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halloweenhoneylover · 2 years ago

Text

dark and stormy

summary: steve's enamored with the guitarist in eddie's band who is much cooler than him (steve harrington x fem!reader)

word count: 5.4k

warnings: almost entirely fluff, steve and his parents

author's note: indiana underground music scene my beloved

Gravel crunches under the tires of Steve’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the Red Key Tavern, a dingy bar in Indianapolis. After an hour and a half of being crammed into the backseat, his slew of kids wasted no time in pouring out of the car, moaning and groaning and lamenting limbs that had fallen asleep. Ducking out of the driver’s seat, Steve props an elbow on the roof and surveys the joint bathed in red neon. “Dude, are you even old enough to get in here?”

“No, but Eddie said he could get us in anyway.” Dustin readjusts the hat on his head, his nearly unshakeable confidence thrown just a little at the thought of being in a real bar with real adults. (The ones he hung out with didn’t really count.)

A few days prior, Hellfire Club had been ablaze with the news that Corroded Coffin had finally booked a gig in a real venue in the big city, and as soon as he’d heard, Dustin had begged Steve to drive them up to see the performance. After some minor debate, he had agreed to shuttle the kids there, but upon seeing the building, Steve was beginning to doubt whether or not this was a good idea. “I’m sure we could find somewhere to get dinner that’s a little more…family friendly.”

“No way are you backing out on us, dude, you promised!”

“I know, dipshit, but I’m just not sure—”

“My disciples!” From the alley beside the bar emerges Eddie Munson in all his glory, peacockish tendencies peeking through as he greets the group with wide arms and a gleaming smile. “Glad you could make it.” Crooking his finger, he motions while stepping back into the alley. “Follow me.” The boys flock towards him, Max drifting behind them all unimpressed, while Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie’s antics. He locks the car and saunters behind the group.

Reaching the back door, Eddie corralls the herd of teens through the maze that made up the backstage while Steve strolls behind, sizing up the place. Sharpie stains the crumbling red brick walls with the signatures of performers long forgotten. The hallway is illuminated by a flickering fluorescent on its last leg, and it smells like someone had been spraying cologne indiscriminately.

Suddenly, the group comes up on a door which Eddie opens with exaggerated chivalry, ushering them into the bar itself and then excusing himself to make final preparations for the performance. In the densely populated hall, Steve isn’t worried about the kids being seen and kicked out, but upon further inspection, an unfamiliar itch of anxiety creeps up his neck as he sees a mass of people his age who all don black and leather and look like rejected members of Depeche Mode, and he begins to feel sorely out of place with his light-wash jeans and boy-next-door sweater. Where was Robin when you needed her. The one time she wasn’t glued to his side, and he was immersed in a crowd much more her speed without a crutch.

He is drawn from his thoughts when he sees his own crew nervously eyeing the sea of people and sets aside his own fears to put them at ease. “Hey, why don’t we stake out spots close to the stage?”

He’s met with a chorus of nods. Up at the front of the group, Max grabs Lucas’s hand and begins leading them towards the stage, which sits empty aside from the drum kit, a keyboard, a couple mic stands, and a labyrinth of cables connected to imposing amplifiers. Laying a protective hand on Dustin’s shoulder, Steve holds up the back of the pack and makes sure no one gets lost in the crowd.

Once they reached the stage, the nerves ebb, replaced by the excitement of doing something very grown-up and a little rebellious. Mike nudges Dustin with a knobby elbow. “Do you think they’ll open with Starcrusher or Valley of the Beast?”

Dustin scoffs. “Dude, there is no way they wrote the utter masterpiece that is Steel & Iron, and they’re not gonna open with it?”

This comment opens the floodgates for an intense but familiar round of bickering that leaves any nervousness long forgotten.

Without any warning, the stage is bathed in a molten red light, and behind them, chatter subsides, everyone’s attention directed at the stage. From the speaker mounted right beside Steve’s head, feedback squeals, and he cringes, rubbing a hand over his ringing ear. “Ladieeeees and gentlemen,” a deep, theatrical voice booms out of the soundsystem. The boys in Hellfire immediately recognize their DM’s voice, the put-on low sound a staple in many of their campaigns, and they batted at each other’s arms excitedly. Max watches unamused. “We know you’ve been dying to hear some real music tonight, so be prepared to be laid to rest by Corroded Coffin!!!!”

From an open doorway at the back of the stage, Eddie emerges to the applause with all of the pomp and circumstance of a real James Hetfield, stomping in a pair of black boots and his trusty guitar slung at his side. With significantly less practiced showmanship, the other members of the band trail out in Eddie’s wake. Steve recognizes the other guys from times he’s picked up Dustin from Hellfire: Gareth twirling a drumstick in his fingers, Jeff fiddling with the buttons on the keyboard, and Grant fumbling with a quarter-inch cable connected to a massive bass amp. Eddie is adjusting the mic stand to his height and working the crowd when movement at the stage door caught Steve’s eye. Out from the darkness comes a fifth member of the band he’d never seen before.

