the door.

"Oh yea sorry-" she shut the door and hurried to sit.

"now let's see what you need help with... "

Hours sped by as the sun had long set. Packing the stuff up, Poppy waved Adeline off a smile on her face, her posture now relaxed.

A couple of days later Adeline walked in her class to see a basket set on her table with a red and white checkered napkin tucked in neatly, covering the contents inside. A note was attached on to it as Adeline picked it up.

POPPY IS SO CUTE UGHHHHH THE SMALL LETTER MADE ME GIGGLE BC IS SO ADORABLE <333

THIS IS SO CUTEE <3333

THANK YOU FOR IT ADDIE

#💜 ! addie .𖥔 ݁ ˖#₊˚⊹ ᰔ moots 𓂃 ࣪˖#⋆ ࣪ 𖥔 . poppy #⋆ ࣪ 𖥔 . adeline rosique

5 notes · View notes

tsukuyomii45 · 2 years ago

Note

I just finished reading your story “Iridescence” And now I'm going to read it for the second time lol .

You are a tremendous artist !!!!! Seriously.

I've loved every single part I've read. Every chapter, how you recreate the setting through the narration, is just beautiful.

I am so thrilled.

Never has a story made me feel what yours did.

I feel so lucky to have found your work.

I beg you to continue. You are so talented.

I can't wait to find out what will happen. I am a huge ObiRin fan and I can say that your stories surpass any other story I have read of these two.

Really, thank you for writing.

Still, please, don't feel pressure to update, take your time. Your well-being comes first.

I'll wait until you feel ready.

I'm rooting for you!

💓💓💓

WOW!!!

What a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL compliment!! ;w; <3333 I'm so touched!!

Thank you so much this absolutely made my day, and I'm definitely continuing this story! There is a lot planned for it given that I've been writing it for years now. :) It wouldn't be fun for me to stop.

I just want people to recognize the ObiRin community and explore what it would've been like if they both grew up and were adults together. I tend to make up my own headcanons and apply them, hehe.

Thanks for being patient! Stay tuned for the next chapter!

#obirin #incandescence #obito x rin #fanfic #infinite dream #obito uchiha #rin nohara #naruto shippuden #canon

4 notes · View notes

x0llaz · 6 months ago

Text

hai :3333

so, I'd like to say a little sorry for the inactivity. I finally got done with school, and am starting my summer break! with less school, the only thing I really have to focus on is work, which isn't a full-time thing. I'm hard at work at some new work for you guys!

I'm planning on having the next part of my sungchan miniseries done soon, and then the final chapter. I will put out a small list of things I'm working on right now, along with my next big project!

thank you for the support, and I hope you all stay tuned, and go read my sungchan fic!

#gyuvxx ᯓ★#little ramble #★ rambles #upcoming

0 notes

iwantmydogtoliveforever · 7 months ago

Text

Things I’m Obsessed With - Entry #3

Chappell Roan

Chappell Roan and her insane ability to jog in place and sing at the same time have earned a permanent spot in my heart. The utilization of witty lyrics, her clever personality, mixed with her bright, sensual pop look is what the pop scene needs nowadays. Chappell Roan is the epitome of pop perfection and the most refreshing act I have seen since the emergence and my overindulgence in K-Pop. Chappell Roan, you will always be famous. My favorite song from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess is Naked in Manhattan! <3 ;3333

Women’s Basketball

Never would I have thought I’d be soooooooo obsessed with a sport. I would be lying to say that I can comprehend everything that is going on in the game, BUT I will say that I am thoroughly enjoying whatever the hell is going on on my TV screen. Another thing I have to be absolutely candid on is that I did not start watching women’s basketball, because of the idea that I would like the sport. No. It is the copious amount of edits I have seen of - predominantly UConn - players and how utterly taken back I am by them and their talent that I had to tune in. TikTok (& previously Instagram, but that only ages me or tells you that I was too young to be on the internet at that time, but whatever) has truly changed the marketing game and I’m not complaining. Proper American consumerism has gotten me again. Shucks!

