#and yes of course he has an obnoxiously long full name it's part of his entire aesthetic. he looks like a nathaniel to me

[ruvviks]

Nathan Dixon is lead STEM developer of the Union environment and Team Bravo special ops agent of MOBIUS. He is one of the youngest recruits of the shadow organization, having been forced to join them after he killed his parents at age 16; and now, nine years later, he is looking for a way to destroy MOBIUS once and for all– if that is even possible.

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed, @swordcoasts

[priceyprice]

Prof!Price

"Do you think the professor's hot?"

She stopped writing in her notebook, trying to process the question her friend asked. It was late at night, and everything was quiet around her. She was on a call with one of her friends from class, trying to do an assignment together since it was difficult doing it alone. They found out it was more efficient calling each other because they could share their notes and answers.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Who else? The professor from literature." She tensed, chest tightening with that familiar but obnoxious feeling at the seductive tone she used to say professor from literature.

She dropped her pen in the middle of her notebook to pay full attention to her friend's words. "The professor from literature?"

"Yes! Have you seen him?"

She cleared her throat. Of course she's seen him. In fact, she has seen every part of him.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh my gosh!" Her friend said in an annoyance tone, feeling frustrated she wasn't getting the point. But, she was obviously getting the fucking point. She just can't admit it out of the blue. "He's so hot. I know he's a serious man inside and outside the classroom, but hey, his face and his body... oh my, my... I would totally fuck a man like that."

Her face frowned upon the last words, looking at her friend's name from her phone —since the call was on speaker— as if she's in front of her. That uncomfortable feeling rose throughout all her body like a fountain.

Her friend was looking at the professor with other eyes than the academic figure.

She's pretty sure her friend is not the only girl with her panties wet for the professor from literature. Professor Price is a man who has charisma. His big bulk of a body and his electrifying blue eyes possess an aura that can either intimidate you or make you flustered. The way he talks with people with his low and calm voice, as if he's going to sing the most romantic tune, ever existed. Also, the way he walks, the way he dresses, the way he styles his beard... Everything from Professor Price screams perfection.

It's not difficult for someone to get attracted to the professor.

But still.

She didn't like how other girls looked at him like he was the most expensive dish served on a silver plate, ready to be devoured. Even though his eyes only stayed on her, she was the only one who could look at him like that.

She was the only one who could actually devour that expensive dish.

She was jealous.

The phantom touch of rough hands around her ankles made her throw a little gasp while pushing the rolling chair backward. "Shh..." Her heart skipped a beat when she hears that low and rough voice beneath her. She looked down at her desk, just to find the protagonist of her conversation with her friend kneeling in front of her;

Professor Price.

He was wearing his usual attire for work. The only difference was his white long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned by the first few buttons, leaving a glimpse of his hairy chest and making him look like some sexy star magazine. His hair was slightly disheveled, probably by all the times he passed his fingers through it. His icy blue eyes were accompanied by some eyebags under it, revealing the tiredness he was accumulating within these days that had passed thanks to the amount of work and reunions he was receiving.

"What are you doing?!" She whispered-yelled taking a rebel strand of hair that went in front of her face when she moved her chair. His thumb caressed softly the skin of her ankles before pulling her to him again, earning a soft gasp from her parted lips. His face ended up resting on her right thigh, eyes closing to the warm feeling her skin radiates.

"'Missed you." He said, placing a soft kiss to her thigh, making her wriggle a bit at the sensation his lips left. "'Missed you so much." He started to leave a trail of soft kisses on her thigh as his hands worked its way to the back of her knees, opening her legs so he could have more room between them. His hands traveled to either side of her hips, taking the waistband of her shorts trying to pull them down.

Her eyebrows raised all the way up, almost comically, ignoring the burning feeling he was making inside of her and focusing on the panic when she realized what he was doing, quickly stopping him. "Wait, Price, we can't do that here." She said, placing her hands on either side of his head trying to separate his lips from her skin, but it was in vain. He was much stronger than her.

Price's hands grasped hers in a soft motion. His thumb caressed her delicate fingers. "Why not? We are in my home. Nobody's watching."

"I'm talking with someone, Price."

"Then be quiet, love." He said before continuing where he left, placing his hands on the waistband of her shorts, his fingers curling the fabric before tugging it down her legs.

Truth be told, Price doesn't give a fuck who is she talking to. He's too tired and consumed by all the work he had these past days, that he's left with nothing but the thought of her beautiful face bringing him the peace he needs.

They couldn't almost see each other within the university halls besides his classroom. His home too, where he'd often find her asleep on his couch or his bed because he was leaving late from the university's office. In the early mornings, he just kissed her a soft goodbye waking her up just for her to see his silhouette leaving the room to go and finish more paperwork he had left the day before.

A sigh could be heard from the other line of the call. "Too bad he isn't open enough to know his relationship status."

A little gasp escaped from her lips when she felt his hot lips put pressure on the wet patch that was starting to form in her soft underwear. A jolt of electricity passed through all her body when he placed another kiss in the same spot, making her jump slightly.

His lips turned into a smile. His hands started caressing the soft flesh of her thighs. "Answer her, love." he said before placing an open-mouthed kiss on the wet spot, passing his tongue through the fabric, feeling the rapid pulses of her pearl. She opened her mouth with a low moan as her hands found a way into his hair.

"Y-Yes... he doesn't... he doesn't let... anyone know."

She tried to calm her frenetic breathing from giving away what was happening on her side of the phone, but it was too difficult. Her back arched when his warm tongue put pressure on her sensitive bud, feeling the wet fabric caress it.

"P-Price, p-please." Her words were shaking in her throat along with a few moans. "What?" He asked, looking up at her beautiful face contorted in nothing but pleasure. Her hand puts a little bit more pressure on the crown of his head, as if inviting him to keep going. "T-Take it off."

"Your underwear?"

She nodded.

"No. I'll take it off when I want to."

He grasped her legs with both hands and threw them over his shoulder, now completely open to him. He rested his hands on her hips, looking at the —big—wet patch, now transparent where he could slightly see through her white underwear the outlines and the color of her folds and her pearl, pulsating against the fabric with desire. Price started at it as if he were a starved man with his last meal in front of him, waiting, inviting him to taste it.

That sent him goosebumps all over his body. His mind glowing with sinful thoughts made him almost blind from the desire.

"Keep talking with her, love. You don't want to let her know that the professor you guys are talking about is the same one between your legs." He said before diving his head again between her thighs.

His tongue made its way with her, taking big laps from her folds to her clothed bud, making her gasps now with full force on his short hair. "F-Fuck..."

"You know, sometimes I think he's married."

She opened her mouth to only let out a soft whimper. His tongue now moving easily with saliva and arousal pooled between her underwear.

"Y-You think so?" She threw her head back into the chair in a blinding pleasure. He was literally making out with her intimate area as if it was her mouth. Opened kisses and pressed his tongue all over her, caging her between his large hands like a lion with a bone between his paws.

He wanted to take her underwear off. Oh, he's been craving to see her bare since the second he stepped into his home. But he knows how loud they can be. He knows how loud the obscene sounds her sweet area makes. He knows the high-pitched moans she does when she's close. He knows everything from head to toe. And he can't risk the other person hearing those sweet sounds coming from her mouth and body.

Of course, he knows her very well.

She's his lover.

"Yeah! I mean, he doesn't look at the other female professors with other eyes than work." His tongue started to draw circles around her bud, sending shock waves through her stomach. Even with the underwear in the middle, she could feel his soft tongue in contrast with the hairs of his beard and mustache tickling her sensitive zone, along with the hairs of his cheeks grazing her inner thighs up and down everytime he licks her.

It was driving her crazy.

"But, there was a rumor."

She bit her lip, trying to stop a whimper rolling from her tongue before speaking; "R-Really? W-what rumor?"

"That him and the professor from marketing were dating." Before she even had the time to think those words and let that jealousy feeling rise up her chest, a chocked moan escaped her lips when she felt his tongue and underwear entering her entrance. Her hips buckled so fast to his face that the chair made a loud squealing sound.

"Is everything okay?"

"Y-Yes!" She said, sounding a little bit more high-pitched than normal. "I almost... fell from my ch-chair. D-Don't worry..."

"Oh, be careful... So, someone who's studying marketing told me that their professor was looking at him like..." Her friend really wanted to spill some kind of false tea, but unfortunately she lost the topic of the conversation the second his tongue was in her entrance, not even caring what was happening around her, only the man and the skillful tongue between her legs.

"Price..." She said when he returned to her now puffy bud giving circles around it. She opened her eyes to stare down just to find his blue ones already looking at her.

Beautiful, he thought. Her hair was in a few directions, while her forehead was glistening with a few droplets of sweat and a few strands plastered on her skin. Her cheeks were red, and her mouth was opened, letting out soft and low noises.

"J-Just fuck me."

"No. After you finish your call, I promise to fuck you like the goddess you are." He continued to circling her bud now putting a little bit more pressure.

She was starting to feel that familiar knot in her stomach. Unconsciously, her hips started to buckle from the chair and getting closer to his face continuously to make that release faster.

"I know you're close, love. Come on, give yourself to me."

He started going faster with his tongue as she started to go faster with her hips, almost making a rhythm to match each other. Her fingers were so secured in his hair, giving painful stings to his scalp, but he didn't mind.

Not when his lover is a mess and he's the cause of it.

She felt all her muscles tense at the same time her legs started to tremble. Her hips worked faster and faster each second, trying desperately to get that release.

Only one last suck to her sensitive bud was all it took to unleash what she was searching for.

Every fiber exploded at the same time her orgasm clashed down in powerful waves. Her mouth hanged open, chocking back a scream that was forming on the depths of her throat. "John...!" She looked at the ceiling, her vision getting blurry for a second.

All the strength was leaving her body and soul as she collapsed back on the chair. Her legs dropped from his shoulders, and her hand left his now totally disheveled hair. Her chest was rapid with her unsteady breathing, her blood pleading for some oxygen. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to make a loud noise and raise suspicion on her friend. Although that wasn't necessary since her friend was rambling about the rumor without taking a break to breathe.

He separate a little from between her thighs, noticing how her arousal made all her underwear drenched and a few droplets falling in the leather cushion of the chair. His muscles tensed at the very erotic sight in front of him.

His hands made way to the waistband of her panties, slowly taking it off her legs and securing them in his pockets. He could see her glistening folds and puffy pearl now bare and open to him, inviting him for another round. And as almost tantalizing that view was for him, he kept his composure and was going to wait until she finished her call as he promised.

He gave a chaste kiss to her bud, her hips bucking as she hissed at the hypersensitivity she was feeling. He trailed kisses down her thighs to her legs, and then he ended with a final kiss on her ankles before caressing them one last time and muttering an 'I love you' without her hearing it.

A few minutes passed, and she opened her eyes only to find herself alone again, as if he didn't take a step into his home office where she was.

"So, what do you think?"

She tried to compose herself, wincing when she felt parts of her arousal that was left in the chair in contact with her sensitive area. She looked down, seeing all the mess she had made.

I'm blaming this on him.

She's pretty sure if he was still there, he would've said, "You were not complaining when you made that mess."

She could hear the faint noise of the shower running from his room that was two doors down the hall , maybe preparing himself before actually having his way with her.

She straightened herself, passing her hands through her hair, taking a few wet strands plasted on her forehead behind her ears. She accommodated her shirt, not bothering to look for her underwear since it was all ruined now. She was going to take a shower after this or join him.

She cleared her throat. "About the rumor...?"

She already heard that rumor. That took surface, and after a few days, everyone was talking about it. That caused a few problems between her and her lover, but he cleared everything and told her it was just her having a crush on him since he can remember, but she has been with other men to take money from them. Of course, since she knows Price is a man with a few dollars on his account, she wanted to have her way with him. But that didn't happen.

While a few professors and students find her like someone sexy and secure, Professor Price finds her disgusting.

Nothing like my little love, he thinks.

"No, silly! About the professor."

Her lips curled into a small smile, feeling tired about the way her soul almost leaves her body in that orgasm caused by the very one Professor Price.

"Yeah... He's not that bad."

part 2 here

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I apologize for the shitty writing. I'm not good at writing these types of scenes + my first language it's not english.

Comments and suggestions are appreciated 🫶🏻.

[teecupangel]

Random prompt idea. Desmond/Kadar soulmate au, where Kadar is instantly gone on Desmond, and Desmond and Malik both think it's because of Kadar's admiration of Altair and Desmond looks suspiciously like him. So Kadar has to defend his feelings from his brother and prove to Desmond that's his feelings for him aren't based around Altair. (And Altair has to watch this mess going on around him as he's trying to live his life. And Malik tries to blame him for this for some reason.)

So, for this Soulmate AU, I was trying to think on why Desmond would assume Kadar likes him because of his admiration for Altaïr and I thought… what if, in this soulmate AU, people only know they’re soulmates after they fall in love? Like a mark/name would appear on their body after they realize that they love their soulmate. It’s not the most optimal way to have soulmates, that’s for damn sure, but maybe it was an ongoing genetic modification project of the Isu Inanna that got pushed aside because of the war then the solar flare.

In this case, the mark is a confirmation that ‘yes, you found them’ rather than a ping of ‘yeah, you’re meant to fall in love with that one’.

And not everyone has a soulmate.

In this scenario, regardless if it’s set in a ‘verse where Desmond time-traveled or a full-blown Modern AU, we’ll get the following:

Kadar has a crush on Altaïr and he doesn’t really understand why until he met Desmond. That’s when he realized that the parts that made him like Altaïr (his skills, the kindness he tries to hide, his dry humor) are the parts he shared or are heavily similar to Desmond’s own.

Kadar believes that having a crush on Altaïr had been his ‘soulmark’ trying to give him a clue.

Malik would think that Kadar is trying to find a reason to why he’s suddenly crushing hard on Desmond after carrying a torch for Altaïr for so long. Malik would think that Kadar just transferred his crush to Desmond because Desmond is a better choice (as far as Malik is concerned) and Kadar is trying to find an excuse so he doesn’t feel like a dick for throwing his feelings for Altaïr out (which he shouldn’t since Altaïr never reciprocated it anyway)

Altaïr tries his very best to ignore Kadar’s obvious infatuation with Desmond but it becomes hard when Kadar flat out tells Desmond that he’s falling in love with him and Desmond runs to Altaïr to tell him everything. Altaïr has no idea why Desmond is telling him all of this. At this point in their life, Desmond would have a better chance of getting support from that damn female Templar he insists on befriending than him.

Of course, Kadar tells Malik everything and Malik has to suffer through listening to his brother recount the entire thing and getting a migraine just trying to help his brother court Desmond which, really, is just Malik telling Kadar to slow down and to edit his most outlandish plans to a more… nicer (won't get you arrested) ones.

Of course, this ends up with Malik needing to vent with someone about all of these and Altaïr is the perfect target. He looks a lot like Desmond and Kadar’s more than worrying plans spawned from the fact that Kadar’s subtle flirting with Altaïr had no effect so he believes being clear about his intentions means being obnoxious in his gestures of affection would win Desmond over.

Altaïr does not approve of this and he tells Malik that Kadar never flirted with him which, in turn, made Malik realize that Altaïr was absolutely oblivious to Kadar’s infatuation the entire time. This only served to make Malik mock his observation skills.

Altaïr doesn’t even get a respite because running away from Malik only meant he had to deal with Desmond having complicated feelings over Kadar’s courtship and Altaïr. Is. Just. So. Done.

Desmond, on the other hand, does think Kadar is cute and he does like him but Kadar has his work cut out for him because Desmond is comparing himself to Altaïr who, in his eyes, will always be better than him so, for Desmond, he believes Kadar is simply settling for him.

But Kadar is nothing but stubborn and persistent.

Malik and Altaïr would have to suffer through it all.

While Maria just watches from the sideline, sipping tea while listening to Desmond, and wondering “These people are the ones giving us such a hard time???”

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1164: A Glorious Christmas Morning (Super Smash Bros Ultimate)

9:12 a.m. at The Glorious Hotel and Suite's Dining Room.......

Zelda: ('GASPS') Oh my gosh!~ Mewwy!~ You got me a Bill Cipher Plushie this year!?~

Mewtwo: (Simply Nodded) The very last one they have in stock. Quite a miracle that I was able to get my hand on it before it was too late. I take it you already like it?

Zelda: (Happily Hugs her Christmas Gift) Mewwy, I absolutely adore this little triangluar gremlin already, thank youuu!~ How was your Christmas Shopping that night? It hadn't gotten too overwhelming for you, was it?

Mewtwo: In some cases where there were a large amount of crowd present, but the experience as a whole has gone smoothly for the most part.

Hades: (Suddenly Wraps his Arm Around Mewtwo's Shoulder with That Cheeky Grin of his) Many thanks by yours truly, of course!~ Those time manipulation tactics came in handy if I do say so myself. (Winks at Mewtwo)

Mewtwo: (Sighs While Rolling his Eyes) Yes, it did to some extent. Now get off of me.

Zelda: (Giggles a Bit) You know, it's kinda nice seeing you two get along for once. (Scooches Herself Over to Mewtwo and Whispers into his Ear) He didn't bride you into getting him what he wants before helping you, did he?

Hades: (Let's Out a Loud, Fake Gasps) Princess Heloise Zelda VI!

Zelda: Reeeally don't think that's my full name ther-

Hades: How could you take my act of genuine kindness and warp it around to me wanting something in return? On CHRISTMAS MORNING nonetheless!?

Rodin: (Walks By Wearong a Santa Hat) Considering all the crazy shit you've done over the eons, I wouldn't trust your ass near with a ten foot pole either.

Hades: No one asked you, Rodin! ('Sigh') Now, if you two will excuse me.....(Gets Up From his Seat, Wearing Black Colored, Silky Smooth Bedroom Robe) I will be taking my luxurious gift Mewtwo has been glorious enough give to me beforehand and take my precious time elsewhere, eating another plate of omelets. Hades Out. (Turbs Away From the Duo as He Walks Away in a Pompus Manner)

Zelda: (Turns to Mewtwo) You actually gave him a bathrobe for Christmas this year?

Mewtwo: I couldn't think of anything else to give him, so I figured a robe could suffice. (Pinches the Bridge of his Nose) Should've known this would make him act more obnoxious than he already is, sooner.......

Zelda: (Shrugs) It can't be helped. (Smiles Again) In the meantime, stick your arm out for me, Mewwy.

Mewtwo: (Does as He's Instructed With a Bit of a Confused Look on his Face) Like this?

Zelda: Perfect!~ Now, close your eyes?

Mewtwo: Seriously?

Zelda: Please?~ It won't be long and I promise you that it'll definitely be worth it in the end,

Mewtwo: ('Sighs in Defeat') Very well. (Closes his Eyes) My eyes are now closed.

Zelda: Sweet! (Starts Putting Something on Mewtwo's Arm) Alright........You can open them now!

Mewtwo opens his eyes and looks down to see a purple bracelet wrapped around the front of his arm with the words "Zelda's Bestie" imprinted on one side.

Mewtwo: You....got me a bracelet?

Zelda: (Smiles Proudly) A Friendship Bracelet made and customized my yours truly~ Even got one myself. (Shows Off Her Own Bracelet with the Words "Mewwy's Bestie" Imprinted) See? It symbolizes our bond and how far we've gotten as besties. (Bashfully Rubs the Back of her Head Back and Forth) I know it isn't greatest or even glamorous gift around, but-

Mewtwo: (Shakes his Head with a Small Smile) No. This is perfect. The best gift given to me thus far and it's all thanks to you. (Gives Zelda a Hug)

Zelda: (Let's Out a Huge Gasps as Her Eyes Start ) Oh my gossssssh, Mewwyyy!~ You're finally hugging me for the first time!~

Mewtwo: (Looks Down at his Arms Wrapped Around the Princess) Hm. Is that so? I suppose there's a first for everything.

Zelda: You got that right!~ (Happily Hugs Mewtwo Back) I love you so freaking much, Mewtwo~ (Gives Mewtwo a Kiss on the Cheek)

Mewtwo: I you too.

Hades: (Walks By Carrying a Plate of Omelets in his Hand) ('Ugh') Get a room already, you two.

...........................................................................................

Kumatora: (Happiness Hands Ludwig hus Gift) Merry Christmas, babe.

Ludwig: (Eyes Begins to Widened at the Gift in Question) The Complete Series of Bone.....