She’s cool, that’s indisputable. Doused mostly in black, she sports dark liner smudged effortlessly around her attentive, watchful eyes, and her lips are curled in a supremely confident half-smirk like she knows she’s blowing all the other dorks on stage out of the water. All aloof and beautiful, she reminds Steve of Debbie Harry (whom he was deeply familiar with after being shown a whole magazine spread about her by an obsessive Robin). Guitar in hand, she waltzes up to the mic stand slightly behind Eddie and pulls the strap over her head, grabbing a nearby cable to plug into her guitar’s jack. Nudging Dustin with his elbow, Steve jerks his chin in her direction. “Who’s that?”

A knowing grin on his face when he sees who Steve is motioning to, he says, “That’s [Y/N].”

Steve nods, trying to seem uninterested and removed.

“She’s too cool for you.”

Steve gives him a betrayed look. “Dude.”

“I’m just saying!”

And before Steve has a chance to retort, Eddie is slashing a huge, resonant chord that riles the crowd. Gareth hits his sticks together in a four-count above his head, and the band is off to the races. With a sick sneer, Eddie is spitting a quick riff on the upper frets, and the kids seem to recognize it because Mike hits Dustin with a triumphant I told you!

While Steve was never a big fan of the heavier rock stuff, he had to admit the band was pretty good. Eddie is scream-singing into the microphone in that distinctly metal way, something about treading carefully in the valley of the beast, and Steve watches as you grin at your frontman and strum rhythmic power chords to back up his frilly licks. Shouting into the mic as backup, you echo Eddie’s lyrics in the gaps between phrases, and at the chorus, you both sing in unison, playing off each other with shared glances and mirrored smiles.

Another verse and chorus go by, and Steve finds himself enjoying the show more than he ever thought he would. He supposes it doesn’t hurt that there is a hot girl shredding the guitar four feet in front of him. Soon, you’re stepping out from behind the mic stand to face Eddie who turns to you. Underscored by the consistency of the keys and bass, you launch into a melodic solo with your fingers flying over the fretboard, and soon, Eddie offers a twin harmony. All together, it can only really be described as face-melting, and the kids next to Steve are reaching out towards you and Eddie with wiggling fingers. You let the final note ring, and while Eddie turns to finish out the last chorus, you drop to your knees at the edge of the stage to spit out a couple more accenting licks. The kids are simply losing their minds, and Steve is a little breathless with you having landed right in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch you. After a few more hammer-ons and bended strings, you strike one final chord to end the song.

Focus finally pulled from your guitar, you look up only to meet Steve’s eyes where he’s already staring, but he can’t find it in him to pull away. You squint at him bewildered for the slightest second before you recover your rockstar coolness to send him a wink that leaves him reeling.

—

People are filtering out after the set, and Steve’s at the bar, ordering a drink. After the show, Eddie had invited the kids backstage to see the dressing room and experience the “real rockstar lifestyle,” and while Steve liked Eddie enough now, he was content to have a breather from his babysitting duties. Leaning on the countertop, he silently nurses his drink and gazes around at the illuminated wall of liquor, at the few stragglers sitting in booths having vivacious conversation.

“Hey, can I get a Dark and Stormy?”

He looks to the patron who had appeared on his left and is surprised to see his favorite Allison Reynolds knockoff. Feeling eyes on you, you meet his gaze and offer a subdued smile. Your untouchable on-stage character has faded, but Steve still finds himself a little starstruck. There is an undeniable self-assurance and maybe that’s why he thinks you’re so cool; he doesn’t think you would ever let anyone give you shit. Maybe it’s why he’s nervous to talk to you: he’d been accused before of being full of shit, and if that was true, you’d see it in a second.

Despite it all, he pulls back his shoulders and clears his throat. “You did really great up there.”

You’re surprised he decides to talk to you, but you hide it well. You look him up and down, sizing him up, and he feels bare under your gaze. “Thanks, man.”

It starts to look like that might be where your conversation starts and promptly ends, but you’re intrigued by him, so you press on. “This doesn’t really look like your crowd.”

He laughs at your astute observation. “What gave me away?”

Trying to suppress a teasing smile, you look at his teal sweater and white sneakers and shrug. “Lucky guess.”

He shakes his head and looks into his drink. “Yeah, I had a couple friends who wanted to come see you guys, and I offered to give ‘em a ride.”

“Oh, so you’re with the group of kids backstage?”