Snoopy

To be completely honest. And I mean candid. I do not go a waking day without thinking about Snoopy. Not a single day without Snoopy in my head since I was about 3. If the extreme amount of Snoopy merchandise I have collected across the years doesn’t convince you that I love Snoopy more than most people in my life, I don’t have a clue what will. If Snoopy has one fan, it is me. If Snoopy has zero fans, I am dead and forgotten. Snoopy = Big Brother in my head. Snoopy runs the world I am in.

My nail polish :)

Color 360 Spiked With Style from Essie is God sent. It is perfect for anyone who loves the deep, cherry red color that is like that one Deep Berry Almost Lipstick from Clinique. The coverage on one coat of it is really nice, but I always recommend at least 2 coats of every nail polish, so it really doesn’t matter. Maybe I should be gatekeeping the shade, but I don’t think anyone will read this. Right?

Purple

I would not be the person I am today without the color purple, so much so I am typing this on a purple keyboard, on an iPad with a purple case, next to my purple iPhone, in my purple comfy, next to a bottle of my purple nail polish, near my purple umbrella, near my purple dance bag. Obsessed is not the word for it. It is an unexplainable infatuation. Will I ever change? No. Do I ever regret buying every necessity in purple? I could never. Do I want to be buried in a purple casket? Hell yeah!

#womens basketball #chappell roan #snoopy #nail polish #purple

0 notes

take-a-cchonce · 8 months ago

Note

welp my spotify is having a moment so

this has been Aras Informal Song Ratings

Thank You For Tuning In

We Will See You Next Time

BOOP

this was fun i cant waitttt <3333

1 note · View note

for-fvckssake · 2 years ago

Note

"you dont need to deserve things for me to get 'em for you. you know that, right? just wanna spoil you and give you everything 'cause i love you," eren meets you halfway, chuckling as he lowers his head to make it easier for you to reach. he instinctively follows your lips as you pulled away. usually he'd whine about it, but the way you were staring at him just made his complains quickly die on his throat.

he stared right back at you, always amazed at how you made him tune the whole world out by just gifting him with your presence, your touch, just you.

ren smiles softly as he sighs in contentment. his lips meet your forehead in a lasting kiss before you both start walking again, "oh, on that note; remember when you said you wanted more piercings? i scheduled a session for you today, its actually here in the mall. we probably should head there next, its in 15 minutes."

-Renren <3333

“you love me? dude that’s a lil gay i’m not gonna lie to you.” i say jokingly, wrapping my arms around the back of your neck and grinning. i listen to you, the fact that you remembered about some off handed comment i made about some piercings and tattoos a week ago never failed to remind me just how great of a boyfriend you were.

“alright, let’s head over now then just to get a look at the place!” i say, smiling before kissing you quickly one last time before pulling away and grabbing your hand before freezing. “yeahhhh… dunno where i’m goin.”

0 notes

educatedinyellow · 1 year ago

Text

Thanks for tagging me, @beastlyanachronism! I’d never heard of The Fate of Fenella but it sounds so entertaining! And I’d love to see more of your art, so I’m wishing you luck and inspiration with your Trek comic strip! :)

Last song I listened to: Distance by Christina Perri (with Jason Mraz). Something I’ve recently discovered is that I like Christina Perri much more in live performance than in her fully produced recordings. There is an astringent quality to her natural voice that is gorgeous, but her record label tends to fine-tune it out. Her songs as released are usually over-orchestrated and with a schmaltzy sound. But she comes across differently live, and she cuts clear through some beautiful harmonies on this one.

I was also recently listening to Eyes Closed by The Narrative because I thought maybe @sanguinarysanguinity might like it -- it feels like a Hornblower/Bush song to me. The lyrics are tender with that aching, restrained longing so reminiscent of Age of Sail: And this dormant love you've built / Inside your stubborn ways / Well it’s begging now for air / Or the sudden breath of change. / As these waves crash against the highway cliffs / I'm so scared they'll flood me where I sit / When roads they change to waterways / They never carry home. / You pull back (You pull back) / And you angle towards the window. / Now the rain is crashing down, / And oh my god you're beautiful. / And I'm so unsated still / I pray you'll hold back your escape / Yeah we still got time, and in my mind / these bends could be steered straight.