Kumatora: All in one novel. They were all on sale in the day I came into the bookstore, so I managed to get one of them before the whole shelf runs out. I even snagged this little guy for ya while I was at it. (Hands Ludwig his Second Gift, A Plushie of Fone Bone)

Ludwig: These are all amazing, Kumatora, thank you. (Frowns a Bit) Makes me feel even more terrible for not getting you anything in return.

Kumatora: (Softly Fling her Hand Up) Nah, don't worry about it. There wasn't really much I wanted this year to begin with. (Forms a Small Smile on her Face While Blushing) Except spending the whole month in the city with a certain genius, cutey of a Koopa whom I'm madly fallen for.

Ludwig: (Chuckles Lightly) Come now. I'm hardly THAT cute, you know?

Kumatora: Yeah, you're right. You're not cute. (Gently Pulls Ludwig Close to Her with a Seductive Like Smirk) You're adorable~

Ludwig: You're never gonna let me live it down, are you?

Kumatora: Nope.

Ludwig: Didn't think so. (Gives Kuma a Peck on the Lips)

'Soft Giggles'

The young couple turns to see the older couple, Alucard and Maria, watching them at the other side of the circluar table they're all sitting at.

Maria: How precious indeed~ (Turns to Alucard) Do you remember how lively our romance used to be, Adrian?~

Alucard: Yes, how could i ever forget how much of a hopeless romantic you were? Hm. Now that I said it out, I believe you're still as passionate as you've been all those eons ago.

Maria: (Giggles Softly Before Smirking a Bit Seductively) Oh really now?~ What ever brought you to that conclusion, my dear?~

Alucard: (Leans Closer to his Lover) Where do I even begin?

The older couple begins playfully rubbing each others nose together, much to Ludwig's mild annoyace.

Ludwig: (Rolls his Eyes] And here we go......

Kumatora: Getting embarrassed of your grandparents already, babe?

Ludwig: Sort of. They usually do this whenever I'm around, so I should be used to it by now.

The duo then noticed grunting sounds before turning to the culprit.

Roy: (Lifting Two Dumbell Up and Down While Sitting Down) 112.....113....114.....115.....

Kumatora: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) ...Is he seriously lifting weights in the middle of Christmas Time right now?

Ludwig: ('Sigh') That's not even the half of it. Apparently, he asked for those dumbells for Christmas this year not too long ago, says he needs all the arm training he can get.

Maria: (Chimes in on the Watch With a Worried Frown) That poor dear. He's going to end up tiring his arm out at this rate

Alucard: (Already has a Deadpinned Look on his Face) If that doesn't scream out desperation, I don't know what is at this point.....

Kumatora: I am going to laugh so hard if he ends up losing next year.

........................................................................................

Ryuji: Aw sweet! (Happily Holds Up a Black Sweater with a Skull on Front) You got me this rad looking sweater?

Haru: (Smiles Brightly) Better~ Tifa-san taught me how to knit the whole thing.

Ryuji: (Eyes Widened a Bit) No way. She knits?

Haru: (Happily Nodded) Back when she and Cloud used to work in an orphanage. Her craftsmanship was such a sight to behold, it kind of makes me want to take up Knitting Classes someday in the future.

Ryuji: You keep making neat stuff like this and you'll be the coolest and prettiest Knitter before you even know it. (Winks at his Girlfriend)

Haru: (Giggles Softly Before Smirking Seductively at her Boyfriend) Back to your sweet-talking ways I see?~

Ryuji: (Smirks Back at Haru) Hey, if it helps seeing you smile and giggle some more on Christmas Morning, then I ain't complaining~

Haru: (Giggles Some More)

Ryuji: (Chuckles Lightly) See? I'm on fire already today.

Haru: (Gently Pulls Ryuji Close to Her) Get over here and kiss me already, Skull Boy~

Ryuji: Yes, ma'am~

The couple lean in closer to give each other their kiss until the sound clearing throat alerts the both of to stop what they're doing and turn to Morgana standing right in front of their seats.

Morgana: (Wave at the Duo with a Bit of a Sheepish Smile on his Face) Morning.

Ryuji/Haru: (Immediately Move Away From Each Other Before Putting on Fake, Awkward Smiles on Each of Their Faces) Mona!~

Ryuji: M-Merry Christmas, there, ya squirt!.....

Haru: D-D-Don't mind us, we were just-

Morgana: Relax. I already know you two are dating.

Ryuji: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) Oh shi- (Quickly Gets Hit on the Shoulder by Haru's) Ah!- I mean crap. Really? Since when?

Morgana: (Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head and Forth) I saw you hanging out at an outdoor café through the window of our hotel room not too long ago. While you we're....kissing and stuff. (Quickly Places his Hand on Top of Haru's) N-Now before you start saying anything, I just wanted to let you that I'm okay with all of this.

Ryuji: Wait, you are? Like....for real, for real?

Haru: (Gently Grabs onto her Baby's Hand With a Worried Look on her Face) You're not just saying that to make us feel better or less guilty, are you?

Ryuji: And are you sure you don't have the urge to punch me right now?

Morgana: ('Sigh') No, guys, seriously. I'm perfectly fine with you two dating. I mean, sure, I was completely skeptical and....a tad bit livid about the whole thing when I first found out, but eventually, I realize that I needed to put my biases and pettiness aside and give you two a chance. (Smiles Softly) And I'm glad I did. I can tell you guys are making each other happy. So long as you keep doing that, then I have no problem with you two being together.

Ryuji: (Almost at a Loss For Words Along with Haru) Wow.....(Smiles Back at Morgana) T-Thanks, man. Really. And look, I know we don't always get along or see eye to eye and all that junk, but....it actually really means a lot that you approve of all of this. I promise to keep your ma safe and happy no matter what, count on it.

Morgana: Already am. You are a pretty cool guy after all.

Ryuji: (Forms a Cocky Smirk on his Face) Ahhh so you think I'm coolest now?~ I'm actually quite honored there, squirt.

Morgana: (Chuckles Lightly) I said "cool", not "coolest'. You're not even on my Top 5! But I do think you're pretty great. I'm sorry it took me so long to see that, among other things.....

Ryuji: (Gently Ruffles the Top of Mona's Human Hair) Nah, don't worry about all of that, kid. What happened in the past should stay where it's at. Present and Future has a lot to look forward to, don'tcha think?

Morgana: (Happily Nodded in Agreement) You know it.

'Sniff' Sniff'

The boys turns to see Haru is already in tears, crying.

Morgana: (Eyes Widened in Complete Worry Along with Ryuji) Oh no, mom!

Ryuji: Babe, what's wrong!? Talk to us!

Haru: I'm okay, I just.....('Sniff') I....('Sniff') I'M JUST SO HAPPY THAT MY TWO FAVORITE BOYS ARE FINALLY GETTING ALOOOOOOOONG!~ (Pulls Morgana and Ryuji Together into a Emotional Group Hug)

............................................................................................

Peach: (Happily Shakes her Pauline's Hand) I can't thank you enough for us inviting us here, Mayor.

Pauline: (Smiles Softly) The pleasure is all mines, your majesty. And please, you're more than welcome to just call me Pauline.

Peach: Only if you call me Peach or Peachy for now on? (Winks at the Mayor)

Pauline: (Giggles Softly) Of course~ Honestly thought, I am so happy we finally got the chance to meet this time around. Mario has been telling me so much about you since the first time we've seen each other for so long and I can't helped but to be inspired.

Peach: (Eyes Widened a Bit in Genuine Surprise) Wait. You admired me?

Pauline: (Happily Nodded) Yes, quite a lot actually. You're very kind, hardworking, and you're willing to do everything you can to protect and provide for those you considered a friend, family even. All of those traits and more has greatly inspired me in doing better to watch over the very city I've grew up in. It makes me happy to know that Mario found an amazing woman like you to love and cherish.

Peach: (Places her Hands on Both her Cheeks While Smiling Bashfully at the Thought of her Hand) I knooooow!~ Words cannot describe how madly I love and cherish my darling teddy bear too!~

Pauline: (Snickers a Bit) That's what you call him, your Teddy Bear?~

Peach: (Happily Nodded) Mmhmm!~ Cause he's just as cute and cuddly as the real deal~

Pauline: I can believe that. He is pretty cute for a short man.

Peach: The Cutest~ I just wish he would stop denying it and just accept the truth already......

Pauline: Yeah, he can be a stubborn one alright, but I'm sure he'll come around eventually.

Peach: ('Sigh') Perhaps. Until that time comes, I'm gonna keep teasing and smothering him for it. (Smiles Brightly While Sticking her Tongue Out to the Side).

Pauline starts giggling some more until her assistant walks by and speaks with her.

Assistant: Excuse me, Mayor, you're about to be on at five.

Pauline: (Eyes Widened a Bit) Already?

Assistant nodded before walking off.

Pauline: ('Sigh') Better get ready then....(Turns to Peach) Sorry to cut our conversation short, Peach, but show biz calls. Maybe we could have it resume after the performance is all over?

Peach: (Happily Nodded) Of course. Only if you join the Certified Moms going forward. We would love to have a wonderful Mayor like you be a part of our rag tag team mother figures.

Pauline: (Smiles Brightly) I'd love that. Thank you. (Waves Goodbye to Peach Before Walking Off) Wish me luck!~

Peach: (Waves Back) Will do, dear!~ (Turns to Her Fellow Moms Beside Her) Guess which Mayor is gonna be joining in the squad next year?~

The ladies (And Lea) begins to cheer in rejoice along with Peach of their newest member.

.......................................................................................

The entire crowd begins to cheer and applause as they see the Maypr of New Donk City walking up on the stage waving at everyone watching her.

Pauline: Thank you, thank you. It brings me so much to joy to be up here on this fine Christmas Morning.

Some Guy in the Audience: SING ONE-UP GIRL!!!

Pauline: (Puts on a Deadpinned Look on her Face) No. (Smiles Again) Instead, I would like to perform something a lot different this morning. I know this first song is little bit overplayed to some, but it's always been my favorite growing up and with the help of my two co-performers, we hope our performance could be more than enough to lift up the Holiday Spirit going forward, so please enjoy.

Crowd: (Cheers in Rejoice)

'Toy Xylophone Starts Playing'

Pauline: (Starts Singing on the Microphone) IIIIII~Don't want a lot for Christmas~

Dark Pit: (In the Audience Rolling his Eyes) Oh great. Of course they have to start on this song.....

Misako: (Shrugs) It is a cult classic.

Pauline: They're is just one thing I neeeeed!~

Pit: (Joins in on the Stage Along with Sora) I don't care about the presents!~

Sora: Underneath the Christmas Tree!~

Dark Pit: (Eyes Widened in Complete Disbelief as He Got Up Ftom his Seat) Ah hell no! Those two idiots are involved in this shit too!?

Misako: Huh. It looks like it.

Kyoko: (Eyes Widened in Genuine Surprise) They get to perform on stage with the Mayor? (Starts Pouting a Little) Lucky......

Pauline: Make my wish coooome truuuuuuuuue!~

Crowd: (Starts Cheer and Whistling)

Pauline: Alllll I want!~ For Christmaaaaaas~ Issssss~ Yooooooou!~

As the piano starts playing, the bells start jingling, and the drums starts beating on cue, the trio on stage begins to sing and dance together.

Pauline/Pit/Sora: We don't want a lot for Christmas!~ There is just one thing we need!~

Dark Pit: (Takes a Deep Breath) Fuck it. (Clap his Hands Before Walking Off) That's my cue to leave.

Kyoko: (Watches her Boyfriend Walk Away Along with Misako) Pitto-Kiiiins!

Misako: ('Sigh') Where are you going?

Dark Pit: Back to our room! I rather stay asleep for the rest of the day than sit through all this shi-

Pitto suddenly bumps into something heavy enough to make fall and sit on the ground. He then looks up to see Omega, Futuba, and Yusuke, standing above him wearing black suits and sunglasses.

Dark Pit: (Gets Himself Back Up on his Feet) What got you three all dressed up for?

Futuba: We're here to serve as the performers' bodyguards for the time being.

Omega: (Points at Pitto) And YOU are not permitted to leave out this area until the performance has reach it's completion.

Dark Pit: Are you serious right now? I doubt a lot of people here would care if I miss one show.

Yusuke: On the contrary, Pit-San would be very displeased if he take notice that his own brother is not present in the audience. Hence why he assigned us to watch over you specifically.

Dark Pit: That little- (Takes Another Deep Breath Before Speaking) Okay. How many songs are they supposed to perform again?

Yusuke: Around five to six, with a few encores sprinkled here and there if feel generous enough to do so.

Dark Pit: ('Grons in Annoyance') Oh big surprise.....

Futuba: Just let 'em have this one, man. It's Christmas for pete sakes.

Dark Pit: (Sighs in Defeat Before Slowly Turning Himself Around) If you really insi- (Immediately Points at Something Afar) Hey look! Is that Santa over there!?

Futuba: (Eyes Widened as She Quickly Looks to Pitto's Direction Along with her two Partners) He's here!?

Omega: WHERE!?

Yusuke: Will he be willing to let me do a few paintings of him free of charge?

Futuba: Really Inari? On Christmas?

As the trio are too busy looking, Pitto sneakily and quickly makes his way to the lobby.

Dark Pit: That was a lot easier than I thought. Now, to get back to my room.... (Suddenly Feel Like He's Not Moving at All) Wait. Why am I not- (Eyes Begins to Widened as He Looks Down to See That He's Levitate in the Air in a Magical Gravitational Sphere) What the-

'Ahem'

Pitto turns to see Viridi, Riku, and Kairi looking up at him with the silver haired boy using his Keyblade's power to keep him still and the redhead girl happily waving at him in the process.

Dark Pit: Viridi? What are guys doing here?

Viridi: Bringing you back to your seat. Where you belong.

Dark Pit: ('Sigh') Oh come on, just let me go already! I mean, you guys hated this song as much as I do, right?

Riku: Not really no.

Kairi: (Shrugs) I've warmed up to it for some time now actually.

Viridi: Ain't a fan of it myself, but I hate seeing our boys sad more than anything. And I'll be damned if we gonna let that happen because you wanna be lazy jerk. Let's go.

And so, the dark angel begins to sit on the gravitation sphere and grumbles to himself as the trio turn him and themselves ti their seats to sit through the rest of the performance's runtime.

MERRY BERATED CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!

@cyber-wildcat

@albion-93

@caleb13frede

@bestpony666

@princekirijo

[princesssarisa]

Heathcliff for the 7-questions-ask?

Three facts about them from my personal headcanons.

He's ethnically Romani, and he secretly still remembers the language and culture of his early childhood.

He's not a supernatural creature – headcanons claiming that he is one are valid, but they can also have unfortunate racist implications, and a headcanon like that shouldn't be taken as the one true way to read the novel.

He never had sex with Catherine Earnshaw (just because they spend time together off-page at certain points doesn't mean they ever did it), or with any woman except Isabella. Not that I think he should be viewed as asexual, per se – I just think it's interesting that one of the most passionate loves in literature goes unconsummated, and that one of the famous of all "Byronic heroes" never has sex out of passion or lust at all, but only uses it as a tool to achieve a goal.

A reason they suck:

The short list or the long list? Just to keep things simple, I"ll name the fact that he despises and abuses his son, and then coldly neglects him on his deathbed. Yes, Linton is whiny, manipulative, and obnoxious, but he's still a dying teenager, he's still Heathcliff's own child, and I can't agree with people who argue that his flaws make Heathcliff's treatment of him forgivable.

A reason they are great:

The cliché answer would be his passion for Catherine Earnshaw. But while of course it's compelling, to say that his love for her is his only redeeming quality is all too reductive. So instead, I'll cite the fact that throughout his rise to power, no matter how villainous he becomes, he never loses his empathy for the underdog and the servant class. He never stops confiding in Nelly Dean (even though they're far from allies in the second half of the book), he never fires Joseph even though they loathe each other, and of course there's his reluctant sympathy and empathy for Hareton, in part because he looks like his aunt Catherine, but more because Heathcliff sees his own younger self in him.

A reason I relate to them:

I'm usually quiet in front of other people, but I'm full of intense inner passion.

(what I consider to be) the top tier otp/ot3 for that character:

Catherine Earnshaw is his one and only. Neither of them belongs with any other partner.

Five things that never happened to the character that I believe should have happened:

He isn't a character I tend to wish things had happened differently for, because the bad things both that happen to him and that he does to others are more or less the backbone of the story. But I'll imagine some things that just might have made his life better and protected his victims too.

That Mr. Earnshaw had formally adopted him and set aside at least a small inheritance for him. (Of course that would have prevented him from marrying Cathy, even if there were no Edgar, but at least it might have offered him some protection from Hindley.)

That Hindley had died in an accident while Mr. Earnshaw was still alive, leaving Cathy as the heir to Wuthering Heights – since, unlike Thrushcross Grange, there's no evidence that the Heights is entailed – with Heathcliff by her side.

That the other people around him had treated him with the basic respect a human being deserves, instead of being racist and classist and already treating him like a bandit before he does anything wrong.

That instead of running away as soon as he heard Cathy say it would degrade her to marry him, he had stayed and heard her entire "whatever our souls are made of..." speech. I'm not sure how much difference it would have made, since learning the true depth of her love for him later doesn't stop him from becoming even darker and more vengeful after her death. But at least it might have made some type of difference.

That he had never married Isabella and never fathered a son.

Five people that character never fell in love with and why.

Isabella Linton. He despises her and only uses her as a tool.

The younger Catherine Linton. Even if he were inclined to pursue such a young girl whose mother was the love of his life, she resembles her father Edgar too much, and besides, Heathcliff blames her for her mother's death.

Frances Earnshaw. She's one of the people who mistreats him, and she's almost as much to blame as the Lintons for Cathy's transformation into a "lady."

Nelly Dean. At best, she's more of a sister figure to him.

Mrs. Earnshaw. He only knew her for two years, she died when he was nine years old, and she presumably despised him throughout that brief time.

[isawthisangel]

Chaos magic (Loki x reader)

word count -> 2.5k

plot summary -> wandavision but it's lokiy/n

a/n -> angst!! so much angst oh my god all the trigger warnings there's death and blood and grieving and it's all just a lot this prompt was amazing though

‘This should be fun.’

The last full sentence you’d ever spoken to him.

He can see you now, stood before him, brimming with energy and nerves and enthusiasm, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Impatient. Always moving, never still.

Upon seeing the creatures you’d been dispatched to kill your expression had changed, nervousness switching to resilience, enthusiasm to determination.

The others had all been there of course. His brother. Stark with his obnoxious suit. The green one. Loki abhors thinking of them now, with only the possible exception of his brother, reluctant to remember even what they looked like, let alone their names.

‘This should be fun,’ you’d said, your eyes shining with fervour as you scanned the oncoming targets. Stark had made one of his remarks, and Loki remembers feeling his chest tighten with affection as you’d laughed, carefree.

He’d always found himself having to physically stop himself from removing you from danger. Shoving you behind him, through a portal, away, safe, where whatever it was you so loved throwing yourself at recklessly couldn’t hurt you.

They always used to joke about your recklessness, how you’d be the first one to go. The thought of it makes him feel sick now.

You’d practically flown into battle, ahead of everyone as usual, wanting to have the first say in how things were going to go. Loki doesn’t remember feeling particularly worried about this; he’s used to you being stupid, but he’d also been used to seeing you coming back to him at the end. Limping and covered in your own blood, yes, but nothing that he couldn’t manage.  

That day, it became something that he couldn’t manage. It wasn’t a long fight, maybe about fifteen minutes or so, but it was a hard one, and at the end of it he’d stood catching his breath and looked around for you. You were supposed to have been making some funny comment to Stark, or calling for him to heal a wound, or someone else’s wound.

You were not supposed to have been lying on the floor, poisoned, and bleeding out. You weren’t supposed to have been dying.

Really dying.

He remembers thinking that as he’d stood over you, not moving quickly enough because for some reason his limbs had seized up and his brain wasn’t thinking half as fast as it usually was because there was a lot of blood on the floor and your eyes weren’t open.

He remembers crouching next to you and seeing someone holding your hand, and hearing a voice telling him urgently to do something and thinking don’t you think I would be if I could?.

He remembers too much and suddenly he’s back there, living it again as he has countless times already.

He tries to heal you, and your eyelids flutter and open briefly, and when you look at him your eyes are so full of pain and fear that Loki stops breathing.

‘It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re fine,’ he can hear himself speaking from far away, hear his shaking voice and see his hand smoothing the hair back from your forehead but in reality it’s like he’s floating and alarms are going off in his head and he doesn’t know what to do.