Having failed to avoid being pegged as the babysitter, he lets out a rueful laugh. Already in this short conversation, he knows he’s paling in comparison to the beautiful musician next to him. Any chance he has at impressing you seems lost. His tone grows sullen. “Yeah, those are my kids.”

The bartender sets your drink on the countertop next to you, and you slip him a five with a soft thanks. Taking a sip of your drink, you eye his cup suspiciously. “That’s not very responsible of you as a chaperone.”

He winces a little. “It’s a Shirley Temple.”

Your laugh is a little surprised but mostly really pleased, and he can’t help staring at the way the corner of your eyes crinkled with good humor. “Point taken, Harrington.”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he tilts his head to the side. “How do you know my name?”

You wish you hadn’t shown your hand so quickly, but it is rather amusing to watch him as you pull the rug from under him. You sip your drink again. “You don’t remember me, Steve?”

“From the stage, yeah, but—”

“No, from high school.”

The words die in his throat, and he looks at you with a new set of eyes as he tries to place you in his memory but comes up short. He feels a little guilty as he shuffles through the yearbook in his brain to no avail. “No, I don’t, I’m sorry.”

You find yourself surprised by him again because you think he really is sorry, so you let him off the hook.

“Don’t sweat it. You didn’t come to many jazz club performances, I didn’t go to many basketball games, we’re even.”

His eyebrows are still pinched as he continues to survey you, turn you over in his mind and hope to find you in a lost memory. “Still sorry, though. Thought I’d remember someone like you in high school.”

You don’t really know how to process that statement, so instead you push the focus back onto him. “You were a little…preoccupied back then.”

His cheeks flush with embarrassment at the reminder that news of his relationships were public knowledge in high school, but you don’t seem cruel in your discrete mention of his King Steve era, only honest. “Yeah, uh—needed to get my priorities straight.”

Something in your eye glitters at this seeming character growth, and he claims it as a victory, wanting to be just as fascinating to you as you were to him. And when the playing field finally feels even, you down the rest of your drink in a gulp without blinking and give him that cheeky grin that is entirely too disorienting. “I gotta go finish packing up, but it was nice talking to ya, Steve.” The newly familiar name feels foreign on your tongue, and he decides he liked the way you say it.

Before he can get a handle on his eagerness, it rears its head, and he’s watching your retreating form and calling out to you much too loudly. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Looking at him over your shoulder, your grin stretches, and you shrug.

“Maybe.”

—

Steve isn’t excited for dinner. Sitting in the back of his dad’s car, he looks as stiff as he feels in nice black slacks and a stuffy white button-up. He feels like a kid, sitting in the backseat fiddling with his cufflinks while his parents chat about everything and nothing in the front. His head lolls back as he stares out the window at the lights of Hawkins’ main drag passing by.

His dad has a client in town and had invited him out to dinner at the town’s finest dining establishment, Enzo’s, and Steve is being dragged along to complete the manufactured image of the Harrington nuclear family. So he ventures into the depths of his closet to find the nice suit his mother had bought him at Christmas for ‘special occasions or maybe a job interview.’ (Subtlety was not always Mrs. Harrington’s forte.) Unable to stomach a moment of full rebellion, he had left off the suit jacket and tie to silently protest the dinner, and while he was met with a disapproving eye from his father, he was not told off, which he deemed a success.

In the back of the car, tired of fussing with uncooperative cufflinks, he ditches them entirely and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows. He jolts a bit as the car parks, unaware that they’d reached their destination. Without acknowledging him, his parents exit the vehicle, and Steve lets out a sigh before summoning the strength to follow them into the restaurant.

Despite being the only semi-fancy restaurant in a small town, the place is really rather nice on the inside, dim and candlelit with soft jazz from a live band in the corner. His dad catches sight of his client, and they greet each other jovially while Steve becomes increasingly fascinated by a scuff on the ground which he toes with a loafer. They’re clapping each other on the back in the familiar way that middle-aged men do, and the man shakes his mom’s hand oh-so-politely when all of the sudden Steve is getting clapped on the shoulder and introduced by his father to this strange balding man. “And this is our son, Steven!”

The man offers a handshake which Steve takes half-heartedly with a weak smile. “I’m your dad’s pal Phil, it’s nice to meet ya.”

“Likewise.”

Much to Steve’s pleasure, the conversation shifts away from him to business or golf or politics or some other thing he didn’t care about. A host ushered the group to a table where Steve sits with a straight back next to his mother who’s politely smiling and nodding. He watches her sadly for a moment as she observes her husband’s conversation, beautiful and put-together and never speaking. Steve thinks she’s actually a pretty smart lady, interesting too, but his dad never listened to her long enough to know.