Currently reading: Mm, not currently reading anything, woe! But looking at some of the fanfic I have recently bookmarked, I can cheer for this Destiel fic (such a great narrative endverse!Cas voice; the stuff with Ellen is fascinating; I...find the ending a little more !!!?!!!!????! than I think the author intended me to, but the choice Cas makes in the end is so loyal and loving and true.) Also cheering for this lovely X-Men/Temeraire fusion, and this tender Holmes/Watson retirement romance. Such beautiful writing in all of them, honestly, and such heart. <3333

Currently watching: Um, I’m again failing this meme. I’m not watching any TV shows right now. But I did get to the movie theater a couple of times this summer. I saw Across the Spiderverse (which I really enjoyed!). I also saw the latest Mission Impossible movie. I adore that series, but I must admit, I thought this latest one didn’t quite manage to hit the fun tone the others have been swinging for the last decade -- maybe I was just irked that after having a long run of not fridging women, this entry kind of had every woman The Hero meets either die for him or totally change their lives due to having met him for five minutes, and unfortunately I was meh on all that. However, that takes nothing away from the bravura practical stunt sequences, and also I’ll add that Hayley Atwell was really good in it.

Current obsession: All my old obsessions remain afloat! And who knows what I’ll stumble into next? :) But since it seems churlish not to share something for this question (and since anyone who visits my blog will get plenty of my fannish obsessions whether they want them or not), let me share something totally different. I’ve always been frustrated with my own poor grasp of world geography, so I’ve been visiting this site for months to play geography games. We’re talking about very bare-bones rote memorization here, no interesting essays about culture. But if a little solid identification-oriented knowledge is what you seek, the repetition does honestly work, and it’s just fun and stress-relieving to do a little trivia each day.

I will tag @plaidadder, @sanguinarysanguinity, @thetimemoves, and anyone else who wants to play!

mutuals i wanna know better, tagged by @hollowslantern THANK U ^____^!!!!!!

last song I listened to: mother by vashti bunyan. really good song (sniffing really loudly and blowing into tissues as i speak.) (Hmm That wa smeant to imply crying but it kind of sounds like i just have allergies..) .

currently reading: does this gamemaker coding tutorial count... if not then pride and prejudice. ive been putting it off for a long time so its nice to check it off my list >:D

currently watching: im watching the last few episodes of succession and im about halfway through season 3 of frasier... i do really want to reawtch ds9 though i might after im done. i miss my good friends kira and sisko

current obsession: ive been playing lethal amounts of dragon quest builders 2 lately if that counts. i DID have a weird pikmin dream last night, though..?

tagging @redskysailor @billymayslesbian @dooxliss @yarnkirby @plnwos and anyone else who wants to do this >:D i forgot to tag a few people im sure OTL

#meme #long post

239 notes · View notes

nervousgardenerkid · 2 years ago

Note

hello hello bestie!! robin request headed your way :D

can i get robin with a crush on reader who’s a regular at scoops ahoy, so much so that robin thinks that reader is there to like ogle steve or something (he needed a win to be fair) but steve knows reader is there all the time for robin and goes about trying to convince robin that reader has a crush on them too (with many shenanigans and the recruitment of the squad tm)

thank you <3333

Wednesdays

a/n: ROBIN MY BELOVED!! ugh i kinda love this im ngl👀i hope you enjoy this bestie!! i love you and ur beautiful brain for this idea UGH ur so smart! credits to the gif owner! <3

warnings: none! just some good ol fluff <3

Wednesday was possibly one of the slowest days for scoops. Robin hated Wednesdays and she always will! At least that's what she thought until you started coming every Wednesday. Robin mentally curses as her hands go clammy at the mere thought of you coming in. You go to school with her and thankfully you have a free period at the end of the day so you leave an hour earlier than everyone else.