Thor is trying to move you but Loki pushes him away roughly, trying to heal you again and why isn’t it working? He thinks he says this last part out loud, maybe shouts it. He knows why, it’s poison from those things, and it’s in your veins, trying to take you from him.

Your breathing is getting shallower by the second, and he tries healing you again, again, again, until his vision goes blurry and his head spins.

‘Loki, stop.’

Your voice sounds incredibly small and weak, and he squeezes his eyes shut because this isn’t happening, it can’t be happening, not to him, not to you.

‘It hurts,’ you gasp, your voice scratching its way free of your throat and Loki thinks I know, he’s hurting so much that he thinks he might die right along with you. Because it’s happening. You’re dying. He feels it.

So he pulls you close to him, answering your whimpers of pain not with magic that heals but instead with magic that soothes and calms, and he feels your muscles relax, watches through blurry eyes as you look up at him and feels his heart break, actually break when he sees how scared you are.

‘I don’t… want to go,’ you manage, and Loki hears someone sobbing behind him which fills him with inexplicable rage because they can’t be feeling a fraction of the pain he feels, their mortal body would surely break apart and fold in on itself from the anguish.

The rage is instantly quelled by an unbearable wave of grief and yet he’s still talking to you, holding you, murmuring quiet words of comfort and reassurance even as your blood stains his clothes and your eyes take on a faraway look which tells you that you can’t see him anymore.

He’s certain his heart stops beating with yours.

‘Y/N,’ he says, but nothing happens, he can’t speak, can’t move. You’ve gone awfully still, but your blood continues to seep steadily onto the ground, onto him, his hands, staining his skin.

It occurs to Loki that this cannot possibly be happening, because not twenty minutes ago he’d been stood by your side watching you laugh and you’d been so alive. You can’t just be gone, not just like that, there’s too much of you.

There’s a strange buzzing noise in his ears; he swallows and blinks and tries to get rid of it, tries to draw a breath. He still can’t move. His heart, which had seconds previously seemed to have ceased working, now starts hammering inside his chest, beating against the inside of his ribcage as though trying to get out, towards you, closer to you.

He’s acutely aware of noise around him, voices, people, nothing that matters. He’s starting to panic a bit, and the thought makes him panic more because he doesn’t let people see him showing emotion unless it’s you, and you’re…

Loki gasps suddenly, a tight pain in his chest alerting him to the fact that he hadn’t been breathing. He looks up and realises that Thor had been sat on your other side the whole time, holding your other hand. He’s still holding your hand as he looks over at his brother, cheeks wet, loss and pain written plainly across his face. Loki wonders if he looks anything like that.

He wants to leave because more people are arriving now and he knows they’ll want to take you from him and he doesn’t know if he can let go and then he’ll have to talk to people and it’s all just moving too fast. He could do it, he could just teleport the two of you away right now and not have to deal with any of it, not yet.

That will only prolong the pain says a voice in his head, and it sounds a bit like you. He’s suddenly aware that he’ll never hear your voice again, and the awful, gut-wrenching feeling in his chest grows and builds until it’s dangerously close to being absolutely, completely unbearable.

He needs to be alone, but he won’t leave you. Not until he has to.

Thor reaches over and places your hand gently on your abdomen. Your fingers are curled slightly from where you’d been holding on to him, and Loki realises with a jolt that your other hand is clasped tightly in his.

‘Loki,’ Thor says gently, and Loki can only close his eyes and give the tiniest of head shakes.

‘We have to move her,’ his brother says, his voice reduced by grief to barely more than a whisper. Loki knows, but that means looking back down at you, and he doesn’t even know if he can do that, let alone let go of your hand, or stand up or walk, or carry you.

It’s started to rain; the sky is crying and Loki can only agree.

‘Where?’ he manages, and his voice doesn’t sound like his.

‘The tower,’ Thor replies, and it takes a minute but finally Loki nods. With Herculean effort he forces himself to look back down at you and almost falls to pieces. Your face is still turned to him, your eyes hideously, irreversibly blank.

Thor reaches across slowly and, when Loki doesn’t stop him, closes your eyes with the utmost caution, as though he might still be able to hurt you. It’s better. Loki can almost pretend you’re sleeping this way.

It still takes him another minute to remove his hand from yours. He can’t remember if he’d grabbed you or vice versa but it feels intrinsically wrong to take his hand away from yours.

Somehow he gets you in his arms. Somehow he stands up; he thinks Thor might have had to help him with that part. And then he’s walking, trying very hard not to blink, not to look at the way your arm hangs uselessly in the air as he moves you, not to look at anyone or anything apart from Thor’s back, in front of him.

Then he’s in the Quinjet, and Thor points to the medical table. Loki puts you down, almost mechanically. He’s put you there so many times before, in varying states of disarray and pain, ready to do whatever it takes to heal you.

Not this time.

Now that he’s not touching you anymore, he can feel the haze of shock more clearly. He thinks that it’s the only thing from keeping him from destroying everyone and everything around him and then himself for not keeping you safe.

Seeing your lifeless body feels so horribly wrong, like seeing the night sky with no stars or moon, or listening to a song with no melody.

Suddenly he has to get away. Thor will make sure you’re kept safe.

Loki turns and sees the others. They look torn apart, numb. No one tries to stop him as he stumbles past them and vanishes.

He sits up suddenly, not wanting to remember anymore. But memories of you are all he has left.

It’s been three days. It still hurts the same, if not more. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept. He knows he’ll only wake up reaching for you, and he won’t be able to bear it when his hand finds nothing but an empty bed.

No one’s tried to speak to him since, not even Thor, but he’s heard them talking.

‘What do we do with him? She is… was, the only reason he’s here. And he’s dangerous, we know what he’s capable of…’

Thor had been arguing his case vehemently, but Loki can’t help but agree with Stark and the others. He is dangerous. It scares him as well as them, because no one knows what he’s capable of more than him. Shock lingers around him, protecting him from the worst of the pain, but not for much longer.

He’s waiting to break, and he expects it’ll happen soon. He doesn’t want to be here when it happens. He wants to be away from Thor, away from everyone if he can help it, but better to be around people he doesn’t know and care about than people he does.

Suddenly he’s up, moving as though in a trance. If he stays in this room for one second longer he’ll surely go insane. Teleporting from the tower is absolutely against the rules, but he can’t find it in him to care.

So he teleports once. Twice. And again, and again, and again, going through the motions, letting his mind go blissfully blank for a while.

It’s about ten minutes before he gets tired. He has no idea how far he’s gone, or where he might have ended up. There are houses, and it’s snowing. No one is about.

The cold which settles over his skin is welcome to him, and then before he can help it he’s remembering again. The last time he’d seen snow he’d been with you.

‘Catch,’ he hears you say.

The snowball hits him square in the chest, and he reacts only by turning to look at you slowly, taking great pleasure in watching hilarity turn to anxiety as you watch him brush the snow from his coat and then flex his fingers.

He remembers laughing and laughing, your nose, red from the cold, scrunching up in that adorable manner, you beginning to shiver and stealing his coat because ‘why do you need that?’, snowflakes in your hair, happiness.

Now, the white landscape in front of Loki blurs as his eyes fill, tears burning hot against the icy coldness of his cheeks. Everything is white, until everything is black when it becomes too much and he screws his eyes shut.

He feels himself breaking, and lets it happen. And then everything is green.

…

‘Loki?’

His eyes snap open.

You’re there.

Concern in your eyes, you reach for him, and he feels your touch and doesn’t understand. The great hole in his chest carved out by grief over your loss is still there, and yet here you are, snowflakes in your hair and all.

‘Y/N,’ he tries to say, but yet again finds himself unable to speak, to move.

Your hands grip his shoulders, and he’s surely dreaming.

‘Loki, people are looking,’ you say, throwing a nervous smile over your shoulder at some passers-by.

Suddenly able to move, he reaches out and pushes some hair back from your face. Images flash across his mind of you, bloody, laid across his lap, but they’re somewhat blurred, and before he can think about it too much they’re gone.

You still look confused, so he pulls you to him, and your body fits against his perfectly, as it always has. One hand on your back, one in your hair he breathes you in, and practically feels the hole in his chest shrinking, affection for you swelling in him and disguising the hurt.

Chaos magic.

He hears the voice in his head, and ignores it, pushing it away and concentrating on the way he can feel your heart beating, the rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathe.

‘This is very romantic and all, but can we start walking back? I’m cold,’ you say, your voice slightly muffled against his chest.

Worry flares in his chest.

‘Back?’ he asks, and you pull away in order to look up at him.

‘Home,’ you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Somewhere, in the total depths of his mind, Loki knows that this is absolutely wrong and he should stop this immediately. But the rest of him knows that he can’t.

So he smiles at you.

‘Okay,’ he says, and you take his hand to lead him home.

part two?? lmk

Tag list💌: @propertyofkingvalkyrie @later-gators12

comment to be added ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[jungshookz]

smitten: y/n's note is in jungkook's bag and she needs to get it back like, right now

➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader

➺ genre; smitten!miniseries!! bff!kook & smitten!y/n!! university!au!! honk honk humour!! the boo hoo angsty wattpad-energy fic of your dreams!! unrequited love!! it hurts so bad but that's what makes it so good!!

➺ wordcount; 7.1k

➺ summary; y/n realizes her meticulously written i love you note is burning a hole at the bottom of jungkook's bag and the mere thought of him finding it is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

➺ what to expect; "well, maybe the reason why you're just friends is because the two of you won't allow yourselves to be more than that."

➺ smitten: part one [the almost confession]

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

[previously, on smitten...]

what?

where the hell is it?

you reach into the side pockets and you're disappointed when you end up pulling out old tissues and empty gum wrappers

it's not in the front pocket either — just your keys, a pack of bubblegum, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer

your brows knit together in deep thought as you settle back against your seat, your eyes flickering to the side as you-

you immediately pale

oh my god.

you're positive that your heart stops beating for three whole seconds the moment you realize where exactly the note is — because no, you idiot, you didn't shove it into your own bag earlier-

the note is in jungkook's bag.

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

the next thirty or so minutes of class seem to drag on at a snail's pace and you find yourself checking the time on your phone every five seconds to see when you can finally dart out those doors

your first instinct was to immediately get up and leave because of course you wanted to immediately get up and leave, but with only twenty-ish people in the class and the fact that you're seated near the front... well, it would be a little awkward to just pack up your things and trek up towards the doors without a legitimate excuse (you were tempted to tell your professor that your stomach wasn't feeling very good but the thought of your peers associating you with explosive diarrhea quickly changed your mind)

so, you decided to be a good student and wait it out — but, being perfectly honest, you haven't really been paying much attention to the professor since the thought of you shoving your hi bestie, i'm head-over-heels in love with you note into jungkook's bag instead of yours contaminated your mind five minutes ago

...

you let out a little huff before shaking your head to yourself

how could you be so careless?!

you don't even know how it happened

your bag was sitting on your right thigh, jungkook's bag was sitting on your left thigh... so how the hell did you manage to shove it into his bag??

on the bright side, at least you know where it is, right?

it's in the right side pocket of the bag, so all you have to do is unzip it and stick your hand in and out really quickly without jungkook noticing you rummaging around in his belongings

...but what if he's already read the note?

your foot taps impatiently against the carpeted ground and you reach up and start tugging at your earlobe anxiously, your eyes flickering up towards the dusty analog clock hanging on the wall

c'mon... c'mon...

your grip tightens around your pencil as you continue to trace circles aimlessly on the page, the paper crinkling slightly from the amount of pressure you're putting on it

the stress that's currently eating away at you is probably going to take ten years off your life

"-so, that's pretty much it from me for the day!"

you don't think you've ever been so happy for a class to end as soon as the screen goes black at the front and you waste absolutely no time in packing up

you probably look insane trying to shove your laptop and your notebook into your bag at the same time but you couldn't care less at this point because you need to get the hell out of here

"-please remember to contribute to the discussion threads online... at least four responses, please, and none of those bullshit 'yes, i agree!' responses. i'm definitely not going to count those as participation marks-"

you close your bag with a sharp ziiiip! and you hurry to fold the squeaky desk back into place, a couple of people turning to glance at you for the sudden abundance of clattering and knocking coming from your direction

"excuse me, pardon me-" you pull your backpack on as you step over multiple sets of legs, trying your best not to trample on any feet or knock anyone's tooth out with your bag, "sorry! excuse me-"

you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you jog up the steps two at a time, your brain immediately mapping out the route to the library jungkook said he'd be at

best case scenario: he hasn't found the note and your friendship with him is still very much in tact

worst case scenario: he found the note and is currently reading it at this point in time and your friendship with him is starting to crumble but you still have a chance to swoop in and pick up the pieces

the absolutely worst case ever in the entire world scenario: he's found the note, he's read the note, he's processed the note, and your friendship with him has been completely annihilated and now he's planning to change his name and leave the country so that he doesn't have to confront you about it

you use your shoulder to shove the doors open before bursting out into the open air, ignoring the concerned glances you're starting to receive from your obviously frazzled state

"oh god, oh god, oh god-!" your backpack flops wildly against your back as you rush down the narrow brick steps leading towards the main boulevard

realistically, jungkook's probably found and read the note, so all you have to do is come up with a short monologue about how all of it was fake and that the note was just a sick, twisted prank of some kind

i know that the note makes it seem like i'm telling you that i'm in love with you, but that's not the truth at all!

"woah, watch it-!"

you accidentally knock into someone's shoulder while sprinting down the lane and you turn around for a second just to hold a hand out while flashing the stranger a sheepish smile

"sorry! so sorry-" you turn back around, reaching up to keep your glasses secured on the top of your head as you continue to sprint, your sneakers slapping down against the pavement

as you read in the note, i made a point about how since we're friends, we should be honest with each other... and honestly, there are nothing but lies in the note! and there's a lesson in that, you know? words can be full of lies but we, as human beings, should be full of truths-

"nope, hate that-" you shake your head and immediately scrunch up that mental piece of paper before tossing it into your brain's garbage bin

you'd sound like an obnoxious philosophy student if you hit him with that explanation

it was a prank! i want to start a prank war with you and this is how i'm kicking things off!

that... that could work, right?

that's not bad!

just tell him that you wanted to start a prank war with him so you decided to go big or go home with an i love you, best friend note to see how he would react!

"so stupid-" you mutter to yourself, slowing down to a jog as you approach the doors to the library, "so, so stupid-"

the Super Epic Prank War ROFL XD™ explanation isn't the greatest excuse but it's the best you can do on such short notice

thankfully, it doesn't take you very long to track down jungkook considering the fact he always sits in the same area every time the two of you come here

your feet come to a screeching halt the moment you spot him and you quickly step to the side to hide behind the wall

you slowly lean over a little to peek at him

he has his headphones on and he's busy typing away at his laptop and you can tell he's concentrating really hard because he has that cute frown on his face and occasionally he'll mutter something to himself

jungkook in intense focus mode is something you find to be very endearing :-)

...

you quickly shake your head to snap yourself out of your daze before focusing on jungkook's face again

he certainly doesn't look like he just read an explosive love letter...

hm

you could still be safe!

...for now, that is.

"okay, y/n-" you stand up straight and let out a breath, giving yourself a mental pat on the head in an effort to calm your nerves, "better sooner than later, right? just- you just have to rip it off like a bandaid-"

your anxiety seems to build with every step that brings you closer to jungkook and you can almost hear the jaws theme song playing all around you

da-dum

jungkook, i swear i have a perfectly logical explanation for this...

da-dum

i know the note does a very convincing job of making it seem like i'm in love with you, but that couldn't be farther from the truth!

da-dum, da-dum

consider this your initiation into our very serious prank war, my friend!

dadumdadumdumdumbdumbdumbthisissuchadumbdumbidea-

"hi!" you greet a little too enthusiastically, trying your best not to make it seem like you just sprinted across campus to get to him even though you very clearly did

"sorry, seat's reserv- y/n?" jungkook looks up from his laptop before frowning, quickly glancing back down at his screen to check the time as he pulls his headphones off to hang around his neck, "aren't you- didn't your class end, like, literally a minute ago? why are you so- did you run here??" he asks incredulously, getting up from his seat as his brows knit together in concern

"no, no! of course i didn't run here, silly- oh, god, give me a sec-" you wheeze, bending down and gripping onto the back of the wooden chair in front of you as you try to catch your breath, your chest still falling and rising at a concerning pace from the physical stress of sprinting and the mental stress of the current situation, "it was more of a- of a brisk walk, if you think about it- jesus, i think i'm gonna throw up-"

"okay, you need to drink some water- come and sit next to me-" jungkook reaches out to help lead you around the table towards him, "god, i don't know why you thought you had to run over, it's not like i was planning on going anywhere-"

"i'm fine, kook, it's fine-"

"you're, like, literally radiating heat," jungkook turns you around and pulls your bag off your back before pulling out a chair and helping you into it, "and your face is all red!" he frowns, setting your bag down on the table and unzipping it to pull out your water bottle

"my face is always this red!" you force out a casual laugh, waving your hand to dismiss him as you lean back against the seat, "i'm fine, it's fine-"

"shut up and take a sip-" jungkook untwists the cap of your water bottle before shoving it into your hands and gently lifting it up towards your mouth, his head tilting up a little so he can check and see if you're actually drinking anything, "c'mon, hydrate yourself-"

you swallow a couple gulps of water before pulling the bottle away and reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "god, i love water-"

"yeah, i bet." jungkook chuckles, visibly more relieved now that he knows you won't be passing out from exhaustion anytime soon

as you put your water bottle away, your eyes lower towards jungkook's backpack slouching against the leg of his chair and almost immediately the anxiety that you thought you'd just swallowed down bubbles right back up

"so, are you going to tell me why you're acting like the cops are after you?" jungkook jokes, taking his seat before pulling his headphones off and setting them down next to his laptop

"i just, um-" you press your lips together as you slowly start to lean down, stretching your arm out towards the pocket, "i just wanted to see you, buddy!"

"i don't believe that for a second." jungkook snorts, turning to look at you

you shoot straight back up and pull your arm up and behind your head as if you're in the middle of a good stretch, "hey, what's with that tone? it's not a crime for me to want to see you-"

"you saw me at lunch! and that was only like an hour and a half ago-" jungkook turns his head to look back at his screen and you quickly revert back to your mission impossible secret agent mode

the forced smile drops from your face and you lean back down, your fingers blindly feeling for the cool metal of the zipper

"you know, you actually came at just the right time-" jungkook speaks up again and you pause just in case you need to pull away from his bag, but he makes no move to turn and look at you, "ji-eun was about to leave for her class but now you can meet her before she goes off!"

"uh-huh..." your tongue pokes out in concentration as you unzip the pocket in one swift movement, immediately sticking your hand in and feeling around for the balled-up piece of paper, "sounds gre-"

hold on, what did he just say?

you shoot back up

"did you just-" you choke and reach up to pat your chest gently, "i'm sorry, did you just say that ji-eun was here?"

"uh-huh!" jungkook nods, "i didn't know she had a spare at the same time as i did so i was surprised when she came over to say hi- it turns out our schedules are, like, sort of similar which oddly makes me kind of happy-"

it's at that moment that you notice the cherry-patterned tote bag slumped in the chair sitting across from you and you let out a nervous chuckle as you shift in your seat, "great! great, that's so- great, it's great that i'm meeting ji-eun today, out of all days..." you trail off, glancing around warily as you try to come up with some kind of an exit strategy

you're just really not in the mood to meet the love of jungkook's life today

you've already been hit with so many blows and it's only two in the afternoon-

"sorry that took so long! i couldn't find a bin but i bumped into my friends and they said they'd throw it out for me-"

oh, you have got to be kidding me.

your eyes widen in mild panic upon immediately recognizing ji-eun to be the girl who had overheard your entire monologue in the bathroom earlier today — and from the way her eyes flicker, it seems as though she remembers exactly who you are as well

"oh, no worries!" jungkook beams at ji-eun before pointing to you with his thumb, "this is my friend, by the way. the one i was talking about earlier! y/n, this is ji-eun."

you stay quiet as you continue staring up at ji-eun, your mind racing a mile a minute as you consider your current options

you can pretend like you've never met her before or you can make things awkward by telling jungkook that you met her today after she'd emptied her bladder

"...y/n?" jungkook lowers his voice, nudging you with his elbow before letting out a nervous chuckle, "please say something."