Steering his thoughts from something too melancholic, he shifts his gaze to the rest of the restaurant where other tables are chatting and eating. His eyes wander from the main floor to the corner where the jazz trio was set up: a guitar, a stand up bass, and a piano. The piano and bass are played by older men, but the younger girl on guitar seems oddly familiar. He cocks his head as he runs through his memory to place her when he realizes he met her 80 miles away in Indianapolis.

Your mane of hair has been tamed back away from your face cleanly, and you have ditched the black for a white turtleneck and white slacks. The dark shadow on your lids he had come to admire is nowhere to be found, and he’s surprised by how easily you could tuck away your rock persona to be some plain restaurant musician, not meant to attract any attention. Your attention is focused on a stand of music in front of you. Steve watches enraptured as your delicate fingers expertly navigate the fretboard, picking chromatic scales and diminished sevenths. He had wondered before if he was just awed by you before because of your avant garde fashion and too-cool persona, but now, he realizes something about you is inherently magnetic as he stares and stares and st—

“Steve.”

His father’s stern tone yanks him from his reverie, and he blinks, trying to orient himself in the conversation.

“Darling.” His mother gently placates him with a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Phil was asking about school.”

Steeling his jaw, Steve offers Phil a forced smile. “Oh, uh, I don’t—I don’t go to school.”

“Really? You seem like a total college man to me.”

Hot under the collar, Steve grimaces before responding, “Yeah, just didn’t work out for me like that. But I do have a job. I work at the Family Video down the street.”

His father’s stare sharpens at the mention of Family Video, but Phil remains ignorant to his displeasure. “Always good bring home some bread, but lemme tell ya, if you ever wanna get back into the college game, I know a guy at Wabash and—”

Phil continues monologuing as Steve nods and feigns interest in whatever the hell he’s saying, but all he can think about is somehow finding a way to escape this godforsaken dinner. Eventually, the conversation leaves the topic of Steve’s future, and during a lull, he excuses himself to the bathroom. He files past tables to the back of the restaurant and once he reaches the restroom, he sees a door labeled ‘exit,’ so he pushes out into the night instead. A rush of cold air greets him as soon as he steps out, and with eyes closed, he heaves a sigh and leans against the brick exterior, relieved to have found a moment of refuge from his parents and their grilling and fucking Phil.

“You look tired.”

A familiar voice startles him out of his reprieve, and he looks to his side to see his favorite musician slouched against the wall with a cigarette between your two fingers. Your eyebrows are quirked in an amused but sympathetic manner, and you take a drag off the cig before offering him a hit wordlessly. He watches the smoke curl out of your pretty pursed lips, and when you look up at him from under your lashes, eyes shining in the harsh fluorescence, he wants to beg like a dog begs for table scraps. When he can finally pull his gaze away, his eyes shift to the cig in your fingers and then back up to yours with a guilty expression.

“I told Dustin I quit smoking.”

You shrug, and somehow with your nonchalant approval, Steve doesn’t feel guilty taking a long drag, feeling that familiar burning sensation in his lungs. He lets the smoke go on a slow exhale, savoring the forbidden pleasure. He hands the cig back and mumbles a soft thanks, which you accept with a small nod.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you survey the dirty parking lot behind Enzo’s before taking another drag, and your preoccupation with the dimly lit asphalt allows him to stare. He liked your other look a lot, but he likes this one too, the neat hairstyle pulling it all out of your face, so he can see it all clearly: the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the crinkling corners of your eyes. You’re statuesque and divine, the way you lean against the wall and glow under the light. Angelic in all white.

“Do you prefer this look?”

Your words are spoken into the encroaching night, and Steve wonders why you won’t look at him. He turns to lean on his left shoulder and face you better.

“What do you mean?”

Your lips pull into a tight smile, and you continue to watch the dark. “Just that you always seemed like a more clean-cut guy in high school, dating preppy girls and wearing polos.” He chuckles at your description of his archetype, and your smile is tight in an effort to be contained. “Thought I might’ve scared you before.” It’s kind of a joke, but it also gives voice to an insecurity that bubbled up in the time since you’d last spoken.

“I’m not easily spooked.” He’s smirking, and it looks good on his face, but it doesn’t really settle your stomach the way you wanted it too, and somehow, he realizes that and makes an effort to reassure you.

“I like your other look. I really do. The makeup, the hair—it’s cool. It’s very…alternative.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It is. Feels more like me, though.”

“Not to say that I don’t like this get up,” he says, gesturing to your outfit. “Can finally see your whole face.”

You can’t help it when the heat rushes to your cheeks, and your eyes swing to his to see what he meant by it, but he’s indecipherable. Why does Steve Harrington want to see your whole face???