She glances at the clock, gulping when she realizes she has five minutes till she sees you. Steve walks out of the backroom, tossing his hat on the small counter behind them.

“I never get why they schedule us both on Wednesday. I mean, seriously, we've had one customer all day.”

Robin hummed without listening to him. She was lost in her thoughts trying to figure out what to say to you when you come by. She stood still chewing nervously at her bottom lip as she thought about the last interaction you two had. Steve did most of the talking because of how awkward she was, she would just nervously laugh along to whatever Steve said. This cannot be like the last time she thinks to herself.

“Robin!”

Robin breaks free from her thoughts and looks at Steve's annoyed facial expression.

“What the hell do you-”

“Hi, Robin.”

Oh no. No, no, no this can't be happening. There's no way Robin was that lost in her thoughts that five minutes flew by. She slowly turns to where your voice came from and lets out a nervous giggle.

“H-hey y/n! What uh, what are you getting today?”

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something along the lines of the same thing she always gets.

You giggle at her nervous behavior and smile at Steve.

“Oh it's okay, you looked pretty deep in thought so Steve said he'd ring me up.”

At the mention of that, Robin turns and sees Steve flashing you his charming smile while he hands you the cone of strawberry ice cream. Her heart breaks a little as your fingers brush against his. Of course, Steve Harrington gets the girl. Steve always gets the girl, and Robin feels embarrassed that she even thought she had a chance with you. She tunes out the rest of the world, her brain going on autopilot mode. She sees Steve's mouth moving but she doesn't hear anything, she's grateful for it because of the blush on your cheeks she can only imagine what he told you.

You clear your throat and nod your head at the two of them. “Well uh, I guess I'll see you both around?”

You sound hopeful as your eyes fall on Robin who's nodding her head and giving you a sad smile.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow l/n.”

“See you next Wednesday y/n!” Steve shouted as you walked out of the small parlor. Steve crosses his arms against his chest and smiles.

“What a nice girl.”

Robin rolls her eyes at Steve.

“You're a dick, you know that?”

“Excuse me?!” he scoffed.

Robin storms to the backroom and throws herself down in the first chair she sees.

“Out of every girl in Hawkins you had to get the one I like,” she grumbled under her breath while crossing her arms.

Steve follows her, confusion evident on his face. “Robin what-”

She grabs the marker putting a tally mark under you rule.

“I guess you can use the win though.”

“What the hell are you talking about Buckley?!”

Robin slowly turns to look at him, upset that he's making her say this.

“You got a date with y/n. Congrats.”

Steve furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“Okay, you need to pull your head out of your ass 'cause that's not what happened.”

“I do not have my head in my ass.”

“Oh really? Cause your ass must be jealous of how much shit is coming out of your mouth.”

Robin’s jaw drops and she puts a hand over her chest in mock offense.

“How dare you-”

“Shut up. I love you, but shut up.”

Robin sighs and leans against the chair. She nods her head signaling for Steve to say what needs to be said.

“I never asked her out, if you would listen,” he said while pointing at his ears. “You would've heard that I was trying to help you out.”

Robin tilts her head in confusion, help her out how?

Steve shakes his head and chuckles.

“For someone who likes girls so much, you sure do suck at reading them.” he humbled under his breath.

Robin ignores his snarky comment and backtracks a bit, trying to wrap her head around what Steve is saying.

“So, you didn't ask her out?”

“No, I wouldn't do that to you.”

Robin smiles at Steve, she begins to erase the tally mark she drew earlier and chuckles under her breath.

“You know what this means Harrington.”

Steve furrows his brows, then rolls his eyes when he sees Robin draw a line under you suck.

“This just isn't your year!”

“Bite me.”

Robin anxiously chews on her nails as her eyes fall on the small clock. She doesn't want to sound like a stalker, but you're late. It's not five minutes late no, you're thirty minutes late, and Steve left for his lunch nearly twenty minutes ago. That means Robin has a ten-minute window of just you and her talking and to say she's nervous is an understatement. When she sees you turn the corner she lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding and waves at you.

“Hey y/n!”