"i- yes, hello!" you blurt out, the feet of your chair scraping against the rough carpet as you get up from your seat to stick your hand out towards ji-eun, "it's- ah- it's- it's so nice to meet you! i'm y/n."

ji-eun stays quiet for a second before her lips turn up in a polite smile and she reaches towards you, gently taking your outstretched hand in hers (for the record, her hands are shockingly soft and supple), "it's lovely to meet you... as well, y/n. i love your glasses!"

you can't help but notice the immediate warmth that seems to surround ji-eun and suddenly it makes a lot more sense as to why jungkook's attracted to her

you're about as comforting as stepping into a puddle of water while wearing socks

you feel a slight sense of relief seeing that ji-eun is playing along but your new concern is whether or not she's connected the dots that your monologue in the bathroom was dedicated to jungkook

you didn't actually say his name when you were talking out loud, so you might be able to get away with this...

"oh, these old things?" you reach up to feel the glasses sitting on top of your head before flicking your hand at her, "i bought them on amazon. they're blue-light glasses- i can totally send you the link if you want."

"that would actually be great!" she gasps, nodding enthusiastically, "i desperately need a pair of blue-light glasses- seriously, i stared at my laptop screen for, like, ten hours straight today and i really feel like they're about to roll out of my head-"

"oh my god, don't even get me started. at this point it'd probably feel better to rip them right out of their sockets-"

"ji-eun, you ready?"

"let's gooo, i wanna get an iced coffee before we head off to class."

you and ji-eun don't get a chance to continue bonding over the pain of sore eyes when you're suddenly interrupted by two new voices

you look up to see two guys approaching the table and you subtly push your seat back a bit as you prepare yourself to say hello again

"oh! yeah, i'm ready, sorry-" ji-eun gestures towards you with a smile, "this is- this is jungkook's friend, by the way. y/n, these are my friends."

"hi, hello-" you get up from your seat again to stick your hand out, offering the two (very handsome, might you add) strangers a friendly smile, "i'm y/n, jungkook's friend- but you- you already knew that because that's what ji-eun just said-"

"i'm taehyung! you can call me tae-" the corners of taehyung's mouth immediately raise in a bright grin and he gives your hand a firm shake before nodding next to him, "and this is jimin!"

"hi..." you trail off, turning to give jimin a handshake as well, "so nice to meet you!"

"oh, i just- i actually just washed my hands, so-" jimin chuckles, looking down at your hand before taking a small step back, "but it's nice to meet you... jungkook's friend."

ooh

is it just you or did it suddenly get a little icy in here?

"oh, no problem! um, yeah, you too." you pull your hand back before swallowing nervously and forcing the polite smile back on your face, "i like your jacket, by the way! it looks really cool."

maybe it's because he's wearing giant sunglasses indoors but you can't help but feel slightly intimidated by jimin

you can't see his eyes but you can certainly feel them on you and you're definitely getting the vibe that jimin is already not the biggest fan of you for some weird reason

"thank you." he responds curtly, smoothing a hand over the leather before looking down at ji-eun, "so can we go now?"

"mhm!" ji-eun gets up from her chair before pushing it back into place, pulling her tote back up onto her shoulder before flashing a sweet smile at jungkook, "see you later, alligator."

"in a while, crocodile!" jungkook responds enthusiastically, watching with twinkly eyes as she turns and heads off towards the exit with jimin and taehyung glued at either side of her

god

she even walks prettily

and you were literally clomping down the boulevard like a feral caveman a second ago

you wait until they've disappeared to turn and face jungkook with a raised eyebrow, "...jimin was kind of a bitch."

"hey, play nice!" jungkook frowns, reaching over to give your arm a gentle whack, "he's a fashion major! ji-eun says being snooty is part of the degree requirements-" he grins, shaking his head slightly before leaning back against his chair, "she's, like, super funny."

"mm." you hum, still feeling a little uneasy about your interaction with jimin

you just hate it when first meetings don't go well and that first meeting definitely wasn't super great

but it wasn't like you did anything wrong, right?

you were great!

snooty jimin was the one who was being rude

whatever

hopefully you won't have to hang out with him too often if jungkook and ji-eun become an item

maybe you can just stick with taehyung!

he seems to be a lot friendlier

"oh, by the way, i-" you're suddenly reminded of your main mission and you turn to point down at jungkook's bag, "it's not a big deal, but i- i accidentally shoved something in your bag earlier and- could i just get it back from you?"

"you did?" jungkook frowns, leaning down to pick his bag up before unzipping it all the way and pulling both flaps open, "what was it?"

"it was- uh- just some notes on a scrap piece of paper!" you immediately feel the weight lift from your shoulders at jungkook's cluelessness to the situation, "i put it in the right side pocket-"

"wait, are you talking about, like, a balled up thing of paper?" jungkook pauses before looking up at you with wide eyes, "oh, shit- was it important??"

"um, i wouldn't call it important-" you snort, shaking your head, "is it not there? i swore it was in the right side pocket-"

"no, no, it was there! it was there, i just- ji-eun needed to spit her gum out and i thought it was one of my scrap pieces of paper-" jungkook winces, grabbing his phone and unlocking it with fumbling fingers, "i'm so sorry, y/n- let me text ji-eun and ask her which garbage can she threw it into and i can go dig it out-"

"no, no, it's okay!" you nearly let out a screech of delight knowing that your note now has a slobbery wad of gum in it and is living at the bottom of a trash can, "it's fine, i just- they were just boring notes for something. i just wanted to see if i had really shoved it into your bag or not."

"oh, okay-" jungkook's shoulders immediately slump and he sets his phone down on the table, "you're sure it wasn't important?"

"100%." you hold both hands out with a chuckle, "i needed to throw it out anyway so i guess ji-eun actually did me a favour-"

"okay, phew." jungkook sighs, zipping his bag back up and plopping it back down on the ground next to his feet, "anyways- i'm actually glad you're here because now you can help me plan out my date! i was working on it but then ji-eun came and obviously i couldn't have that google doc open in front of her-" he turns his laptop to show you all of his hard work with a grin, "check it out! i have a list of things i need to buy, i have outfit ideas, i even went on pinterest for inspiration-"

"wow, kook-" your eyes bulge out for a second at the sight of the extensive and shockingly organized google doc before you reach over to pull his laptop closer towards you, "i... i really don't think i've ever seen you... even make a google doc before-"

he even has the sunset time written down for the date

why would he need to know what time the sun is setting??

"i have everything planned for next week." jungkook pulls his laptop back to him as you settle back against your seat, "i already emailed my landlord to ask if i would even be allowed to hang out on the rooftop and he said it would be fine! he also reminded me to keep a brick wedged between the door so that i don't lock us up on the rooftop-"

"so you're definitely going with the rooftop picnic, then?"

"oh, i'm actually changing it to a rooftop dinner instead of a picnic." jungkook shakes his head before giving you a half-hearted shrug, "i think a picnic is cute but i really wanna try to impress her, y'know? i ordered this thing on amazon just now- basically, it's a medium-sized inflatable bubble tent! the description says it's perfect for two people and- i'm gonna, like-" he pauses and looks away from his screen towards you with a smile, "well, you know, i'm gonna do what you said and i'm gonna stuff it full of blankets and pillows and... hopefully i can string up fairy lights and stuff on the inside... so that after the date we can go in there and just talk and not have to worry about getting attacked by mosquitos!"

"wow, that's-" you cross your arms over your chest before leaning back and looking up towards the ceiling, "huh. that's actually a cute idea, kook. i wouldn't have been able to come up with something like that. i didn't even know transparent tents existed."

"i know." jungkook gives you a smug little smile before bursting into a grin, "but yeah, that's it! all we have to do is go and pick up all the supplies and stuff."

"we?" you frown, looking back down at jungkook, "i... wasn't aware i was part of this plan..."

"what? of course you are!" jungkook snorts, looking at you as if a third eye just sprouted from your forehead, "obviously you have to help me-"

"well, i just don't know if that's-" you chuckle uneasily as you rub the back of your neck, "i really- i don't wanna get in your way, you know? maybe you should- maybe you should just take care of all of this yourself! i mean, you basically planned everything already-"

"what? but- but you're my-" jungkook deflates and you instantly feel bad upon seeing his eyes suddenly turn sad, "okay..."

you press your lips together and wait for him to say something else but the next few seconds are filled with nothing but awkward silence and the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights hanging above you

you'd jump off a cliff if jungkook asked you to but helping him prepare and set up his date is something that you,.., definitely would not enjoy.,.,

but then again, this isn't about you, is it?

this is about jungkook, your friend, and he needs your help to set up this very important date that-

oh, damnit.

"i'm-" you clear your throat as you sit up in your seat, reaching over to give jungkook's hand a pat, "no, of course i'll help, kook. i just thought that- well, this date seems so important to you that i thought you wanted to take care of all the details yourself!"

the bright smile immediately returns to jungkook's face and you resist the urge to call him out on so blatantly guilt-tripping you like that-

"yes! you're the best!"

"i know."

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

although you and jungkook are practically inseparable on campus (and some would say it might be healthy for the two of you to give each other a little bit of space) — you don't think you'll ever say no to hanging out with him downtown

of course, hanging out with jungkook downtown would be a lot more fun if it weren't for the fact that the two of you have basically spent the entire day shopping for all the things he needs for his date

and if it weren't for the fact that he paid for lunch and treated you to a cake pop and a venti-sized iced coffee, you would probably be livid about having to carry everything for him because you really feel like your arms are about to pop right off in about two seconds

fancy cutlery, porcelain plates, fluffy throw pillows, a giant blanket, fairy lights... at this point he might as well buy an entire house for ji-eun

and look, you know you probably sound bitter and that-should-be-me about this whole situation, but that couldn't be farther from the truth!

it's just that listening to someone you like gushing about the person that they like for an entire day while you're carrying bags full of things for their date can get a little mentally and physically exhausting so if you're grouchy right now it's really not your fault

"i think we might have to call an uber back to your place, jungkook-" you mutter, adjusting the hefty tote bag over your shoulder with a grunt as you trail behind him on the sidewalk, "bringing all of this on the bus is going to piss people off-"

you stumble over your feet a little when the bag in your right hand knocks into a garbage can and you curse to yourself while resisting the urge to kick the damn thing over

"okay, grumpy, we'll call an uber home-" jungkook spins around with a smile before raising the notepad in his hand and tapping against it with his pen, "i just have one more thing i have to take care of and then we can go!"

"okay, well-" you set the bags down onto the ground with a fwump! before rubbing your sore palms together, "what else do you have to get?"

jungkook offered to help carry a couple of things but you insisted that you'd take it all and that he should just focus on ticking off all of the items on his list

you wince at the sight of the pinkish-red imprints now embedded into your palms from the straps of the bags

obviously you've now come to regret your generous offer

"flowers!" jungkook chirps, using his pen to point to the flower shop a couple of shops down, "i have to greet ji-eun with a bouquet of flowers as pretty as she is-"

"yeah, i understand-" you adjust the two bags on both shoulders before bending down to pick up the other two on the ground, "also, i'm not a genius or anything but i'm pretty sure the flowers aren't going to survive until the date if you buy them now-"

"duh, obviously not- i'm going to place an order now and then pick them up on the day of the date!" jungkook tsks, waiting for you to join his side before he begins walking towards the flower shop, "thanks for doing all of this for me, by the way. you really are the best." he hums, hurrying over to open the door for you

"i... yeah, of course, kook." you feel yourself soften slightly as soon as you see the sweet little smile on his face and you quickly scold yourself in your head for being so curt with him all day, "that's what friends are for, right?"

"mhm!" jungkook slaps his hands down on your shoulders from behind before giving them a squeeze, "and i am so letting you choose whatever you want for dinner tonight-"

"hello!"

"oh, jesus-" you and jungkook are immediately greeted by an overenthusiastic employee as soon as you step into the shop and you honestly probably would've knocked him out with one of your shopping bags if they weren't so heavy-

"are you two looking for anything in particular?" he smiles kindly before gesturing towards the large selection of flowers all around you, "we have flowers of all kinds! roses, tulips, lilies- i can even show you flowers from our new tropical selection-"

"actually-" jungkook nudges you aside before glancing down at the employee's nametag, "seokjin, i'd like to place an order for a custom bouquet, if that's okay."

"ah, a custom bouquet!" seokjin claps his hands and rubs them together enticingly, "what are you celebrating? i need to know so that i can help pick out the perfect flowers for your bouquet."

"well, i don't know if it's a celebration-" jungkook chuckles, his cheeks pinking slightly as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, "it's for a first date."

"a first date!!" seokjin gasps excitedly before turning his head to look at you, "you must be so-"

"-oh, not for me!" you let out a laugh before shaking your head quickly, "it's- it's definitely not for me. i'm just here to provide moral support and-" you lift one of the bags to show him, "muscular support."

"ah, i see... okay, well- why don't i take you around and introduce you to the different candidates you could consider for your bouquet?" seokjin turns back to look at jungkook, "each flower you choose will be very important in showing your future lover how much you care about them-" he pauses when he notices you hovering behind jungkook and he leans over a little with a bright smile, "why don't you go and wait by the front counter, darling? you can put everything down there and take a little break. there's some cucumber water and fresh puff pastry apple roses up at the front if you're interested!"

"well, i can't say no to free food." you snort, nodding before turning to head towards the front counter, "i'll just wait for you over there, then..."

you nearly let out a moan of relief as soon as you set all the bags down and you twist your upper body to the right and to the left until you feel the a satisfying pop! of your spine cracking back in place

your body was not made to carry heavy things

in fact, you'd like to argue that your body was made to lie down and do nothing

you take a seat on the wooden stool before turning to look at the apple roses sitting prettily in the display case and you almost feel like you shouldn't touch them even though seokjin offered them to you

even the pitcher of cucumber water looks too nice to touch

this place is awfully fancy

you didn't even know flower shops could be this fancy

you prop both elbows up on the counter before leaning back comfortably, your eyes lazily scanning around the store

"$15 for a single rose?" you gawk at the little wooden sign poking out from a large bouquet of neatly wrapped long-stem roses before making a face, "god."

you can't even imagine how much a custom bouquet is going to cost if a single rose is fifteen bucks

"-also write a note for you and attach it to the bouquet, if you're interested in that. it'll be an additional five dollars, but we handwrite it on the highest quality card stock with the most beautiful calligraphy and we even spray it with perfume-"

you perk up when you hear seokjin's voice and you look to see him and jungkook coming over to you

you have to admit that seokjin is great at his job because he's doing a good job at milking every dollar out of jungkook-

"yeah, that would be great!" jungkook nods enthusiastically, pulling his backpack off before unzipping it to grab his wallet, "i think a small note might be cute-"

"oh, that reminds me!" seokjin stops in his tracks right as he's about to lift the wooden slab to get behind the counter, "would you be interested in purchasing a teddy bear as well? if you add a teddy bear to your order, i'll give you a slight discount on the flowers."

"ooh, a discount!" jungkook gasps and you turn your head slightly so seokjin won't see you rolling your eyes at how much he's forcing jungkook to buy

you respect the hustle but this is too much

"where are the teddy bears?"

"right by the flowers!" seokjin smiles, wrapping an arm around jungkook's shoulders and spinning him around, "we can round back and take a look-"

"okay, i think i have to cut in here-" you chuckle, reaching out and grabbing the back of jungkook's elbow, "you don't- you don't think a bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear is a little too much for a first date?" you clear your throat quietly before offering a shrug, "i feel like that's just... a lot, kook. i mean, i would be overwhelmed if-"

"well, i guess it's a good thing i'm not taking you out on a date then, right?" jungkook teases, wiggling his arm out of your grip before turning back to look at seokjin, "onward to the bears, my good man!"

ouch

"yeah." you can't help but frown as jungkook and seokjin head back towards the flowers, "thanks for the reminder."

"that's gotta hurt."

"god-" you jump at the sudden appearance of an employee standing behind the counter and you place a hand over your chest before letting out a breath, "you scared me!"

"sorry." he shrugs, "we polished the floors this morning so my shoes are making, like, no noise."

"oh."

a moment of silence passes while you turn to face away from him again, but all of a sudden-

"so he really can't tell that you like him, huh?"

"you-" you immediately straighten up and your head spins around so fast that you're surprised you didn't complete decapitate yourself, "excuse me??"

"what? it's obvious." the employee snorts, spraying cleaner onto the counter before reaching up to yank the tattered rag off his shoulder, "it's painfully obvious, actually-"

you can feel your entire face starting to go red as this complete stranger continues to rip you a new one and you hold a hand out to shut him up, "no offense, but i-i don't think this is any of your business, sir-"

"it's yoongi." yoongi looks down at his apron for a second before frowning, "huh. i forgot to put my dumb name tag on again-"

"well, yoongi-" you place emphasis on his name in an effort to intimidate him and make him go away, "you don't know what you're talking about and i suggest you mind your own business-"

"you should tell him before it's too late." yoongi doesn't seem to be all that affected by your biting tone and you roll your eyes at the way he rounds back to the topic

"what are you even talking about?"

"well, i assume you're going to be his best man at his wedding. from the way it's looking, you're certainly not going to be the bride," yoongi purses his lips as he folds up the rag into a neat little square, "you don't wanna wait until you're fixing his tie at the wedding to tell him that you love him."

"what makes you think i lo-" you cut yourself off quickly before that word slips out of your mouth, "like him?"

"if you didn't, you wouldn't be here right now." yoongi points out with a tilt of his head, "and from how smudgy your eyeliner is, it looks like you've been working hard all day."

your jaw drops slightly and you can't help but scoff

the nerve of this guy!

"who do you think you are?!"

"i'm yoongi." yoongi raises a brow, "i told you that like a second ago- wow, you are not a good listener-"

"do you usually do this with all of the customers who come here?" you interrupt, crossing your arms defensively before leaning in slightly, "you're awfully nosy-"

"i only do this with the ones that seem to have something juicy going on." yoongi hums, leaning down to put the spray bottle of cleaner under the counter, "this is a flower shop. the most exciting part of my day is watching a bumblebee choose which flower to land on."

"well, nothing juicy is going on here so-" you twist back around before sticking your nose up in the air slightly, "sorry to disappoint."

"alright, fair enough." yoongi nods to himself, letting out a sigh as he slowly backs away from the counter, "i guess i'll just leave you to... wallow in self-pity... and continue staring at your friend with cartoon hearts floating around your head-"

"'you should tell him before it's too late-'" you swivel around and slap both your palms down on the counter, "why would you- why would even say something like that?! i can't tell him. are you insane?!"

a smirk twitches at the corner of yoongi's mouth at your sudden confession and he lets out a sigh before stepping back up towards you, "and why can't you tell him?"

"because- i just can't! he's-" you clear your throat before leaning in and lowering your voice, "he's literally taking someone else out on a date- we're here to buy flowers for his date-"

"so what?" yoongi interrupts, "it's just a date. it's not like you're stopping his wedding."

"so what? because he doesn't like me back, so what's the point?" you hiss, resisting the urge to reach over and smack some common sense into this very nosy and very stubborn stranger, "this isn't a romantic comedy- and even if it was, i'm very obviously not the main character-"

"you don't know that he doesn't like you back."

...

well now he's just toying with you

"i... i can't tell if you're kidding or not-"

"do i look like i'm kidding?" yoongi asks, pointing to his poker face before shaking his head, "you don't know that he doesn't like you back. you've obviously never asked him."

"oh, please." you scoff, turning around to lean back against the counter again, "trust me, i know it."

"well, did he ever explicitly say that he didn't like you?" yoongi leans over to peek at jungkook over your shoulder, "do you have a definitive answer to this particular question?"

"no, but he doesn't have to... we're just friends." you frown, your eyes wandering over to the back of jungkook's head, "he doesn't like me. i know he doesn't. we're just friends."

we're just friends.

(saying it out loud is a lot more depressing than you thought it'd be.)

"well, maybe the reason why you're just friends is because the two of you won't allow yourselves to be more than that," yoongi suggests, your head tilting to the side slightly as you force yourself to consider his surprisingly wise words, "it's obvious that you have a solid friendship so it would suck if a relationship ruined that- so maybe he does like you and is only asking someone else out to try to force himself not to like you..."

you feel your heart skip a beat when jungkook turns to glance at you over his shoulder with a soft smile while seokjin continues rattling off about the vast choice of teddy bears available for purchase

you bite back a giggle when he mouths a desperate 'help' at you before raising his hand and twirling his finger next to his head to tell you that seokjin is fully crazy

"...so i guess what i'm trying to say is that you're never really going to know how he feels about you if you don't ask him," you tune back in to the end of yoongi's little speech and you turn your head slightly to glance back at him, "but what do i know, right? i just polish counters at high-end flower shops."