You clear your throat and try to divert attention from whatever weird tension was weaving its way between you. “Yeah, they want us to look all nice and clean and polished for the guests here, so they told me to put the hair away.”

He’s laughing again, and you can’t understand why pride swells at your ability to make him laugh. He looks beautiful beside you. Shadows gathered under his cheekbones and his jaw, under his eyes. His Adam’s apple jumps with laughter, and you want to tear your eyes from his neck but are failing miserably. Sure, he was handsome in high school, but he was far away on an untouchable pedestal back then, and now he’s real and right next to you and too tangible. Your gaze searches the night again, your smile small like a hand of cards tucked against your chest as his laugh finally fades.

The quiet that settled is not uncomfortable but the balmy feeling of possibility. You risk a sweep of your eyes up his figure to his face, and that sadness he’d come out with once again rests on his forehead, and you aren’t quite sure when you became bold, but you break the silence. “Why’d you come out here?”

His smile is rueful but not unkind, eyes looking down at a crumbling parking space barrier. He picks his words carefully. “Shitty parents talking about wasted potential.”

You hadn’t really known Steve in high school aside from peripheral knowledge, but you had enough context clues to understand. You nod slowly. “I get what that’s like.”

His eyes raise to yours in silent question. You continue, “My parents aren’t exactly stoked that their daughter is trying to be a musician. Unstable career path, starving artist bullshit.”

“But you’re, like, really good.”

When you meet his eyes again, he’s all earnestness. Normally, you would have protested and shivered under the compliment, but something about him and the way he’s looking at you makes you believe it.

“Thanks, Steve,” you whisper.

“I’m serious, dude. You could move to Nashville, do the whole nine yards.”

His blind belief in you makes you chuckle lowly, and you tap out the ashes before taking a drag of your nearly forgotten cigarette to settle the uproar of something soft and fluttery in your stomach. Something about the sight of the cig reminds him of the smoking warzone left in the restaurant that he had to return to. Jerking a thumb in the direction of the door, he says, “I should probably head back in, but uh, it was good to talk to you. Again.”

Your lips curl in that otherworldly smile of yours as he reaches for the door handle, and it takes all the strength he has to resist the pull to your side. He sends a tight-lipped smile as he pulls the door open, and he’s about to leave when you call out.

“The band is playing the Hideout on Tuesday!” Your cool exterior has cracked in your desperate attempt to keep him near, but you recover yourself. “You should come.”

He returns your toothy grin.

“I’ll check my schedule.”

—

Once again, Steve feels out of place. It’s not as bad as Indianapolis, but he doesn’t feel exactly comfortable. He’s been to the Hideout before, but it was when he was in high school with a group of rowdy basketball jocks with fake IDs. Now, he feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb against the smattering of metalheads that have gathered in Hawkins’ dingiest dive bar on this random Tuesday, and he surveys them nervously.

With a rough hand on his tensed shoulder pulling down, Robin scoffs. “Will you chill out? You’re looking around like you’re about to commit a crime.”

Grimacing, he pulls his shoulders back and takes his hands out of his pockets to look less sketchy, but then he looks even more awkward, not knowing what to do with his hands. Robin’s face assumes one of disgust. “Nevermind, that’s even worse.”

“God.” He flexes his hands and then smooths his hair back before crossing his arms on the bar. “I’m acting like a fucking freak. Why am I so nervous?”

“Because you’re crushing on a girl who’s way out of your league.”

“Not helpful.”

“Just—order a drink or something, you’ll be fine,” she mollifies while signaling the bartender.

He shakes his head. “I used to be good at this, Robin.”

The bartender arrives, and Steve orders a beer and a vodka soda for Robin.

“You were good at this. With a very different target audience. But just ‘cuz you’re dealing with a new demographic doesn’t mean the whole game has changed. Just be nice, tell her her band is good, and ask her on a date.”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He rubs a thumb on the space between his brows which has grown sore from the constant concerned furrowing. Finally giving up on the tough love act, Robin pushes the beer toward him and sighs.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “You’re right. I’ve been rejected on a nearly daily basis for almost a year now, so one more shouldn’t hurt.”

She flicks him on the forehead.

“Ouch, dude!”

“Not the right attitude,” she chastises.

Before he can properly retaliate, the lights dim, and the sound of Eddie’s spoken intro booms from the speakers. The band members begin to filter on stage to mild applause from the rest of the patrons. Steve views the lackluster greeting with disdain before amping up his own clapping and adding a few cheers for good measure. Last one out on stage, you smile lightly, decked out once again in your black and your eyeshadow and your hair, but the sound of a boisterous audience gives you pause. Squinting into the stage lights, you try to identify the source, and your eyes land on Steve, who gives you a big smile because he can’t help himself, can’t stay cool and reserved. You grin to yourself as you plug in your guitar.