You smile and sigh. “Hey, Robs! Is uh, is Steve here?”

Robin feels her shoulders slump and she clears her throat.

“Uh, y-yeah he is, he left for his lunch though.”

“How long ago?”

Why does it matter? She thinks to herself.

“Maybe twenty minutes ago? He should be back in ten if you wanted to stay and wait.”

Robin knows you aren't here for her, but she still finds herself hoping that you'll stay and keep her company.

“Ah, I can't stay that long. Can you tell him I stopped by?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile and nods her head.

“Of course.”

You dig in your bag, grabbing a pen and a napkin from the dispenser that was on the counter. Robin watches as you scribble your number down, adding a small heart at the end of your name.

“Here, you can just give that to him and tell him to call me whenever,” you say with a smile as you slide the napkin her way.

“I gotta head out now. Bye Robin! I'll see you at school!”

Robin doesn't even bother saying bye. She gives you a sad wave goodbye and grabs the napkin that's resting on the counter. She stares at it and stuffs it in her pocket. It took her a while, but she feels comfortable in her skin. She's happy and content with the life that she has but god does she want to be Steve at this moment.

What does he have that she doesn't? Why does Steve always get the girl and why did she believe him when he told her that you had a crush on her? She should've known better, Robin Buckley isn't Steve Harrington. She doesn't have his charming personality, she doesn't have his amazing hair, and she doesn't get the girl.

“Here you go, Buckley,” Steve said as he gave her the plate of pizza he got from the food court. “How you eat that plate of grease is beyond me, but to each their own.”

He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he looks over at his quiet friend.

“So, did y/n come by?”

“Yup.”

“How’d it go?”

She reaches into her pocket and shows him the napkin. Steve stands straighter and smiles at her, looking around to make sure no one is around while he congratulates her.

“Robin, that's great! You got her number.”

“No, you did,” she said as she put the napkin next to him.

Steve opens his mouth ready to ask her a question, but she grabs the pizza and starts to make her way to the food court.

“Like I said last week Steve, congrats. You needed the win.”

The next day comes faster than Robin would've liked. She stayed up late all night tossing and turning trying to not think about how you could be on the phone with Steve. Her stomach churned at the thought of you giggling at the stupid jokes he tells. Stupid Steve. She knows Steve would shut it down the second a move would be made, but she likes to torture herself.

That's why she's in her first-period class, chin resting in the palm of her hand as she imagines you and Steve on a date. Better to move on than wallow in her puddle of sadness. She's deep in thought when she feels a piece of paper hit her arm. She turns her head to see who threw it, brows going up when you point to the paper on the floor by her feet.

Are you mad at me?

She twirls her pen in her hand and looks over at you.

No.

I don't believe you >:(

Robin chuckles at the angry face you made and shrugs her shoulders.

Don't know what to tell you then, but I could never be mad at you.

She misses the blush that dances along your cheeks and feels her heart start to pound when she reads what you wrote.

Meet me under the bleachers after lunch? I have something to tell you.

She gives you a nervous smile and nods her head. Her hands feel clammy as she stuffs the note in her pocket, she's definitely gonna read the note until she meets you under the bleachers trying to figure out what you'll tell her.

Robin decides to skip lunch altogether because she's too nervous to eat the food she packed for herself. She finds herself under the bleachers, picking random pieces of grass before throwing them back on the floor.

“There you are! I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

She looks up at you, her brain short-circuiting when she sees you.

“Uh, no. I'm not avoiding you. W-why would I avoid you? Do I need to avoid you? Are you sick-”

You giggle and gran onto her shoulders.

“Calm down Buckley. I was just making an observation.”

She nods her head not listening. She wants to remember how your hands feel on her.

“Are we okay though? Like…us?”

“I don't see why not,” she whispered.

You sigh and sit on the patch of grass, tugging Robin’s arm so she can join you.

“I talked to Steve last night.”

Robin wants to leave. Of course, you wanted to talk to her about Steve. She feels so stupid for thinking otherwise.

“Steve is a great guy, you're in good hands.”