🎙️tell jungkook he's being an idiot or tell y/n to get a backbone (send in an ask!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here? (full fics!)

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like smitten!)

🌟or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

[cjsinkythoughts]

Flaws

Written for @honeysucklesteve​’s 4k writing challenge! If you haven’t, go check her out because she’s amazing!

Pairing: Mickey Henry x fem!Reader

Summary: You hate his music taste. He hates yours. You have a bad habit of stealing his gigs. He has a bad habit of fucking you until you can’t walk straight. Everyone has flaws. What are you to do about it?

Word Count: 3822

Warnings: Cursing, hate sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, slight edging, there’s a mirror involved, drugs, alcohol, clubbing, smoking, one mention of lung cancer, mentions of Monday’s plot, so slight spoilers; (I hope I’m not forgetting anything. These kinds of warnings are new to me. If I am, feel free to tell me.)

18+ PLEASE!!! MINORS DNI!!!

A/N: I know I haven’t posted in a while, but here you go! I’m so nervous about posting this. Honestly. I feel like I kinda rushed it a little? I dunno if it’s good. Uhm, I will say that Mickey is not soft in this. You know how he’s all cute and flirty in the movie? Yeah. Not here. I have plans to write for him later on where he’s more on character and adorable and all that, but it’s enemies to lovers and he hates reader and reader hates him. So. Yeah. Have fun with that.

This is a few firsts for me; first published smut, first Mickey Henry fic, and first enemies-to-lovers ever! I’m attached to friends-to-lovers (my parents’ fault), so going in the opposite direction is exciting and I hope it works out! (We’ll see what it can become after it’s been written.) 

Also! Yes, I’m adding the link to the inspiration of the remix here. You’ll see what I’m talking about. I imagine more bass, but that’s basically it.

As always, all mistakes are mine and please excuse them as it’s not beta’d! Be kind to yourselves and others! Stay tuned and enjoy!

Part Two - Addictions

My Masterlist

*****

Between the tumultuous, voice losing cheers and the pounding, headache inducing bass, it’s a miracle the occupants of the building can hear anything at all. The large room is doused in bright pinks, purples and blues, glitter getting into every pore and crack, the smell of cigarette smoke and booze lingering in the air. 

Bodies pressed together uncomfortably tight, breath and sweat mixing in a way that can’t be enjoyable, but no one notices because they’re all too high and drunk. There’s a couple swallowing each other in every dark corner of the room. A group of guys looking to get some are laughing rather obnoxiously at the bar, having consumed far too much alcohol to be safe. 

Bouncers are escorting people out left and right; a streaker who decided to get on a table and dance, a couple who took it a bit too far over the bar counter, a group of girls who were no doubt too young to be in such an environment. Boisterous, chaotic, borderline dangerous.

There’s no place he’d rather be on a Friday night.

Up on the center stage, playing around with his tracks, messing with the turntables, pulse connecting to the music, head bobbing with the beat. He’s in control. 

Every party. Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday night. Every weekend.

He’s in control.

It’s what he liked so much about doing what he does. Once he’s booked, he’s booked. It’s his night. He controls the sounds people hear. He controls what they dance to. How they dance. The pace of the night. The feeling of the night. And no one can take it away from him.

No one, that is, except you.

He hears you before he sees you, which is nearly impossible considering how loud the music is, but you somehow manage to take control of the room the moment you walk in it. You always get what you want with a bat of your eyelashes. And if you aren’t given it, you take what you want without regard for other people.

It really really pisses him off.

You’re laughing with a group of your friends, guys and girls’ heads swiveling to stare at you, captivating every heart in the room as per usual. You always show up with the same group, but he doesn’t even know any of their names even though you run in the same circles. It’s not like you end up hanging out with them for long, and you never leave with them. No, no. You always leave with him.

And that pissed him off too. 

He can’t help it. He has absolutely no control over himself when it comes to you. And he hates you for it. He hates that he lets you take over with only a few snarky comments in his defense. He hates that you always get into his head. And he hates that you’re the best fuck he’d ever had and he can never get enough of you.

But most of all…he hates your music.

“Hey, hey! There he is!” You send him that infuriating smile of yours, a drink in your hand. It’s a flaw of yours. One of many, but probably the biggest. Alcohol. Like him and his cigarettes. He watches you with narrowed eyes as you effortlessly move through the crowd, your girls and guys seeming to vanish into the mob with every step you take.

You end up in front of the stage, leaning on it and giving him a smirk as you sip on your beverage choice of the night. It’s always something different. The only common factor is the alcohol you crave, letting it wash over your tongue, burn down your throat and slip into your veins.

“Heya, Mouse!”

“Don’t call me that!” He shouts with a growl over the music, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“I got called this morning! Said there was a gig tonight!”

He shakes his head, gesturing to the set up. “You’re a bit too late there, sunshine! Gig’s booked!”

You shake your head back at him. “I’m taking over from here, Mouse!”

“Says who?!”

“Argyris!”

His jaw clenches, his forehead creasing, a skeptical scoff leaving his lips. “Fuck you! No he didn’t! He said this one’s mine!”

You just give a shrug, no cares in the world, downing the rest of your drink. “You can fuck me later! For now, if you wanna whine about it, Daddy’s over there!”

Another growl leaves his chest as he scowls at you, eyes darting to where you’re pointing. Argyris is by the bar, of course, swaying on the seat. Barking out a laugh, he looks at you with a shake of his head. “He’s so drunk he probably shit himself again! You can’t take his word for it!”

“I can when he called me this morning, sober as he can get!” You shoot back, hopping up to stand besides him. “Besides! Someone’s gotta make sure these people have an actual good time!”

“Don’t touch anything until I get back!” He snaps, pointing warningly at you as he starts to walk towards Argyris.

You smile innocently, even though he knows you’re anything but. “Yes, sir!”

He marches over to his asshole friend and grabs him by the shirt, turning him around. “Mickey! Havin’ a good time?!”

Mickey glares, feeling his blood boil and his ears heat up, not from the proximity of strangers around him. “What the fuck?! You told sunshine over there that she could have my gig?!”

“I thought you’d wanna break! Dance and relax for a little bit! It’s only a two hour slot I gave her!”

“You should’ve fucking asked, Argyris! I don’t want her anywhere near my-” His sentence is cut off by a change in the music and he whips over to the stage where you’re grinning and jumping with the crowd. You catch his eye and throw him a wink, holding one of the headphone cups over your ear. “ Oh for the love of - she’s messing with my stuff!”

“I thought you liked her!”

Spluttering, Mickey gapes at the other man in disbelief. “Like her? I can’t stand her! She’s so fucking annoying!”

“What’s so annoying about her?!”

Mickey snatches the drink Argyris was about to gulp down and slams it on the counter. “She’s a spoiled fucking brat! Everyone lets her do whatever she wants! She steals half my fucking gigs! And her music is shit! Listen to this!”

Argyris looks around the room and shrugs. “Everyone else seems to like it! Sure it’s different than your disco-”

“It’s not disco!”

“But it’s a crowd pleaser! Just relax! Have a drink and go dance!”

“Argyris!” Wanting to scream in frustration, he watches the man stumble off to get another drink down the bar. “Dammit! This is fucking shit.” Grumbling to himself, Mickey storms back over to the stage, easily pulling himself up.

You bite your lip and raise an eyebrow at him. “So?! How’d your date with Argyris go?!”

“I hate you so fucking much! Use your own fucking headphones!” He snatches the pair from your neck, pulling the cord out. “Why do you always have to steal my gigs?!”

You shrug, leaning forwards to brush your lips against his ear. “Yours are so much fun.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyebrows furrowing. This always happens. Every time. The moment he feels in control, you do something and he feels every ounce of himself slipping away. It’s the reason he fucks you. To take back that control he so easily gives to you. To make sure you understand that on the weekends, he’s in charge.

But not tonight. No, no. Not tonight. He refuses to get caught up in that game tonight. You wouldn’t end up in an alley or some bathroom with him. He wouldn’t end up on your couch or in his kitchen with you. He refuses to let it happen. Again.

Instead, he lets out a chuckle and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever sunshine.” He takes a step back, giving you a smirk as your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You have fun playing your shitty music!”

“Have fun moping!” You call back, turning to the table and ignoring him completely as he groans and jumps off the stage.

Good God. You’re infuriating.

But so is he.

You hate Mickey Henry. You just do. You hate that he has zero responsibilities and gets away with it. You hate that he can charm his way out of any situation. You hate how immature he is and how no one ever forces him to grow up. And you hate how easily you let him take charge when he’s with you. After a life full of people making choices for you, you crave control, but with him? The moment he tells you to get on your knees, you fall, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.

But most of all…you hate his music.

You take his gigs to save people from listening to it, but also so he knows he can’t talk every situation into his favor. That Argyris can’t always take care of his job for him. He never checks up on gigs once Argyris tells him he has them. So it’s really his fault for not taking some responsibility.

Watching from the stage as your music flows through you, vibrating your bones and sinking into your skin, you’re not surprised to see him get out a cigarette as he heads to a mutual acquaintance of yours. He has many flaws, but that’s a major one. Like you and your alcohol. Him and his cigarettes. You wouldn’t be surprised if you learn a couple months from now that he has lung cancer.

Mickey is talking low to the guy and you already know what’s going on. That was a flaw you both shared. Drugs. He is much more intense than you though. While you’d be fine with some pot, he almost always hits hard with cocaine. Not that you’re innocent from that type yourself - you’d done it multiple times with the man himself if you ended up at each other’s place. Never in the bedroom. You never made it that far, and you don’t really care to. But after those times bent over the table, being pounded into the couch, hanging against the wall, you’d get high with him before one of you takes off.

You’re not exactly sure what happened earlier. You were a bit shocked when he stepped away. Not that you usually left so early, but he didn’t even stay to bicker some more.

Not that you care. You’re just…curious. Maybe he’s finally growing tired of the game you’ve been playing. You’ve been playing it for a few years now. With that weird little pause last year.

You actually thought he had changed.

Having run into him at a party, you prepared yourself for the arguing that no doubt would end in sex. But it didn’t. It didn’t even start. He was with someone. Like, steady with someone. As in dating someone. Living with her. To the point where his baby mama actually agreed to let him keep his boy in their apartment as long as they were together.

It was a weird six months. You two actually had real conversations. You knew how soft and goofy he could get; you had loads of mutual friends and often went to the same parties so you’d seen that side of him. It was just…odd because it never came out with you. But it did then. And you…liked it. You didn’t see him as often, especially once his kid was cleared to live with them. He stopped going out on weekends, started just attending the small shindigs your friends hosted, worked from home instead of DJing.

But then his girl - what was her name? Claire? Caitie? You can’t remember - left for a job in the States just a few months ago and he was back to square one. His baby mama took back the custody privileges, he went back to partying every weekend, and you fell right back into your petty bickering and rough fucking.

You feel bad. Really, you do. You heard that he’d actually loved that chick. And you know he wanted to see his kid more. You knew about the room at his place. But that almost made you hate him more. That he went right back to his old self. He didn’t even try. He got a taste of being a responsible adult, and then let it go.

Because no matter how hard people try, flaws are flaws. And no one can change that much.

As the night goes on, more booze enters your system, while more cocaine enters his. There’s the occasional glare or immature finger raising between you two. Mickey even sticks his tongue out at you while dancing with some broad, a smirk lifting up the corners of his mouth as yours twist down and your eyes roll.

Your features quickly morph into smug amusement as an idea pops into your head and his eyes narrow. What are you up to? He quickly finds out as you stop the music and bring a microphone to your lips.

“Hey, hey, party people! Everyone’s night going fantastic?!” Cheers are your response. Mickey scowls, not liking where this is going, and starts heading your way. You wink at him. “I’m gonna change it up for just this one song! It’s a dedication song to a good friend of mine! It’s a bit different than the usual stuff, but it’s a bop, I promise! Here’s to the Mouse!”

He immediately freezes as the song starts. “Meeska! Mooska! Mickey Mouse!” He feels his face heat up, his fists balling up at his sides, glaring at you and your shit eating grin as you roll your body to the beat, his feet taking him to the stage.

Effortlessly lifting himself onto it once more, he grabs both your wrists in one of his larger ones to stop the music without you interfering, his rings digging into your skin. “Aww! But, Mouse! We didn’t even get to the roll call!”

“Shut. Up.” He grits out through clenched teeth, putting something else on absentmindedly. He didn’t want Argyris on his ass later for leaving the crowd without music. “God. Stop being a fucking pain in my fucking ass for one fucking minute.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s pulling you away before you can reply. Next thing you know he’s shoving you into the bathroom, growling at the girls that were smoking up the place to get out.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you, princess?” He hisses in your ear, slamming you against the door once the girls left. He’s so tired of giving in to you, but he can’t help it, crashing his lips against yours messily. Teeth and tongue, the taste of smoke and the fruity drink you had chosen for the night mixing, only making him press closer. Your hands get pinned above your head and he’s pulling your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. It’s rough and careless and fueled by loathing, but when is it not? “Think you’re so funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” You breath, smirking as he slots a thigh between your legs, squeezing your hips and pressing you down against him, flexing the muscle and making you squirm.

His teeth are biting at your bottom lip and tugging, his hands dragging your clothed core along his thigh. “Let’s see how funny you think you are when I’m fucking you so hard you forget how to breathe.”

Your breath hitches and your hands previously above your head clutch onto his shirt at the friction against your clit. It’s not enough and he knows, but you don’t tell him. “All this over a silly song?” You jest.

He sneers back at you, ignoring your tease. “Did you get jealous, sunshine? Is that what happened? Is that why you decided to be a little shit?”

“Jealous?” You scoff as he attacks your neck, your hands quickly undoing his belt before he shoves his pants down, his briefs following along with your panties. “Jealous of you, maybe. That girl was hot. Way outta your lea - oh shit.”

You always forget how deep he reaches inside you, how much the stretch is. He’s not soft about it, entering you in one swift thrust, your hips connecting. His hands are dimpling your bare thighs, hefting you up so your legs wrap around his waist, rings on his fingers no doubt making imprints. The door against your back starts rattling with every movement, but the music outside was too loud for anyone to hear it.

“Not so mouthy now, are we?” He snaps in time with his hips. He can feel you tightening around him, your fingers dragging down his chest, trying desperately to pull his shirt off.

“C’mon, Mouse. That's all you got?” You pant out, a little whine leaving your lips when he leaves you suddenly, dropping you to your feet. “Mickey! What-”

He cuts you off by pushing you against the counter, a shout leaving your lip when he takes you from behind, making you surge forwards, your head almost hitting the mirror, pelvis hitting your ass with every piston of his hips. His hand is tangled in your hair and he tugs, making your head snap up. “Look at you. So fucked out. I did that. I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had and we both know it.” He isn’t wrong. Your makeup’s a mess, your hair is wrapped around his fingers.

“You’re the one who keeps fucking me.” You argue back, your spine arching as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Over and over and over.

He growls, leaning forwards to fold over you, his lips by your ear. “And who keep being a fucking brat? Huh? Who keeps coming to my gigs, fucking up my weekend? Practically begging me to fuck you.”

You scowl at him in the mirror. “I don’t beg.”

The chuckle that leaves his lips makes you shiver and you whimper when he tugs your hair harder, the sting of your scalp mixing with the pleasure his cock was giving you.

“You will. You may get everything you want from everyone else, princess, but I’m in charge here. Don’t. You. Forget.” His words are punctuated with a hard thrust, making you lurch forwards, your thighs pressing harshly against the counter.

“Oh God…Mickey,” that familiar tightness in your stomach appears, your eye clenching shut as your toes curl. “I’m so close…”

“Open your goddamn eyes. Look who’s doing this to you. Who fucking owns this pussy? Huh?”

Your eyes snap open and meet his again, his breaths fanning across your face, rapidly becoming less steady. “You.”

“That’s right. You wanna cum, sunshine?” You nod vigorously. He takes your lobe between his teeth and tugs as he stills his hips, keeping himself inside you. “Then beg.”

And, just like the many times before, you do. You do because you don’t actually care about begging. You care about him ruining you. That’s what you want. And you always get what you want. Fuck your dignity. 

He starts up slowly again as you plead, stopping a couple more times when you feel yourself getting close. “Mickey! Please, for the love of God!” He’s never edged you this much. Not this intensely. And not in the bathroom at a club. Usually it’s just a quickie before you take him home or vice versa.

But you pissed him off tonight. More so than usual. It was a good night and then you came along. Took his job. Played that dumb song. So he needs to remind you. Put you in your place. “You may be spoiled by everyone else, princess, but I’m the only one who can give you what you really want.”

“God, you’re so annoying.” You grind out through your clenched teeth.

He just smirks. “That wasn’t a denial. Let go, Y/N. Make a mess of my cock. Watch yourself fall apart for me.”

You do as he says, watching your jaw go slack in a silent scream, your body tensing, your legs shaking, as he finally lets you have what you want. Body going slack against the counter, he keeps rutting into you until he groans, a string of profanities leaving his lips as he spills inside you.

The both of you stay there, with him folded on top of you, his forehead resting against the nape of your neck, his grip on your hair loosening.

“That was fun. A little different.” You hum as he gets up. He’s glaring at you as you straighten and fix yourself. “Good orgasm though, so thanks for that. But I gotta get back to work now.”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.” He mutters, tucking himself away and pulling his pants up.

“Kinky. Maybe next time.” You wink at him through the mirror and his jaw ticks. He’s so fucking tired of it. Of you. How you let him have that one bit of control and then your right back to controlling the room once you get what you want. There’s so many nights where he wonders if he should just stop giving it to you. But then he’s inside you and he can’t help himself.

He watches you touch yourself up, although you still look thoroughly fucked, but you don’t seem to mind. This is new. You going back to the gig you stole after sex. He wonders if that was the last time for tonight, or if you’d be leaving together later too.

“I fucking hate you.” He spits out as you open the door, wanting to get the last word in.

You just smirk the same way he did to you earlier. “Yeah…but you love fucking me. Later, Mouse.”

Just like always, you’re the last comment as you walk out nonchalantly, even though he could see the slight wobble in your steps, the door shutting behind you, leaving him alone.

You hate Mickey Henry. You loathe him. You wish you never met him. But you can’t get enough. No matter how many times you convince yourself you have him where you want him, you know you don’t. You’d let him do anything to you. But you can’t stop. Like him and his cigarettes. He’s your flaw. And no matter how bad he is for you, you’re addicted.

Mickey Henry hates you. He loathes you. He wishes he never met you. But he can’t get enough. No matter how many times he convinces himself he’s in control, he knows he’s not. He always gives you what you want at the end of the day. But he can’t stop. Like you and your alcohol. You’re his flaw. And no matter how bad it is for him, he’s addicted.

*****

*****

*****

Personal Taglist:

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​ @the-larry-romance​ @abitofeverythinggg​

[inkykeiji]

anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away

warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise

words: 3.3k

Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.

And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.

You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.

You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.  

It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.

Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.

“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”

You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.

He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.

The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.

The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.

Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.

Once.

Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.

Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.

Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.

And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.

Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.

Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.

“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”

“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.

“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”

It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.

The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.

Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.

“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”

A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.

He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.

You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.

All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.

Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.

He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.

The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.

“Keigo, please, not here—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”

His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.

“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”

And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.

A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.  

“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”

And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.

But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.

A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”

He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.

Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.

The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.

It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.

You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.

The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.

“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.

“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.

“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.

Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!

Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.  

And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.

He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.

“I hate her,”

“Break up with her, then,”

“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.

Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.

It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.

“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.

“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.

It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.

Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.

“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”

And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”

[90spumkin]

Masterpiece

Summary: Who knew art could lead to an awkward meeting that would later lead to beautiful relationship.

A/N: I know I said I would post this Friday, but oh well here we are. All inserted pictures are from Pinterest. I absolutely loved writing this so please send me your feedback.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Artist! Reader

Warnings: swearing, implied/slightly descriptive smut, mention of alcohol and addiction 

Word Count: 2.8K

Spencer doesn’t know how long he had been zoned out not listening to a word Emily said to him. They were standing in an obnoxiously long line at their favorite coffee shop. Spencer was admiring the art in front of him, the way the yellows and oranges flowed together was mesmerizing. They were so mesmerizing that Spencer didn’t realize the art was on the back pocket of the stranger’s shorts standing in line in front of them.