At his side, Robin bats Steve’s arm and mouths to him, That’s a good sign!!

He agrees.

“We are Corroded Coffin!” Eddie wails into the mic, and the music begins thunderously.

The band plays some of the same songs and some new ones, and Steve should probably pay more attention to the music, but he’s staring at you with hearts in his eyes instead. He catches your eye a couple times offstage, and it feels like a secret he’s begging to share. He wants to grab the old drunkard next to him by the lapels and shake him and yell, She’s looking at me!!! The guitarist is smiling at me!!! because you’re a star up there, and he’s happy to just be in your orbit.

The set lasts for their hour slot, and it closes with a galloping original song with lots of crashing symbols and dirty driving guitar. Again, Steve finds himself clapping and cheering the loudest, so he elbows Robin, so she hoots and hollers alongside him. On stage, you give a small salute in gratitude to the audience and dip into the darkness of backstage.

“Yeah, she’s definitely too cool for you,” Robin says plainly.

“Dustin first and now you,” he laments, shaking his head. “I know it’s true, but you don’t have to say it out loud.”

“Hey.”

It comes from behind him, and he turns to find you rocking back on your heels and staring up at him meekly. His breath catches at your nearness, and he’s smiling. “Hey.”

Robin witnesses this greeting with baited breath and wide eyes before spewing words, “Such a great show, [Y/N], I’m gonna go talk to Eddie, okay, bye!” She speeds away, giving Steve a very pointed look that he doesn’t miss.

Attention back on you, he inhales quickly, brain scrambling to come up with conversation. “Yeah, you were really great.”

“Thanks. It was pretty fun tonight, most of the time the audience is a bunch of drunk dudes who couldn’t give less of shit, but for some reason, they were really responsive tonight.”

Steve feels a blush creep up the back of his neck at your teasing, and his eyes are trained on the ceiling with a dopey smile on his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know, maybe something special in the air tonight.”

“Maybe.” You chew your lip, the corners of your mouth turned up. The conversation comes to a standstill, and your skin itches until you blurt out, “Thanks for coming.”

“‘Course. Gotta see all your shows before you get famous, and I can say I saw you before you were big.” You’re laughing, and he’s kinda joking, but he really does think you could go all the way if you wanted.

Your face feels hot, staring at his shoes because his eyes are too much. “God, you’re really yanking my chain now, huh?”

“You need to stop selling yourself short. You gotta believe in yourself more, you’re incredible.”

Rolling your shoulder back, you realize the dam has broken, and some courage that you didn’t know you had is unearthed in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes meet his, and you smile proudly. “D’you wanna get a drink with me, Steve?”

He nods before he can even really process what you’re saying, his grin stretching wide once he does fully realize.

“I’d like that a lot.”

—

pls consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you enjoyed!!! :)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #corroded coffin!reader #the end is rushed but it's fine

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malleux · 4 years ago

Note

PART THREE PART THREE PART THREE

spell [3]. | corpse husband

part one ; part two

-> Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

-> Genre: Fluff

-> Warnings: Anxiety, Self Doubt, Cursing, Hate Comments

-> A/N: here’s the long awaited part three! it’s definitely longer than the last chapters, but genuinely thank you all for 300 followers in literally 4 days lol. also, i wrote this under the small assumption that corpse’s main love language is physical touch!

corpse husband taglist is closed!

You didn’t realize that it was possible to shake so much. You were practically panicking- just from standing in front of an apartment door, ready to knock and meet the man who changed your life.

You’d woken up this morning bright and early. The Facetime call was still on with Corpse and small snores could be heard from his line. You had prayed that he’d gotten at least more than an hour, but doubted it as you hung up and sent a message about when you’d be leaving.

Corpse soon messaged back saying that he was awake as you finally finished packing- you’d stopped last night when he called- so you got in your car and drove the two hours it took to get to San Diego.

So now you stood in front of his apartment, practically trembling. Why you were so anxious, you didn’t know. You’d been talking to him for how long now? And it was never awkward.

But things could easily change when you met him in real life, couldn’t they?

You shook those thoughts out of your head and mustered up enough courage to knock on Corpse’s door, already becoming out of breath from such a simple gesture.

A crash sounded from in the apartment, followed by a small ‘fuck’ that made your heart flip. Soon after, the door opened and you looked up, finally coming eye to eye with him. You couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face, mirroring his own as he smiled at you as well.

“Hi.” You internally smacked yourself for not saying more, but that’s truly all that could come out of your mouth at the moment.

“Hey. You’re uh- you’re so much prettier in real life.” Corpse responded, looking nearly everywhere but you.