“Wha-”

“I mean, he can be a little dumb at times but overall he's a good guy. He's like a golden retriever, so I'm glad he's your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

The air around you gets tense.

“Yeah? Or has he not asked you out yet? Oh my god, did I ruin the surprise?! He's gonna kill me, don't tell him I told you-”

“I don't like Steve.”

“Oh…well, you better let him know 'cause I don't want him to fall for you only for it not to happen.”

You giggle. “Trust me, I think he knows.”

Silence falls over the two of you before you clear your throat to speak up.

“Steve knows I don't like him, but do you?”

“I do now, yeah.”

You sigh. “But do you believe it?”

She didn't. She knew eventually you'd fall for Steve, they all did. Her thoughts stop when your hand suddenly grabs hers.

“I need you to believe it, Robin.”

“Why?” she asks quietly. She squeezes your hand gently getting used to the feeling of it. She doesn't want you to let go.

“I don't like Steve,” you whisper back.

Robin chuckles. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

You chew at the inside of your lip anxiously, you want to cry. You're not sure why, but the familiar stinging that's coming from your eyes is irritating and you want to scream at the lump that's forming in your throat. Robin notices the change in your behavior and sits up straight.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

“I don't like Steve, Robin.”

“Okay, okay I believe you-”

“I'm supposed to like Steve. I'm supposed to be with someone like him, get married to someone like him, have someone like him be the father to my children, but I just…I don't.”

Oh. Oh.

Robin’s mouth goes dry at what you're saying. She gets it. She gets all of it. You squeeze her hand tightly, scared of how she'll react to what you're about to say next.

“I gave Steve my number because I needed advice.”

“On?”

“...on how to ask out a girl.”

Robin felt like she took one step forward and one step back. She's over the moon that you like girls, but now she's sad because what girl do you have a crush on and how can she get it to be her?

“U-uh, who's the girl?”

“You.”

She's dead. She has to be. There's no way her crush has a crush on her. This doesn't happen to Robin, it never has and she thought it never would, but here she is. Under the bleachers, holding her crush's hand as she confesses to her.

“I-i get it if you don't feel the same and if you want to stop hanging around me. Steve just gave…lots of hints and made it seem like you felt the same way, but from your lack of response, I'm guessing you don't? Actually, can we just pretend this never happened-”

“I like you too.”

“What?”

Robin is smiling, it's the kind of smile that hurts her cheeks and reaches all the way up to her beautiful eyes, and god do you want to kiss her.

“I like you too. Ever since you walked into scoops and asked for a strawberry ice cream. Which, by the way, you didn't get yesterday-”

“Shut up about the ice cream Robin,” you mumbled while pulling her in by her jacket.

“Yeah, yeah okay. I can do that. A-are you gonna kiss me?”

“Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah you can.”

That was all you needed to hear before your lips were on hers. You're both smiling into the kiss, teeth gently clashing against each other, a squeal leaving your mouth when her hands fall on your waist and bring you into her waist. Your hands go up to her neck, playing with the ends of her hair as you try to bring her closer. You curse yourself for needing oxygen as you pull away from her.

Both of you are panting, trying to catch your breath while giggles leave you both. Robin has been happy before, but this is new. She feels like she’s on cloud nine, she’s convinced that she can do absolutely anything she wants but all she wants is to feel your lips on hers again. So that's what she does. She leans in again smiling against your lips when she hears your giggle.

“Robin,” kiss. “Robin, we're gonna,” kiss. “We're gonna be late!”

She pulls away to pour at you. “I don't want to go to class. Let's skip.”

You snort and roll your eyes. “And do what?”

“I mean, I can think of a few things.”

“You horn dog!”

She lets out a laugh and plays with the rings that decorate your hands.

“Can you say it again?” she asks you quietly. How she manages to go from being confident back to being nervous is beyond you, but you wouldn't change it one bit. You gently hold her face in your hands and have her look up at you. Your heart leaps out of your chest when she turns her hand slightly and places a soft kiss in the palm of your hand.

“I like you, Robin. I really like you.”