It wasn’t until Emily nudge Spencer’s shoulder, “Quit looking at that girl’s ass!” Spencer saw where Emily was pointing as she spoke. As he went to say, “I was not checking out her ass.”, the stranger with the mesmerizing art on her ass turned around to see the raven haired woman pointing down at the lower part of her body and the tall curly haired man blushing as he was caught in the act.

The woman smirked at them both and said, “Well my shorts do say ‘this butt is art’ so I guess technically you were just taking in all its beauty.” This made Emily snort and Spencer stutter. He tried to stutter out an apology, but by the time his brain allowed him to access words again Emily’s phone rang loudly.

She answered quickly and hung up just as fast, “I have to go to a meeting apparently. Sometimes I hate being the boss. I’ll catch up with you later, Spencer.” And with that she was gone, leaving Spencer there with the still smirking woman.

“You know the least you could do is buy my coffee to make up for this adorable fiasco.” She said causing Spencer to blush. He nodded his head and said, “Yes of course. I’m really sorry about all that. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid by the way.”

She smiled at him as he went to stand beside her in line, “Oh doctor, fascinating. I’m y/n.”

Once they had finally gotten their coffee and found a small table, conversation between the two flowed so effortlessly. “So, doctor, huh? Care to share with the class what kind?” Y/n asked as she took a sip of her dark beverage.

Spencer chuckled, “I have PhD’s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering along with BA’s in psychology, sociology, and philosophy. I’m not a doctor who works in a hospital, but one who works in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Y/n smiled at him over her cup, “That kind of makes sense you look like a very intelligent man. Plus, you look way better in a cardigan than you probably would in scrubs.”

Their conversation went on without a hitch, no moments of awkward silence. They talked about their careers, y/n explained how she was an artist and Spencer adored the way she lit up as she talked. They constantly were bouncing ideas and questions off one another. The conversations stretched over many different topics, each just as interesting as the last. Y/n even listened and question Spencer on several of his fact dumps.

They both seemed to have forgotten the outside world existed until Spencer happened to notice the sun setting through the coffee shop windows. As he admired the colors in the sky he said, “The sky is always so lovely at sunset, but I hate that it could mean the end of this.”

He looked back at y/n who was smiling at him. “Okay I don’t usually invite strange men to my home, but would you like to come see some of my art that I’ve been working on?” Spencer smirked and narrowed his eyes, “You think I’m strange?” Y/n laughed, “Only in the best way.”

The first thing Spencer did when he entered y/n incredibly spacious apartment was admire all the art lining the walls. He had thought the art displayed on her jean shorts was mesmerizing, but the art that was in front of him now was simply breathtaking.

Spencer walked the walls, admiring and analyzing each piece. Y/n stood beside him as he smiled at the painting of a cow. She laughed softly as she spoke, “There is always a story behind each of my paintings. Some are silly, some are painful. However, this one happens to be my favorite. I grew up on a farm and I had a cow named Milky” She looked at Spencer who was trying to hide a laugh, “Hey I was 8! Anyways she was my best friend. It was funny when I first started to draw and paint, I would always use her as a model. Sometimes it seemed as if she was posing for me.”

Spencer didn’t take his eyes off y/n the whole time she was talking. Once y/n finished her story she looked at Spencer. Both of their smiles growing bigger. He looked back at the painting and said, “You know in another life I would love to be a cowboy with cows and other animals on a small ranch somewhere.”

Y/n giggled, “Would you name one of your cows Milky?” Spencer looked at her fondly and said, “For you, I would.”

Spencer turned his head to the right and noticed a canvas with several different shades of red bleeding into one another, there was broken glass scattered across it. He made his way closer, he turned towards y/n and asked, “What’s the story behind this one?”

Y/n’s eyes held a hint of sadness as she drew in a deep breath. She was hesitant at first but finally explained, “The glass is broken beer bottles, I was- am an alcoholic. I am currently 5 years sober, almost 6 now. I made this to remind myself of all the hate and pain drinking brought to my life” Y/n turned towards Spencer expecting him not to understand, but instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sobriety chip.

Y/n’s eyes started to tear up at the fact that someone finally wasn’t judging her but understanding her. She too pulled out a chip and both y/n and Spencer let out laughs full of pain but also full happiness. Spencer reached out a hand and placed it on y/n’s cheek. His thumb ran smoothly across her face to wipe a tear that had escaped.

When Spencer spoke again his words were soft, “Out of all this art, I think you are the one true masterpiece.”

One minute they were staring into one another’s eyes, and the next they were getting lost in the feel of the other’s lips neither one really sure when they had made it to y/n’s bedroom. Spencer held y/n against him firmly, but it felt delicate all at once. His fingers traced over every edge and curve of her body bringing sounds of pleasure from her beautiful lips.

Spencer planted soft kisses across y/n’s body as if he were painting and her body was his canvas. With every roll of Spencer’s hips, flashes of color seemed to blind him. When y/n arched her back, Spencer let her know she was more beautiful than any art piece.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to the sun shining through the windows. He felt y/n stir next to him, he couldn’t help but take in how lovely she looked. The sun seemed to only amplify her beauty.

Y/n opened her eyes to find Spencer staring at her. She smirked and closed her eyes again, curling up closer to him, “You’re staring.” Spencer chuckled causing vibrations to run through his chest making y/n giggle. “I’m admiring.” Spencer told her.

Y/n sat up to stretch, the sheets falling around her making her look like a sculpture of a goddess. She smiled down at him and scrunched up her nose “Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say.”

While they started to dress, well y/n was getting dressed Spencer was still looking for his shirt, he noticed the shorts y/n was putting on had art on them just like the ones before. However, these were not shades of yellow and orange. These shorts had little planets painted on them.

Y/n turned around to see Spencer’s eyes once again focused on her ass, “Why are you smiling like that?” At her question Spencer let out the laugh he was holding in as he said, “Ummm- well- it’s just that- your ass is out of this world.”

Y/n snorted and threw a pillow towards Spencer who actually caught it, “Oh the doctors got jokes this morning.”

Spencer spotted his shirt in the floor and as he bent over to get it, he said, “Not jokes, facts.” This only made y/n smile more.

Y/n watched the muscles in Spencer’s back flex as he fixed his shirt to put it on. Right before he put it over his head she asked, “Can I- can I paint something on your back?”

Spencer stopped all movements to look at y/n, he noticed the blush tinting her cheeks. His heart seemed to scream with emotions. Spencer through his shirt back on the ground and asked, “Where do you want me?” Y/n giggled and pointed to the bed.

Y/n had been straddling Spencer’s back for about 15-to-20-minute minutes when he no longer felt the softness of the paintbrush against his skin. Y/n had been humming while she worked and with the gentleness of each stroke of the brush, Spencer kept dozing off.

Y/n removed herself from Spencer causing him to turn his head to look up at her, she was smiling so brightly Spencer never wanted to look away. Y/n was staring down at the work on Spencer’s back and jumped slightly when he asked, “Can I see it?”

“Oh yes! Of course!”, she rushed to put down her paints and brushes. Y/n grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled him towards the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. Before handing him the handheld mirror she said, “Close your eyes. I’m going to count to 3.” Spencer just chuckled and nodded.

“1…”

“…2…”

“…3”

Spencer opened his eyes and let out a gasp. The art that now covered his back was simple but so pretty. There were no defined lines, the colors overlapped in some places which just made it all the more beautiful. He looked from the mirror to y/n to see her hands clasped together and held against her mouth. She moved her hands slightly to ask, “So, what do you think?” Spencer looked back at the mirror and said, “I never want to take it off.”

After the time Spencer spent with y/n he was scared he would never see or talk to her again. Right after she revealed the painting she had done on his back, Emily called him with a new case. He ran out of there so fast he didn’t have time to remove the paint or give y/n his number. The plane ride was slightly uncomfortable with his clothes sticking to the paint.

However, it turned out the universe was on his side. They were leaving one case going straight to another, so Spencer’s spirits were kind of in shambles and his mind was consumed with thoughts of y/n. His sadness was starting to take over his mood when his rarely used cell phoned chimed, signaling that he just received a text.

Hi, doc. It’s your favorite artist. I hope it isn’t weird I’m texting you. I got a call from someone named Penelope. She said Emily thought you would like to hear from me.

Spencer looked over towards Emily who was smirking as she read over the case file, she knew who was texting him. Spencer just shook his head as he typed out his response, smiling the whole time.

Hello, y/n. That would be my best friends medaling in my life. Luckily, this time they were right.

Y/n response came back fast, and Spencer chuckled softly imagining the teasing look she was probably making as she asked-

This time?

That is a story for another time.

Over the course of the several weeks Spencer was gone, Y/n and Spencer texted every chance they got. A lot of the times Spencer would be too busy and would see messages from y/n he had gotten through the day.

--

I was running late this morning due to me having terrible time management skills and well- I went to brunch with paint completely covering my clothes.

--

Ha look what I did. I’m starting to think I’m the real genius here. click here for image

--

SPENCER REID. DID YOU REALLY HAVE PENELOPE GO BUY ME THIS AND BRING IT TO ME?!?! I love it! Thank you! click here for image

--

Spencer would always laugh and respond every time he got the chance. One night he was actually able to call her.

“Hello?”

“Are not sure how to answer a phone or are you questioning if I’m really calling you?” Spencer teased.

“Well, isn’t someone feeling sassy today.” Y/n laughed; she was overwhelmingly happy to hear his voice.

They spent most of the night just catching up. Y/n never once asked about the case and for that Spencer was thankful. Spencer saw the sun start to rise and realized what time it was.

“I should probably try and get at least a few hours of sleep.” Spencer said into the phone. He heard her gasp and then frantically started apologizing, “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! I was just so happy to talk to you I didn’t realize. I-“

Spencer cut her off with a “Hey. It perfectly okay. I love talking to you. If it were possible, I would never sleep if it meant I could talk to you forever.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling, “Well guess what doc. You’re kind of stuck with me get ready for me to never stop talking.” Spencer laughed softly, “I am definitely okay with that.”

As soon as the jet landed, Spencer texted y/n to let her know they were back. What he didn’t expect was for her to be standing in the bullpen with Penelope. Spencer couldn’t help but practically sprint to her, ignoring the knowing looks from his teammates.

When reached her, he wrapped her in a hug. Y/n giggled as she hugged him back. When they pulled apart Spencer asked, “What are you doing here?” Y/n shrugged and looked towards Penelope who had left her side to join the others and said, “Reasons.” She looked back at Spencer and winked. Spencer laughed and shook his head as he wrapped her in another hug.

Spencer and y/n left with Spencer promising to finish the paperwork first thing the following week. Once they were outside y/n turned to Spencer and said, “Okay so the main reason I couldn’t wait any longer to see you is I want to ask you something?”

Spencer turned his head and squinted his eyes, “Should I be scared?” Y/n barked out a laugh and grabbed Spencer’s hand. He stared where their hands were joined. Y/n must have thought he didn’t want to hold her hand because she noticed him staring and let go.

Y/n became a little nervous as she asked, “I- I wanted to ask you to be my plus one at an art show tomorrow. This will be the second art show my work has been in and I’m extremely nervous and would love for you to be there.”

Spencer smiled, feeling beyond flattered that she would want him there. He grabbed her hand the same way she had before and said, “I would love nothing more.”

That following night at the art show Spencer knew for certain he was completely consumed with feelings for y/n. He couldn’t help but to admire how her face lit up every time she talked about her work with other guests. It fills him with pride every time she would turn away the champagne that is offered. What really sets his heart ablaze is how y/n would reach for his hand every time she moved on to another art piece or to speak to someone else. It was as if y/n wanted, needed him. Whether it was for comfort or confidence Spencer was happy to be either of those things for her.

Towards the end of the night Spencer and y/n had finally found a moment to be alone. They stood in front of a painting that kind of reminded Spencer of the mermaid from that one Disney movie Penelope made him watch.

Y/n must have thought so also because as she looked at the painting she said, “You know I am really glad you have become a part of my world.” Y/n turned her head to look at Spencer there was a gleam in her eye. Spencer responded by saying, “Is there any way I can always be a part of your world?”

Y/n responded by kissing Spencer, putting ever amount of emotion she felt into it. The kiss was more vibrant and meaningful than any art she could ever dream of creating.

*

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[alecmagnuslwb]

A Fight for Change

Part of my Immortal Inquisitor and High Warlock of Alicante Series

Read on AO3

Alec’s pretty sure time is frozen. That’s the only explanation for this, there’s no way he’s still in this room, there’s no way this meeting has been going on this long. There’s no way that a room full of grown ass adults are still arguing over whether or not Warlocks should be allowed to portal into the main Clave halls freely.

The answer is simple. Yes. Yes they should be allowed to.

The insulting holding rooms and back exits that the Downworlders are forced to use and enter through are broken down relics that haven’t been fixed up let alone cleaned in Alec’s lifetime at least. It’s time they were torn down completely. It should be one of the simpler things to make right, and yet here they are three hours into an absolutely circling conversation that may never end.

Whitelaw of course is the leader of the pack, putting up the biggest fuss about this as if it’s a national security threat. Alec counts the days until he retires or maybe just drops dead. What a pleasant thought that is.

He’s heard the old awful classics from dissenters like, “What if they use it against us?” and “What if they surprise us and it causes a scene?” and he’s just so tired.

Thank the angel Aline is here, her not so subtle facial expressions at every idiotic sentence in the room are the only thing that’s keeping him from snapping.

“The old ways are in place for a reason,” Whitelaw says and by the angel if Alec had a dollar for every time he’d heard that one since he was made Inquisitor he’d be as rich as Magnus by now. He leans back in his chair banging his head against it once in frustration.

“And it’s time for the old ways to die,” Jia says rubbing her fingers across her forehead in frustration.

“But Jia we don’t know these people,” one of Whitelaw’s little toadies says. Alec can’t remember his name, but he knows his weasel like face.

“Then take the time to get to know them,” Aline practically shrieks out. If he thought he was close to snapping she seems to be getting even closer to her breaking point.

“She’s right,” Mara Crownhorn, a thousand year old woman who Alec can never quite predict says. One moment she’s completely on their side an unexpected voice of wrinkly change and the next she’s spouting off some of the most offensive and discriminatory bullshit Alec’s ever heard in his life. “They’re not all as obnoxious as,” she pauses eyeing Alec not nearly as subtly as she likely intended to. “Well, let’s just say others.”

Alec becomes incredibly alert suddenly shifting up in his chair his face schooled into what Magnus likes to call his actively about to be a bitch face. The room goes quiet, Aline and Jia smile wickedly both incredibly familiar with this look of his.

“Delegate Crownhorn I hope to the angel and you better hope to a few more that you did not just imply my husband, the High Warlock of our city I might add, is obnoxious in any way shape or form. Or you will live, not much longer based upon those frowns line, to regret it,” he says calm and brimmed with rage.

It seems today Mrs. Crownhorn has chosen violence and Alec is happy to return it in kind. She wretches, shriveling back into her seat like a frightened animal shaking her head.

“I didn’t mean,” she says and Alec cuts her off standing to his full threatening height. He slams both of his hands on the table palms down the move shaking the table fiercely. Mrs. Crownhorn shrivels back even more while everyone else, even a surprised Aline, jumps.

“You did,” Alec snaps. “And if sly comments like that continue to be thrown across this table, I will gather the votes to have your ass thrown off this council so fast your head will spin. That goes for everyone.”

He eyes the table, everyone who should be cowering is doing so just a bit, even Whitelaw has clamped his mouth shut for the first time in his seventy years of life. Aline, Jia and the others he can trust have recovered from the jump brought on from the slam of his hands against the table all looking ready to back him if he needs it.

“Now, let’s take a goddamn vote,” Alec says lifting his hands from the table. “All those opposed to the dismantling of the back door exits and holding rooms that are as broken down as some of the council members here today and allowing Warlocks, and all other Downworlders common access to major Clave buildings say I.”

A smattering of hands raise and say I most of them shaking and scared, but still stuck in their bigotry anyways. Whitelaw seems to be shaken free of his brief fear confidently raising his hands and saying a defiant I with a smirk of pure evil on his face when he looks Alec directly in the eyes. Alec looks back with a cold, hateful stare that he knows gets across just right.

“And all those with a soul in favor?”

A little over half the table raises their hands, Aline saying her I a little louder and prouder than necessary, but he appreciates the enthusiasm. Crownhorn raises a still shaking hand, evidently fearing him too much to change her vote even though he can see in her eyes she desperately wanted to.

“Fantastic, the motion passes. A team of construction workers will be dispatched within the coming days to start tearing down the holding rooms and permanently locking any unnecessary back entrances and the motion will be publicly shared so all Downworlders and Alicante residents are aware of the change,” Alec steps away from the table pushing in his chair more loudly than needed. “This meeting is adjourned.”

He steps away holding his stony face despite Aline’s triumphant wink sent his way. Somehow despite his advanced age, Whitelaw catches up with him as he reaches the door.

“Your words and behavior today will be reported on,” he spits out. “Just because you’re the free love progressive golden child doesn’t mean you can hurl insults the way of anyone who disagrees with your views.”

Alec closes his eyes collecting himself for a moment before turning to face Whitelaw an enraged look on his face. Whitelaw, who’s a good foot shorter than him, shudders.

“I can if their supposed views are blatantly discriminatory and actively hateful and cruel against an entire group of people. I can even more so when those words are directed specifically my way to insult a member of my family,” he says pushing open the door and holding out a condescending arm for Whitelaw to exit first. “Your days on this council are numbered Whitelaw, mine are just beginning, change is coming either get over it or get with it.”

Whitelaw huffs angrily but has nothing left to say it seems storming out the door. He continues holding open the door the dissenters slipping past him fast, not as brave as Whitelaw to face him head on, and his allies smiling his way. Aline slaps him on the shoulder as she passes through and he fake winces causing her to chuckle.

Once she’s out the room is emptied everyone gathering into their little cliques in the hallway, Whitelaw and his cronies looking past Alec speaking rapidly.

“What ever did I do to piss him off today without even being in the room?” Magnus says from behind him and Alec deflates turning with a smile to greet his husband.

“Fuck him, the motion passed and I said a few things that are definitely going to go into a file somewhere, but were totally worth it,” Alec says before pulling Magnus in for a kiss that’s a little more involved than it usually would be in such a professional setting. He’s feeling petty, no one can blame him.

When he pulls away he hears a disgusted huff from Whitelaw and the familiar click of his lifts he acts like he doesn’t wear to seem taller rushing in the other direction in anger.

Magnus raises an eyebrow watching as the rest of Whitelaw’s little gang of idiot’s scurry after him.

“Well, Aline looks positively delighted so whatever you said must have been particularly bitchy and I’m going to love to hear you say it and wish I had been there to see,” Magnus says reaching out and playing with the lapels of Alec’s jacket. “So, buy me lunch and tell me all about it?”

“I’m starving and I know you’re going to love it, I compared Crownhorn’s age to the state of the holding rooms,” he says twining his fingers with Magnus’.

“Oh, darling, keep talking dirty to me,” Magnus says his voice low and pleased. Alec laughs pulling him along down the hallway eager to get away from that damned room and leave this meeting behind, a win in his pocket and his husband at his side.

[nat-20s]

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad. 

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show  applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of  a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon:  No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true.  Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look. 

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

[ask-hunterxhunter]

Can I have the trouble trio with a pregnant s/o? Hiw do they handle the pregnancy? How do they handle labor and holding their newborn for the first time.

Feitan

Pregnancy will be a huge surprise for Feitan. Oh, it’s not that he didn’t know it could happen, it’s just one of those things that seem to happen only to other people. Cue a mix of emotions, to the point he may not react for a second: Happiness, nervousness, insecurity… It will take a while for Feitan to get used to the idea. Yes, he is happy, he is, but he can’t imagine himself as a father, he isn’t sure he would be a good one… At the same time, he is just so excited and happy about this!

Few people would be able to notice this mess of emotions he’s going through (you being one of the exceptions) because Feitan would keep that cold self-control of his while secretly checking books about pregnancy and babies (something not even the most suicidal person would mock him for).

 Many would regard Feitan as an uninterested father-to-be since he would keep that cold attitude of his, to the point a few people would send him dirty looks while you’re out buying stuff for the baby and he seems almost bored. It’s not exactly the case… First, some of the things you’re checking do seem to be exactly the same, so whichever you pick is fine. Second, there will be times when his “any-of-those-is-fine” is not disinterest, but because he genuinely thinks that any of those options are good. And while it seems he just picked a few things at random and tossed them inside the cart, believe me, it was carefully chosen. Others won’t see it, but you know him enough to feel the warmth beneath his actions.