You flushed. “And you’re super attractive, but I already suspected that.”

You could tell he was taken aback by your compliment because he suddenly became even more shy, silently moving out of the doorway and gesturing for you to enter.

“I’m going to film again with everyone in a few minutes, but first I can show you my bedroom so you can make yourself comfortable.” Corpse said after he closed the door. “You can sleep in there and I’ll stay on the couch-“

“Absolutely not.” You interjected, “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“But you’re the guest and I’m not about to let you sleep on my couch.”

“And you’re the owner of this apartment and I’m not going to take over your space like that. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Corpse groaned and reached his arm out towards you. You thought he was going to just shove your shoulder away for being stubborn, but instead he wrapped his arm completely around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as a hug. You grinned and turned, giving him a full hug and resting your cheek against his chest as his chin laid on your head.

“I’m for real glad you came to visit.” He murmured into your hair, squeezing you a bit tighter before letting go. “Do you wanna stream with me tonight or just chill and watch?”

꧁꧂

“Corpse is streaming Among Us again with Sean, Felix, Rae, Sykkuno, Dave, and Leslie!”

“Where’s Y/N? I miss #CorpseY/N !!”

Twitter was truly your go-to platform when you were bored. You’d been scrolling on it for about thirty minutes now, laying on a small couch that Corpse had in his gaming room.

The man himself was sitting across the room at his desk, talking loudly as he defended himself from being accused as Imposter.

You continued to scroll, feeling a little anxious that somehow Corpse just magically knew that you were looking through your ship tag with him. These were your only worried thoughts until you went past your first… unsavory comment of the day.

“Y/N isn’t playing with them again today. Maybe she finally got the hint that they don’t want her around.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored it, but couldn’t help the rather loud sigh that escaped your lips.

“Hey, guys, I’m going to mute the mic for a second. Everything’s good, don’t worry.” Corpse said into his mic before turning around and facing you. “Is everything okay?”

Turning the phone off and laying it on your chest, you contemplated telling Corpse the truth. He’d just worry about you and you didn’t want that. But he already was worried about you- he’d muted Among Us just to check on you.

“Why are people so mean to others?”

Corpse studied you for a minute before patting his lap. “Come here.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused. Now come here.”

You stood up and cautiously walked towards the man, who sat before you expectantly. He playfully rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his lap sideways. Your back rested against one arm of his gaming chair while your legs draped across the other.

Corpse had one arm reaching around your back, placing his fingers on the keyboard while the other rested on top of your knees, grabbing the computer mouse. You laid your head on Corpse’s shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck.

“It’s in that shipping hashtag, isn’t it? I swear- whoever says that shit about you is dead wrong. Tell me if it gets worse, I’ll put them back in their fucking place. Nobody gets to decide who I’m with or who’s worthy of me.”

You only nodded and closed your eyes, breathing in Corpse’s cologne as he unmuted his mic once more to defend his honor, much like he was ready to defend you.

꧁꧂

Your body ached.

As you had argued your first day with Corpse, you’d been sleeping on his couch for four days now. The first night was okay- his couch was rather comfortable, but it didn’t compare to a bed. Now, your back, shoulders, and neck were killing you.

Every day, 7am would roll around and you would wake up, the soreness preventing you from sleeping in longer.

Usually, you would go into Corpse’s room and talk to him as he messed around on his laptop while sitting in his bed, but today when you entered, he was finally sleeping. It was the first time you’d seen him rest since you’d arrived and you quietly left, not wanting to disturb his much-needed sleep.

You made your way to his small kitchen, pulling out the few groceries that he had in his refrigerator to make breakfast.

Corpse often ate fast foods and takeout, and apologized earlier in the week for not having much to eat. You reassured him that it was okay- that him just letting you visit was enough- and now, you were determined to make it up to him with the best breakfast in bed ever.

You were halfway through making breakfast when the soft thump of feet echoed in the doorway before a chin planted itself on your shoulder.

“Whatcha cookin?” You practically shuddered at Corpse’s morning voice before suddenly gasping and shoving him out of the kitchen.

“No! No!” You pushed him back to his room, “Stay! Go back to bed, now!”

Right as you turned to go back to the kitchen, Corpse caught your wrist and pulled you down onto the bed with him. You practically squealed as you fell, making him laugh.

“Why? What’s going on?” He turned to face you with a teasing smile.

“I was making you breakfast in bed! I was gonna surprise you when you woke up, but you ruined it.” You pouted.

“Aw, poor baby.” His hand reached up and brushed a stray hair out of your face before he traced down your jawline, reaching your chin and using his finger to tilt it up. “I think I’ve got a better surprise, though.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but before you could say anything his lips were on yours. Your heart stopped, but you almost immediately melted into his kiss, bringing your own hand up to cup his cheek while his moved to rest on your waist.