“Yeah, you're pretty cool too,” she mumbles before bringing you back to her lips.

taglist <3

@cityofidek @spideyjass @simpingoverfictionalppl

#robin buckley imagine #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley blurb #robin buckley x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things blurb #stranger things robin

163 notes · View notes

imoonf1 · 2 years ago

Text

EVERYBODY KNOWS [D.R 3]

Open request

Masterlist

Summary: The rumors have been growing, but nobody knows anything, or so you two think

@Ynhavzt

Danielricciardo, Kellypiquet, camilacabello, 1,233,678 liked

@Ynhavzt: i'm your national anthem god you're so handsome 🍯

Ynriccfan: Are you seeing what I am seeing??👀👀

↪️yhgirls:He just liked the photo, stop inventing

↪️Maxielfc3: Daniel is in attack mode

Danielricciardo: 🔥🔥🍒

↪️ Ynhavzt:🔥🔥🌚

↪️Landonorris: ok i'm sure i missed something

↪️Riccbadger: just you Lando??

Camilacabello: a new tune🔥, I have no proof but no doubt either

Danielricciardo

Ynhavzt, maxverstappen, charlesleclerc and 803.778 liked

Danielricciardo:I'm a part time F1 driver, model and singer, I'm just multifaceted

Ynhavzt: That sounded great I wanted you to know mate

↪️Ynricc3:I think you forgot the word soul in front of mate

Ynfan1: WAIT R THEY TOGETHER????

↪️ Landonorris: no......

↪️ Danielricciardo: LANDO

Maxverstappen: I really don't know what to say, no words

Ynhavzt

Danielricciardo, masonmount, 1.245.969 liked

Ynhavzt: thxxx for this amazing night London, can't wait for the next time💛

Masonmount: Wonderful night girl, let's repeat it

↪️ Ynhavzt: sure mase a truly fantastic night💙

↪️Ynfan6: 👀👀 these two

↪️Ynricc3: Daniel didn't like that, 100% sure

Danielricciardo: You couldn't sound better, not only the night was beautiful

↪️Ynricc3: Ok I had not seen this, I'm confused

Kellypiquet: ❤️ amazing concert

DRiccupdate

Ynricc3, 5.696 liked

DRiccupdate: Daniel n his friends in Yn havzt concert last night, definitely enjoying

Ynricc3: If they're not dating for real, I think I might lose my mind.

Ynfan1: I need a confirmation of this, I NEED MORE INFO sjsbs

Maxverstappen: They are closer than you think

↪️ Maxielfc3: WAIT MAX SPIT THE TEA

Ynhavzt

Danielricciardo, McLaren, max Verstappen and 2,629,064 liked

Ynhavzt: YOU DID IT, You deserve everything good in this world Dan, ily my winner💛

Danielricciardo:. Love you too sweetheart, thx for the support<3333

Ynricc3: YES KNOW THAT KNOW THAT

Maxielfc3: WHERE'S THE KISS NEED A KISS

Maxverstappen: You two took your time to say it huh, congratulations

Landonorris: I'm the first to know😉

↪️ Ynhavzt: sorry Lan, but @ maxverstappen beat you

↪️ Maxverstappen: hehe

#imagine f1 #imagine daniel ricciardo #masterlist #imagine lewis hamilton #imagine max verstappen #f1 masterlist #Imagine f1 #Daniel Ricciardo x reader #open request

226 notes · View notes

shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo.

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy.

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships.

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate.

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?”

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise.

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum.

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed.

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks.

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.”

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you.

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is.

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support.

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle.

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this.

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway.

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you.

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck.

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal.

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw.

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship.

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.”

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him.

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it.

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought.

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble.

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later.

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again.

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding.

Both of you looked ridiculous.

“Stay away, fiend.”

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you.

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t.

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible.

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself.

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring.

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time.

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes.

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you.

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again.

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst.

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm.

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying.

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again.

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment.

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you.

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up.

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech.

“Suppose that’s two points for me?”

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something.

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him?

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know.

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again.

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

988 notes · View notes