 This warmth, like always, is something you can only notice when you’re together. That’s when he will touch your stomach, perhaps whisper a few words to the baby (when he believes you’re sleeping)… Feitan will have the natural worries of a father-to-be and want to give you the best care he can.

 When it’s time for the baby to be born, well, nothing will keep him from being there in the room with you. Not that anyone will ask him to, since Feitan will (again) give the impression of a perfectly collected and calm person (perhaps even a little too much for certain people’s opinion), but it’s in the way he holds your hand, how he whispers to you and how he keeps looking from you to the doctor that shows he’s both excited and nervous.

 Once Feitan holds the baby for the first time… Well, it’s a moment to behold. It’s rare to see his features so soft, how his gaze becomes less severe, the way he smiles… It’s actually one of the very few times no one can tell he’s a sadistic murderer. Internally, he will swear to always be there for his child. It’s… Pretty sweet, actually. Perhaps a little weird/disturbing considering who Feitan is, but still.

 Now, while he never, and I mean never, doubts being part of the Spider, this doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of the complications involved in raising a baby when you’re a wanted criminal. No, I don’t mean “Oh, I want my child to be a good person, I should change my life around” style (please, have you met this guy?), but in the realistic sense: Moving around, staying away from you and the baby for long periods of time while he “works”, having to deal with those who hunt the Spider (he wouldn’t show it, but he would be terrified at the idea of Hisoka killing you or the baby), it’s simply not exactly the best.

 Feitan would not renounce the Spider, but he would try to balance things in the best way possible, such as not joining in any jobs during the baby’s first months, being there as you recover from giving birth, so on. And because the Troupe is so united, some of the members would offer help whenever they can.

 Phinks

He is kind of a “freaked-out-soon-to-be-dad” sort of guy (though he tries to hide it as best as he can). He may have thought about having children, but when it finally happens, it just catches him off guard. It’s not that he isn’t happy, far from it! So much that his first reaction is just to hug you! But the questions of pregnancy/fatherhood keep hitting him: There are so many things to buy. Oh, he needs to keep you safe, he can’t let those who hate the Spider find out about the baby. Will he be a good dad? He doesn’t know a thing about pregnancies, how can he help you? Oh, you need to find a good doctor. Wait, what if the baby doesn’t like him?  

 Those are normal questions, though, and you go through them together (just as with the same questions that may hit you). Whenever you’re in doubt or nervous, Phinks will be there to give you support, just like you do when he’s the one unsure about the future. Hey, being a thief and a murderer is one thing, being a father is… Is quite different.

 Those doubts don’t stop Phinks from being simply thrilled at the idea of being a dad at the end of the day. Oh, you don’t have to worry about him being the “embarrassingly-loud-and-excited” sort of person in public (c’mon, he has manners), but it’s pretty clear that he loves buying stuff for the baby with you, preparing the room, thinking about names… In those moments, he is not a murderer or a member of the Spider, he is simply a man in love who is expecting his first child. And while he also keeps his usual posture with the other members of the Spider, they can see he is over the moon with joy (a few members may even joke a little about it). Now, when he’s alone with you, there is often this goofy smile on his face when he touches your stomach and whispers to the bay. And when the baby starts kicking, Phinks is drunk with happiness.

 Speaking of which, while the last month approaches, Phinks becomes… A little (more) too excited/nervous. As the “predicted” day approaches, any moan or whimper from you will have him rushing to your side asking if it’s the time.

 So you can imagine how he gets when the actual day arrives. He’s there with the camera, all happy and while he won’t pester the doctors with every little detail, trying to tell them how to do their job, he is so nervous that you’d think he is the one giving birth (he tries to hide it and be calm for your sake, yes. Let’s just be honest: He fails). However, if it becomes too much and the doctors call his attention, Phinks will regain his self-control.

 When the baby is born, Phinks may hesitate to hold it… He is so used to hurt people and the baby looks so small and fragile that he fears he will hurt it by accident. It takes a gentle coaxing, perhaps you showing him to do it, but when he does it, it’s like something changes in him… You can see his eyes brightening, the way he smiles and gently talks to his child… He may not know how to be a father. His own childhood may not have been perfect (hey, he’s from Meteor City, does that seem like a place full of happy childhoods?), but damn if he won’t do his best for his child. It’s like, for that moment, he isn’t a murderer or a member of the Spider or anything, except for a man holding his baby for the first time.

 Like with Feitan, don’t expect the birth of a child to change his views, okay? The “change” mentioned is just how something (often) changes when a woman becomes a mother. It doesn’t strictly mean Phinks will become a good person and repent. Like with Feitan, he will try to balance his lifestyle and raising a child the best he can, but that’s it. Well, when you got together with him, you knew who he was, so you shouldn’t expect anything different.

 Shalnark

Shalnark will go from the “wait, what did you say” to “this is the best news ever” in a matter of seconds. Despite who he is, it’s kinda of cute (that innocent face of his do help). Maybe he wasn’t planning on having children, maybe he never thought about it, but he is thrilled when it happens (which may surprise him a little if he never considered it before, since Shalnark is not exactly a “family man” type). Once he processes the news, he isn’t sure he can wait nine whole months for the baby to arrive!

 Shalnark is at once completely on board about being a father, though he has no idea of how to do it (cue him buying lots of books and checking many sites). It gets to the point no one would ever suspect of him being part of the Spider when you’re out together buying things for the baby or visiting the doctor, especially when he offers that “good boy” smile of his.

 Of course he has the same worries that everyone else has (especially if/since this is his first child), but almost no one can notice it, except for you due to how well you know Shal. Yes, he is excited and confident most of the time, but there are always those moments when he can’t help but consider possible issues… It just happens. Now, when you two go out, he is that happy future dad that wants to buy just everything for the baby (and if he’s in doubt between two pieces of clothing? He buys both of them!), who can’t wait for the baby to start kicking… Again, many people watching from afar wouldn’t believe this guy is a member of the Phantom Troupe.

 Shalnark is not as reserved as Feitan and Phinks when he is with the other members of the Spider. During a job, he will be as focused and deadly as ever… As soon as it is over, while they check the profit and results, Shaknark will end up commenting about how you’ve been feeling, how he can’t wait for the baby to be born, how he can’t believe he will be a dad… Some members will find it kinda of cute (Shalnark knows how to make such a cute face that you just can’t be mad at him) and be happy for him, while others might hope the baby will be born soon just to see if he’ll shut up then. It’s not that he’s obnoxious or annoying about it, but some of them just aren’t interested in the whole “family” subject, you know?

 It might be surprising, but Shalnark can be sweet when he’s with you, so during those months he will love to have extra cuddle time, touching your stomach, thinking about the baby (hoping he will feel it move soon), imagining the future… And also already imagining training the little one to join the Spiders one day as well.

 When you start to give birth, Shalnark is actually rather good with it. He’s excited and a little nervous, yes, but as soon as you lay on the table, he stays at your side, holding your hand, talking calmly with you.

 When he sees the baby, he is already feeling that warmth of being a father… When you suggest that he holds it, however, he hesitates for a second before doing it. It’s a strange sensation for Shalnark: He is so used to see people as objects, to only care about the Spiders and you, that he is surprised at how his feelings suddenly hit him. It’s a bit like when he realized he was in love with you, but different. He slowly grows more comfortable with the baby in his arms, gently touches its face and tiny hands… So small, so delicate… For a while, Shalnark will just sit at your side, holding the baby. For once, he won’t be thinking about the future, about the Spider, or anything else that is not you and the baby.

 It's just for a moment and it won’t last (he will never stop being who and what he is, after all, no more than any of the others would), but it’s a sweet moment all the same.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

[tobi-momo]

"The Setter's Help" Chapter 1

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Volleyball player!reader

Synopsis: With a big game coming up, the confidence in your setting has gone down significantly. Knowing the setter on the Karasuno boy's volleyball club is good at what he does, you ask him for help. Will he help you build your confidence and skills or will he just tear it down more?

Genre: Romance, fluff, some crack, angst, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: none

Taglist: Open <3 Send an ask or fill out THIS form!

a/n: this is pretty short, kind of a prologue :)

You had two weeks. Two weeks before the big game. You were nervous. You were ecstatic. You were anxious. You were excited yet you knew you weren’t good enough. Your skills weren’t there yet. Your abilities haven’t even scratched the surface of what could be described as ‘okay’. You had no faith, yet here you are, bowing in front of a tall boy with a milk carton in his hand, asking at top volume at the end of the day if he could help you get better. He wasn’t sure why you came to him, or how you even had the idea in your head that he would help you, but you couldn’t give up just yet.

“I’m sorry to bother you! I know you have important things to do and you don’t want to be kept waiting but I need your help!”

‘My help?’ He thinks, wondering how on Earth he was going to do that. You hadn’t even asked the question and he was concerned for you.

“My name is L/n, F/n,” you greet as friendly as you can without sounding impatient, “I have a volleyball game in two weeks, and you’re my last hope, please help me with my skills,” you lower your voice, trying not to seem too loud or obnoxious. You peek up from your bow, taking notice of his black, shiny hair and the straw in his mouth connecting to the milk carton he holds in his hand. He looks down at you, partially in confusion and bore, tired of standing and desperately wanting to go to practice already. “Please, please, please consider!” You stand straight, still shorter than him, you might add, your pleading eyes gazing into his narrow ones.

“What position do you play?” Is all he asks, acting as if you were wasting his time, only a little intrigued.

“Huh?”

“What position do you play,” he deadpans.

“I’m a setter! Just like you! I want you to teach me how to be better! I’ve seen you play, you’re awesome! So perfect! I wanna be like that on the court!”

His eyebrows were no longer furrowed, his eyes widening in surprise and flattery from hearing your words. A blush threatens to creep up his face, his lips thinning and his ears perking up. When did you ever watch him? He never noticed you in the crowds, although if he did he probably wouldn’t remember your face anyways. You were a random girl who walked up to him on a random day asking a random question. Random. He had to think about it, not being too fond about teaching someone anything, but the way your eyes gleamed while you begged for his assistance made him want to just get this over with.

“Whatever,” is all he comes up with, turning to stare at the gym doors. He side eyes you while you jump up in victory and chant to yourself, happy he complied. “I’ll watch you play and then we’ll see what happens from there.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re amazing!” You wanted to hug him, but refrained as you didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable then you already have. He sighs at your figure before he turns away and walks out the door. You congratulated yourself on being able to pull that off, but you knew you had a lot more work to do. You shake your hands to try and get rid of the anxiousness, blowing the air out of your lungs. Finally calming down, you pick up your bag and head towards the front of the school, bypassing the front gates and walking home.

~.~.~.~

“How did I do?” You jump up at him right as your practice ends, him slowly standing up and strolling to the doors.

“Weren’t terrible.” He mumbles. You weren’t bad at all, he knew. There were specific things he could point out that he could fix almost right away, but you were good. Why did you ask for his help again?

“Wait, huh? ‘Weren’t terrible’? What does that mean?”

“It means you weren’t terrible.”

“Well that cleared things up, thanks,” you snark, your face a sweaty mess while you walk with him, water bottle in hand. “Was there anything, I don’t know...off about my setting?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what that is?” Why won’t this man just get a full sentence out with more than five words?

“Later. You wanted me to help you, right?” You sigh dramatically, wondering if you’d ever get used to him. It would only last two weeks, and you guaranteed you wouldn’t see him much after the training. You nod to him, humming in compliance before you take a long drink of your ice cold water.

“Can I see your practices?” You smile, wanting to see how he works outside of games. Everything this man did on the court was perfect to you. You wanted to be as good as him. So what better than to observe his strategies during practice?

“No.”

“What? Why not?” You pout, putting your hands on your hips, stopping him from opening the door.

“Because all you’ll be is a distraction. I can’t have you interfere with my team, got it?” His voice turns stern, like he was setting a strict boundary between you two. Of course you were going to respect it, but the way his tone sounded made you feel almost a little bit like a burden. He didn’t really want to do this, did he?

“Uh, yeah, of course! No going to Kageyama-kun’s practices,” you grin, putting a thumbs up before jumping your body around, turning to go back to the locker rooms. “Thank you for being here! I can’t wait to work with you! It’ll be awesome!” You jumped, daydreaming about your soon-to-be pro skills at setting. ‘You’ll be amazing. You’ll do great’, you tell yourself while running to the locker room. He watches you run off energetically, even after your body has disappeared behind the door. You weren’t like a lot of people he knew. You were weird. You were too giddy for him to keep up with. He really hopes he doesn’t regret this soon.

a/n: kasdkjhaskdjhaskdj i literally have no confidence in this but i hope it isnt complete shit- ik its short but this fic itself isnt gonna be that many parts hopefully and this is mostly an introduction soo :) i really hope yall like it <33

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[tsukiida]

honey — bakugou katsuki

— info :: bakugou x gn!reader ; sfw ; fluff & humour ; 6.04k words.

— contents :: quirkless reader ; reader’s pov ; scheming friends ; dumbass!reader ; slight cussing ; confessions.

— synopsis :: if there’s one thing that you have in common with bakugou katsuki, it’s obliviousness to the other’s feelings. a haunted house is the best place to resolve misunderstandings.

— note :: it’s been a while; I finally finished this!! :D it’s a continuation to bakugou’s “pining”, and I’d suggest reading that first for the full experience™ but there are hints dropped throughout “honey” to give you an idea of what happened! I hope y’all like this! :)

quite honestly, you've got to be the biggest idiot possible.

really, you had the best chance.

it’s not like confessing to bakugou katsuki would be that bad, right? the most he’d do is turn you down with a scoff and then go back to pretending you don’t exist while chasing his heroic dreams.

he’s not big on humiliating people unless they’re— a: aspiring heroes, or b: midoriya izuku.

he definitely wouldn’t lord it over your head and tease you about it.

kaminari really gave you the best opportunity to get things out in the open!

and you let it slip through your fingers like an idiot.

furthermore, you really did also say that you have absolutely no romantic interest in the explosive pretty boy. you acted like the idea of harboring any feelings towards him shocked you. you also acted like he was the weird one for thinking you liked him.

while having a raging crush on him which really makes your heart beat and bounce around in your ribcage as if getting a firsthand taste of his quirk.

have you mentioned that you’re an idiot?

right, you have done that enough times, so maybe the next step is to explain why.

you’d been out running an errand when you’d come across midoriya izuku.

midoriya; the only other quirkless student in your year, in junior high. you’d never talked much to him, but you’d felt a sense of camaraderie with him whenever you saw him. the school was small enough that you could count the number of quirkless people on one hand.

you and deku were included in that number.

the only reason why you didn’t get picked on for the reasons he did was because you never wanted to be a hero.

and you avoided bakugou katsuki like the plague.

to be honest, you hated him at first.

you’d seen it all, but hadn’t been able to do anything other than giving midoriya a few words of comfort which felt hollow to your own ears. you still blamed yourself a little for having never helped him properly.

you loathed bakugou for being as powerful as he was, as arrogant and stuck up as he was, and for being the petty bully who really thought he was better than someone just because of a quirk.

you were bitter. not because you didn’t have a quirk, but because people like him made people like you feel like you weren’t worth anything.

that’s why, when you chanced upon midoriya after such a long time, you were elated.

you were so happy when you found out that he really did have what it takes to be a hero.

if you deliberately ignored bakugou, then that’s entirely on him and not on you.

you won’t be taking responsibility for things that aren’t your fault.

…you were also wary of him.

you didn’t want him to blow you up if you so much as smiled at him.

not that he deserved seeing your smile anyway.

that’s what you told yourself right in the beginning. and that’s what came to bite you in the ass, because some days you have to do your best to conceal your smile at the mention of the stupid explosive boy’s name.

he really does scare you, you didn’t lie about that. but despite that, your brain thinks that it’s fun to get flustered over someone who scares you. just a little bit! he’s losing that scariness rapidly in all situations except when you’ve seen him in action as a budding hero. you just get worried that he’s going to take one look at you and decide that you’re getting in his way, a nuisance to everyone, and whatever else he can think of you.

in all honesty, you’re aware that he was an idiot in middle school, and the majority of his issues stemmed from his convoluted relationship with midoriya. if midoriya himself can forgive him, then you don’t really have a reason to hold grudges. and you know he’s grown. he’s matured to an extent you never expected from him, but perhaps that’s how he goes through life.

exceeding expectations is something he’s great at.

and he’s grown into someone wonderfully inspiring, if not intimidating.

—juuuust a little!

…

uraraka finds out first.

you love that girl, but you could do without her knowing about your embarrassing crush on one bakugou katsuki.

if only she’d actually helped you out, instead of teasing you subtly to the point that you couldn’t even stay in the same room as bakugou—to the point that you vehemently denied any sort of interest in him when midoriya innocently brought up the other boy in a conversation.

it becomes a reflex to avoid anything related to bakugou and romance in the same space. which is how you landed yourself in the mess with kaminari.

so you’re going to blame uraraka. she’s definitely at fault! it’s not your wimpy self to blame!

“uraraka,” you end up mumbling into the phone, rocking back and forth while hiding your face against your knees, wishing to be swallowed whole.

“uraraka, i told kaminari that i don’t like him.” despite having promised yourself that you won’t bring the whole thing up with her, you can’t help it. she’s still your precious friend that you’re very fond of, and the same friend who wrangled out from you all of your embarrassing opinions of him.

“uraraka, he’s going to hate me now. he’s going to think i don’t think he’s cool or strong, or whatever else that might hurt his pride. he’s going to completely stop paying attention to me now!”

you may claim that you blame her, but you’re aware that she’s not at fault. she always tries hyping you up when you’re nervous and comforts you when you’re down. perhaps you’re taking advantage of her kindness, but you really don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts. and it really is her fault for being so encouraging when it comes to dealing with your feelings for bakugou katsuki.

so when your friend just wordlessly hums in response for the third time, your fingers clench in your hair and you let out a frustrated sigh. raising your pitch obnoxiously, you whine, “uraraka!”

“i love you, but if you call my name like that one more time i will tell deku.”

you freeze, not sure if she means telling him about your not-so-little crush, or merely the fact that you like singing uraraka’s name. she laughs mischievously, clearing up your confusion much too quickly, prompting you to let out frantic apologies and make her promise that she won’t let the cat out of the bag.

“really, though,” you mumble, “he didn’t even remember me. he asked me if i was messing with him using my quirk. i had to tell him i was quirkless and then deal with his anger.”

that gets her attention in an entirely different manner. she sounds positively incensed when she asks you why it matters if you’re quirkless, and you give her reasons that sound weak to your own ears.

“and how are you messing with him?”

that leads to you telling her about one of your earlier interactions with bakugou, back when you’d first started being friends with midoriya’s class. you mention how you were about ready to pass out when bakugou’s question registered in your mind and you had to tell him you were quirkless, before you’re back to bemoaning the conversation with kaminari.

and something clicks.

not in your brain.

but in uraraka’s.

…

it’s not just you avoiding bakugou.

bakugou avoids you like the plague.

the sensible part of you is relieved, but another, bigger and dumber, part of you is hurt. of course he’d avoid you if his friend asked you if you liked him, and you said you didn’t.

but ouch, you really didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

not that something like this should even matter to him, right? maybe it’s you who’s suddenly noticing that he avoids you, because now you have a reason to fixate on rather than trying to lie to yourself that bakugou is not entirely indifferent to you. he really has no reason to pay attention to you.

it all makes sense, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling saddened every time bakugou blatantly ignores you. nor does it stop you from going out of your mind wondering why kaminari, too, seems to avoid you at all costs. it’s not like you said you didn’t like him!

yes, it makes sense perfectly. but not to you.

it makes absolutely no sense to you.

…

midoriya’s advancing steadily in his hero career with uraraka’s help, because the latter convinces you to come meet up with the two of them on a rare day out, and the former conveniently drags bakugou out too.

really, such heroics, all for a friend’s pathetic love life? how heartwarming.

you’re still in shock at how easy it was, and god, you don’t want to think about the implications, with the way bakugou’s eyes flit from one to the other when he’s not looking at you.

you also don’t want to admit that you’re stealing glances out of the corner of your eye at the blond when you don’t feel his eyes boring into you.

talk about awkward.

you’ve always been enamoured by how smart bakugou actually is, but it works against you when he corners you after uraraka and midoriya mysteriously vanish under the guise of training.

(that too at an arcade, because gaming supposedly helps achieve better reflex. why is a quirkless person with no interest in being a hero even invited to this outing? one will never know. the only games being played here are with your frayed self-control.)

“oi, if you’re gonna avoid me, don’t be so obvious about it.”

“a—? avoid you?” you practically squeak, and his annoyance seems to increase. there’s something else that you can’t really put a finger to. you’d say he almost looks agitated? but there’s nothing to agitate himself over…

…unless he still thinks you’ve got a raging crush on him.

“nope!” you hastily respond before realising he’s not even said anything to you, but hey, it’s as good an answer to his complaint about you avoiding him.

why’s he complaining, anyway? shouldn’t he be glad no one’s getting in his way?

you ask as much, and he all but growls, words escaping him as you take a step back. bakugou is more susceptible to dramatics than one would think. you used to find it funny, but when such behaviour is aimed at you, you’re not sure how to respond.

“you think you can actually get in my way?” he bursts out, and you make a show of thinking about it, when internally every single one of your brain cells is rioting, self-composure in shambles as you’re rudely made aware of how little distance is between the two of you.

that’s fine, you’re strong, you’re not going to be weak in the face of bakugou katsuki’s incredibly attractive glower.

no, you’re not whipped, thank you very much, to the uraraka-shaped devil materialising in your mind.

ah, back to the matter at hand. it’s not possible for quirkless little you to get in his way, is it?

anyway—

“aren’t you the one avoiding me?” you’re going to try and turn this situation around on him even if it means confronting things you don’t want to.

he scoffs in disbelief, but by that time you’ve worked up the courage to look at him, and you see the look in his eyes. you’ve spent enough time around him to know what that means, even if you barely ever look at him. he looks like he’s been caught, and isn’t that the funniest little thing?

he notices the twitch of your mouth, his own eyes narrowing as it’s your turn to be caught now.

“kaminari,” bakugou says in lieu of a response, and your heart jumps in your throat. you don’t mind dropping a subject if he doesn’t plan on grilling you on it too—changing the subject would be great, but he just picked one even worse than the last!

“he’s stupid, don’t pay attention to him.”

“uh huh, he sure is,” you laugh nervously. if you’d had your bearings about you, you’d never have said that. as it is, your mind is still shaken up and hoping that he doesn’t catch on to the fact that you are the stupid one.

you’re also very busy battling a smug uraraka and shouting at incompetent old you for swooning in the face of your biggest problem. and for, you know, missing that golden chance to confess without anxiety.

“look at me.”

nuh uh, nope, not possible. you’re not going to survive looking into his pretty eyes.

he lets out another frustrated sound, and you wait for him to blow up again—maybe even cause explosions. you wonder why he’s not been doing that lately.

he gets tired of your stalling, and surprises you by getting in your line of sight, locking eyes with you.

ah, impatience is such a gorgeous look on him.

…and you’re insufferable.

“i am not avoiding you. why would i, idiot? there’s nothing i need to avoid you for.”

you nod, not quite believing him, but you really want to just move on from this. a part of you wonders if you should come clean. but bakugou really doesn’t seem like he wants to hear anything about that. it’s in the way his eyes flit away momentarily and his expression sours, and in the way he seems to be pushing himself to hold onto some shreds of self-control.

all you can do is nod, really.

“where’s deku?”

you’re barely able to carry on the conversation, making some excuse or the other as to your missing friend(s), doing your best to act like you don’t have a clue either. if he finds your behaviour suspicious, bakugou doesn’t comment on it.

he does comment on something else. again.

“you don’t have to keep avoiding me just because of pikachu either.”

really? there’s nothing better for him to talk about? you thought you were past this! and calling kaminari ‘pikachu’ is not that smart!

“pikachu was cute…” you mumble. and you need to be louder, because you don’t want bakugou leaning in any closer to hear you.

the proximity is doing things to you.

things like making you forget that he probably hates your guts and doesn’t want to spend time with you, nor talk to you, at all. things like how he’s probably upset at being stuck babysitting you while midoriya and uraraka are off who knows where. things like making you discuss the cute factor of a magic ball–inhabiting yellow electric creature when bakugou clearly means the boy who almost outed your silly crush.

the boy who was giving you the best opportunity to confess!!!

if there’s one person who will never let you forget that, it’s your own self.

bakugou makes a sound that almost sounds like laughter, but there’s no way, right?

he shuffles back slightly, making it that much easier to breathe before he drops another bomb.

“school festival.”

you blink.

“it’ll be next month. make sure you’re free.”

oh. the stupid part of you is internally rejoicing, but since there is no way that he’d actually ask you to come—

“a-are you asking me to visit…?”

no no no, you didn’t mean to ask—

bakugou gives you a flat stare, and you gulp. so you were right for once.

you mull over it for a moment, the concrete under your feet extremely interesting before meeting his eyes again, “am i allowed to?”

“you practically live with us with how often i see you in the dorms. you think they’ll stop you now?” he snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s not as much bite to his words as one would expect.

he has a point.

but you can’t really see reason when every single cell of your body is screaming ‘IT’S A DATE’ over and over again.

you groan, before swallowing back the sound. uh oh, bakugou’s going to think you don’t want to—

“come when you can.”

hands in his pockets, he walks off as if he wasn’t just making you go through all stages of panic.

…

uraraka tells you why she vanished. she was simply being a ‘good friend’ and trying to get you and bakugou to reconcile. you politely tell her it wasn’t required, especially because there wasn’t much that happened.

except the fact that he asked you to turn up to the festival, so that’s nice, at least.

uraraka doesn’t react as expected, again, and she utters the cursed words that you never wanted to hear out loud. “aw, a date!”

“uraraka, no!”

but it’s too late. it’s been said and now you can’t think of anything else. you know it’s not a date, any sane person would know that, but you can’t stop thinking of that one stupid word and bakugou and the school festival and spending time with bakugou at the festival—

“uraraka… the festival— i’ll need to see him. i’ll see him having the time of his life while he’s in his element, i’ll see that infuriating face— i’ll have to spend time with him—”

“y/n,” uraraka gives you a look that’s the perfect amount of wary and pitying to make you embarrassed, but there are bigger things to worry about than your friend’s opinion of you.

“this is bakugou we’re talking about. he’s not that open about having fun unless it has something to do with murder.” the fact that he won’t be keen on spending time with you goes unsaid, but you know what she’s hinting at. “also, i don’t think you find his face as infuriating as you say.”

“still. bakugou katsuki. he… told me to— agh—”

and you’re back to square one, where the very mention of bakugou katsuki has you confused out of your mind because you don’t know how to act around him.

perfect.

…

time passes quicker when you’re hoping for the opposite, you find out when the days go by faster than you can blink. there’s just a week left before you have to see bakugou again, and it makes you nervous every time you think about it. which is a lot of times.

you’ve not seen the class in a while, since everyone told you they have a ‘surprise.’ you know they’re aiming to outdo their previous performance at the festival, you’re rooting for them. but without one of your main sources of entertainment, things haven’t been eventful.

except the conversation you have with kaminari over text, because of course he somehow procured your contact information and of course he felt like he had to make amends.

maybe you were expecting it because you were already on edge from when bakugou confronted you, but kaminari doesn’t beat around the bush and gets straight to the matter, which is quite unlike the last time you both talked. that time.

“haven’t got the chance to check in w/ u in a while, we’ve been crazy busy! i hope u’ve been well >:D” shifts to “we’re good, right?” sooner than you’d like, and you’re left staring at your screen in shock as you try to think of an innocuous response that doesn’t give away your true emotions.

kaminari is too quick, and he doesn’t even give you a chance to think of a lie before the next ping distracts you, leaving you staring at the latest message in horror; “blame bakugou! he’s the one who told us you like him! i’m really sorry! :(”

it’s nice of him to apologise, but you really have other things to think about.

like how it’s bakugou katsuki himself who apparently thought you had a crush on him.

he knew.

he knows.

he knows he knows he knows—

no, no, he doesn’t know. he can’t. maybe he was just suspicious.

and on the off chance that he does know, then of course. he’s smart. you’re stupidly obvious. of course he’d figure out.

but he doesn’t seem to hate you. he was the one who approached you every time! when he asked you to turn your quirk off, when he supposedly instructed kaminari to ask you if you liked him, and when he told you to visit for the festival.

you like to think that he’s just too busy training to even realise that you like him. you hope that’s the case. you can always come clean and admit that yes, you really do like him. but there’s also your lame excuse of a pride that remembers the unreadable expression on his face when he’d heard you then, before promptly leaving, the door shut slamming shut behind him.

perhaps it’s not your pride, but guilt. you don’t want to be annoying and get in his way. there are too many things going on in his life already, why would you want to add on to all of that with your silly lies? the same logic applies to a confession too, argues the part of you that lives and breathes denial.

looking at it from another perspective, bakugou likes the attention and admiration. maybe it would’ve been for the best if you’d just admitted—

it’s too late now, so the most you can do is type out a hasty response to kaminari before he suspects your silence.

“it’s totally ok. we’re good :DD will see you guys soon!”

it’s purely to hold yourself accountable and not weasel your way out of the inevitable trip, but kaminari’s enthusiastic response manages to bring a smile to your face.

…

the evening before the grand day, you call uraraka up before the jitters can defeat you. she doesn’t react much other than humming and speaking a few encouraging statements while you lament over your luck and try to subtly ask her how bakugou has been doing.

“i’m sure he’s… excited.” you can practically feel the smile gracing her lips, and you know she’s having fun at your expense. when does she not?

you know she’s also having fun when she calls you a whiny complainer and says bakugou would probably blow up if he knew even a bit of it, and you – predictably – complain more, blaming her for meddling and bringing you to this point.

bakugou doesn’t need to know about your penchant for whining when things don’t go your way. you think he’s only ever seen you smiling and speaking politely with everyone, if he’s even been looking. that’s good, you don’t want him to find you bothersome. you’ve been doing your best to appear sophisticated around him.

…

no amount of complaining and whining could prepare you for when bakugou turns around and grabs at your wrist.

bakugou’s too close again—things are suddenly eventful.

“too damn slow, are you trying to get lost?” he grumbles as he pulls you through the throng of people, and you smile weakly, internally telling yourself to get your act together and not let on how frazzled you feel at that moment.

you don’t know whether it’s your own skin heating up under his touch, or if his quirk is responsible. for a moment, it reminds you of when he asked you if you’re using your quirk on him. it’s sudden enough that it makes you snort under your breath before you catch yourself. he gives you a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye, and you shrug, smiling lightly. that sates his curiosity, and he looks ahead again as he moves towards a predetermined destination.

it’s a lot easier to deal with his hand against yours after that. eventually, he lets go, and you find yourself missing the warmth for a moment.

the warmth completely leaves you when you find yourself in front of—

“a haunted house.”

“congrats. we’re going in. let’s see how shitty it is.”

you get the sinking suspicion that he plans to rip everyone’s confidence to shreds, and you don’t want to be around for that, but he doesn’t give you a chance to protest. you’re not supposed to be overstaying your welcome or overstepping your boundaries either, so you resign yourself to following him around quietly and perhaps apologising to his victims if he goes too far.

you’re his only victim.

you only make your way through a few scares before you get the scare.

bakugou katsuki promptly turns to you, glaring. you, being the genius that you are, take a step away from him. this continues till you’re best friends with the wall, and you try not to panic at the feeling of something slimy now clinging to your shoulder.

how can you, anyway? you’ve got bakugou staring at you with a contemplative look, almost as if he’s looking into your very soul.

“you talked to the idiot.”

“there are many idiots,” you mumble, knowing full well which idiot he’s referring to. you hope kaminari hasn’t tricked you yet again. did bakugou put him up to that conversation— there are too many things you don’t feel you have in yourself to think about.

something changes, then, and he lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. he seems agitated, almost awkward, and you wonder why.

“you piss me off.”

huh? is he talking about how much you get in his way and bother him and make things hard for him and—

“kirishima told me.”

…did another person figure out about your crush? kirishima’s always seemed really sweet, and you don’t think he’s the kind that would deliberately spill any secrets. it wouldn’t be manly, right?

“he told me i should apologise.”

“huh?” you really can’t hold it in. why is he the one apologising? shouldn’t you…? and why is he apologising by telling you that you piss him off?

“he said i shouldn’t have put you on the spot and then avoided you. dunno why he thinks he has any say in the matter but you know what i realised? maybe you think like that too. maybe you’re,” he spreads apart his fingers before making a fist and scowling at it, “hurt. and you really did avoid me after that.”

you don’t say anything, still stuck on how constipated he’d looked just moments ago. you’re not supposed to be amused right now.

“oi, say something. aren’t you gonna deny it?”

still nothing.

“say something before i leave this place without you.” your incredulity shows on your face, and he huffs, “what do you want?”

“i… i don’t need an apology… everything’s okay…” it’s not, but you don’t want him to look further into this. there’s no point. “i’m not hurt, bakugou. there’s no reason for you to apologise.”

“then why’re you still acting so jumpy? i told you, just forget about what the electric idiot said and go on merrily through life. i told him not to bring it up with you again.”

“he said you told them i like you.”

he mutters something under his breath, no doubt cursing his friend out after you throw him under the bus. but he doesn’t let it affect him, straightening up again as he looks at you.

“miscalculation,” he shrugs, “i told them to drop it after you said you didn’t.”

“you believe me?” you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but it slips out before you can stop yourself.

“no shit. you telling me you lied?”

you gulp. all of a sudden, the slimy wall is so interesting!

“stop avoiding my eyes, dammit!” bakugou comments, frustrated, and you inhale sharply.

“stop making me so nervous, then!”

uh oh. you shouldn’t have said that. it’s the game changer.

“i make you nervous?”

you don’t answer, hoping he drops it. he doesn’t, and he repeats the question. still, you can’t crumble just because he looks impatient, and you shrug non-committally. something tells you that the situation is steadily turning against you.

”hey, tell me. i make you nervous?” his grin is absolutely roguish as he waits for you to answer.

you still don’t speak, telling yourself that you won’t rise to the bait, you won’t respond to him because you’ve said way more than you needed to—

“weakling,” he sing-songs, and your jaw clenches.

“being nervous around someone isn’t necessarily a sign of weakness, bakugou. sometimes it’s also a sign of being wise.” there goes your plan.

“hah, are you saying that you’re wise for being nervous and avoiding me? what am i gonna do, eat you?”

“i don’t know, maybe executive some explosive murderous strategies?”

“i wouldn’t do that,” he spits out, running a hand through his hair. why is every pore of him screaming agitation? “it’s no fun defeating you when we’re not even competing.”

“oh really? then what’s your idea of fun?”

“when you tell me i make you nervous even though i’m not doing anything.”

“aren’t you supposed to be apologising to me?”

he snorts, “never. i only told you what some idiot thinks. but i can understand why you avoid me, i make you nervous after all.”

his self-satisfied laughter infuriates you, yet makes your own lips twitch.

he lets out a put-upon sigh, and scuffles the floor with his shoe.

“me too, dumbass.”

“huh?”

“you make me nervous too, idiot.”

“huh?”

face mere centimetres away from yours, he lowers his voice to a whisper, “i’ll only say this once, so keep your ears open if you want to know. i miscalculated. i thought you had a thing for me because you didn’t meet my damn eyes always gave pretty answers whenever you talked to me. but you didn’t. i was…” he gulps before clearing his throat, sounding far too aggressive in that moment before he practically grits out: “projecting. i was projecting because i’m apparently into you.”

you stare at him speechlessly. try as you might, you can’t think of a response. you don’t even know what he means by the last bit. surely he couldn’t mean…? why you, of all people? but you’re worried he might leave, his threat from earlier still rings clear. so you resign yourself into taking his words at face value and admitting the truth.

no, it’s not resignation. it’s the resolve you’ve been lacking for a while now, finally coming together after hearing that from bakugou. even if this is a cruel prank, you’ll survive. you just need to get it out before it consumes you and ends up being a what-if, years down the line.

“you may have projected, but it wasn’t a miscalculation. it’s… not entirely… unreciprocated. the feeling is mutual, you could say.”

it’s out now, and you’re alright. the ground doesn’t swallow you up, bakugou katsuki doesn’t blast you headfirst into slimy walls. nothing happens. the moment remains suspended in time, or perhaps time is suspended in that moment.

bakugou’s eyes narrow as he mulls over your words. he glares at you again. it’s muted.

“if it’s reciprocated, shouldn’t you be doing your best to cling to me every chance you get?”

him being reasonable and quiet puts you at ease. the words come out more easily.

“shouldn’t you have done the same?” he scoffs at your question, but doesn’t offer a response, so you continue, ”bakugou, you know why you avoided me, and i know why i avoided you. i didn’t want to get in your way. and i didn’t want anyone else to catch onto it.”

“was deku in on it?”

you know how he’ll respond if he knows midoriya had an inkling before him, so you hastily dispel the suspicion from his mind.

“you said you don’t know me well.”

“bakugou, you didn’t even remember me when we first met,” you reason with him, and he scowls. “it applies to both of us; we really don’t know each other enough.”

taking a deep breath, you continue, “as for the rest of it, i panicked. i admit i didn’t deal with the conversation as well as i should’ve, and some of the things that i said weren’t the nicest. i know it was hurtful even to kaminari, but i couldn’t help it.”

bakugou scoffs, “if anyone’s hurting, it’s only him. not that he has any reason to be.”

you wince as you’re reminded of the texts the boy sent you. now that you’re thinking clearly, you feel slightly bad for having been cold to him, and lied. but there are bigger matters at hand.

“you actually remember that conversation?”

“no shit, why else would i ask?”

“but… why? why do you remember it? that makes me feel a little guil–ty…” you trail off as sparks fly off his fingers, the explosion possibly unintentional. it allows you to see his face clearly in the dark, and the red tint to his ears surprises you. he’s glaring at the wall, not meeting your eyes, and your heart promptly melts.

“aw, bakugou, i didn’t know you cared—”

“shut the hell up!”

you wait for him to calm down as he sets off more explosions, but the smile on your face refuses to leave. he doesn’t seem to mind it either even as he glares at you, because there’s no harshness in his eyes.

“this doesn’t mean we’re dating,” he eventually declares, and you raise an eyebrow. “i won’t spend my time on things like that. we like each other, big deal.”

“i just said whatever you feel is not entirely unreciprocated. who says i like you?” you ask in a rare show of humour as you roll your eyes teasingly. sobering up, you nod slightly, “you could’ve worded it better, but i understand what you mean.” you hold up a hand to stop him from interrupting you. “don’t worry, i have no intention of getting in the way of something you’ve wanted practically your entire life, bakugou. it’d be stupid of me. and i know neither of us are ready for that level of commitment yet. it’s enough if we— you know…” you look at him pointedly, not wanting to utter the words. but it’s bakugou katsuki, and he’s run out of patience from after all the teasing you’ve subjected him to.

“it’s enough if we what—? tell me, i don’t know.” he leans in again, the petty side of him thriving. you’re starting to get used to his proximity; it’s what you tell yourself but you barely stop yourself from averting your eyes.

“i’m just saying it’s enough if we like each other. we can get to know each other slowly and that’s it. we don’t need to jump into something that has a low success rate in the first place.” he gives you an incredulous stare, and you elaborate, whistling, “high school flings are mostly just flings, bakugou.” it’s not the truth, but it’s not entirely a lie.

he makes a face at you. eventually, he exhales.

“so? you like me? can i ‘pass it off’ as that?”

“will you ever let that go?” you groan, and he only responds with a cocky tilt to his lips. “yes, i like you. i wonder why i do,” you huff. “why’d you bring me to a haunted house of all places?”

“so you could get scared and beg me to save you.”

(you make a note to yourself to tell uraraka later that it wasn’t a date. but truthfully, you’re not disappointed about that.)

you stare at him, unamused. “you scare me much more than any haunted house could.”

“then stop getting scared!”

from the way his face is angled away from yours, you’d almost think he’s pouting. your eyes move between his face and the steam—

you wait for his hand to stop steaming before reaching forward and taking hold of it.

you give him a wry smile.

he returns the gesture with the same wild eyes and disarming grin that first drew you to him.

…

word got out that someone had been threatening a visitor in the haunted house. bakugou’s friends are convinced that you both had another fallout—kaminari is too scared to even look in your direction. good for you, because he misses every time you and bakugou lock eyes.

you frequently find yourself stifling laughter.

— note :: thanks for reading!! :) please let me know how this was; a lot of effort went into it and I’m not sure how to feel about this, so feedback is really appreciated! :)

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