Corpse soon propped himself up on his elbow, never once leaving your lips- just deepening the kiss. He smiled and gave you a few more pecks before finally pulling away and looking at you in adoration.

“Those little hate comments? They’re wrong. If anything, I don’t deserve you. You’ve still got me under a little spell and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Corpse, you deserve the world and I’d be honored to be the one to give it to you.”

“God, you’re perfect for me.”

You couldn’t say anything else. You could only lay beneath him, admiring the man who was now yours. Corpse leaned down again to capture you in another kiss, but you suddenly jerked away before you could lose yourself again.

“Shit, the pancakes!”

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

spell taglist: @tanchosanke @paoisabelll @save-the-sky @yukinesekki98 @stephn-prkr @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @lustypielita @bi-andready-tocry @coruscaret

corpse taglist: @namjoons-crabssss @lookingforaplacetosleep @teenloves @princess00wifi @pillowjj @nvm-idgaf @creativedogs @wildflowerwhore @chillininahottub-withaghost @whyisquill @holosexualunicorn7000 @ourheavenlyemotions @corbins-kinda-smart @harryhighkey @sokkaspaintings @saturn2000 @a-dot-dev @bean04 @helena-way07 @tooturntashbash @locallolli @simonsbluee @redperson58 @reddeserths @annshit @corpsie-bby @emperor-pizza @vacaprincess @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @rolls-and-rolex @supernovavision @bestgirlkonan @hughugh20 @theolwebshooter @johnjacobjingleheimerschmidt @shinyyoonie @milybones @propertyofdindjarin @qatiee @sunshineandrainyflowers @dontlookatmeidk @kxsmicsmain @corpsesgirl @witchybarb

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#fanfiction #x reader #fic blog #writing #corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagines #corpse imagines #series #spell #part three

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Corpse’s Girl

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing, Derogatory Terms

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N’s life as a regular college student is forever stripped away from her when her relationship with the famous YouTuber Corpse Husband is accidentally revealed during an online class of hers. How will she cope with the sudden spotlight and the unwanted attention, some of which crosses into bullying?

Requested by my amazing Tumblr friend @itsminniekat 🥰 She’s been reading and liking my works since day one and I honestly couldn’t be more grateful. If you’re reading this, all I can say is thank you, darling. Thank you so much for sticking by my blog even when I posted some crappy fics. I’ll make sure this ain’t one of them. Love you with all my heart. ❤❤❤

P.S. - I named the mean character with my name so I hope no one who reads this has the same name. Wouldn’t want any of you feeling like the villain 😘

Who knew online class would be even more boring than being physically present for a lecture? Seriously, I find myself doing the weirdest of crap to entertain myself - like trying to balance a pen on the tip of my nose for example. I jot down some notes every now and then but that’s basically it. My mind can not fathom the concept on concentrating on whatever my professors are going on and on about. Well, full disclosure, I couldn’t concentrate even if I wanted to, especially with my boyfriend streaming in the other room.

He’s currently playing Among Us with his usual gaming squad. Listening to his input during the discussions, I can always tell when he’s lying. I honestly find it hilarious that his friends can’t pick up when he’s bullshitting them. I sometimes wonder if he has brainwashed them. And that’s one of the main reasons we don’t play Among Us together - he can’t lie to me. Not only do I pick up on his con with ease, but he always says he feels bad when he lies to me which is just the sweetest thing. Also, I refuse to play cause I’m shy. His friends are all well-known content creators and I’m a literal nobody. Every now and then I find myself wondering why Corpse is even with me. He’s always quick to push those thoughts out of my head and make sure they don’t return on a long notice, but they do interrupt my peace from time to time.

“Y/N, do you know?“ The sound of my professor saying my name takes me out of my eavesdropping of Corpse’s stream.

I panic, but quickly improvise, “Sorry, my internet is slow, you cut out for a second. What was the question?” I feel my face heating up, making me glad we are allowed to keep our cameras off.

“Question number 15 on page 82 in your textbook. Do you know the answer to it?“ My professor repeats himself, his tone annoyed.

I look down at the page that’s already opened in front of me. I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that the question is rather easy.

“Yeah, um, it’s...“ Suddenly, Corpse’s laugh reaches my room loud and clear. There’s no doubt my mic picked up the noise, especially since the door to my room is open.

The color drains from my face as I hurry to say the answer and remute myself. My eyes are wide as I stare at my screen, hoping no one will acknowledge that very recognizable laugh.

“OMG Y/N, are you watching a Corpse Husband stream in class?” One of the bitches in my class, Vy, speaks up, “Not a very goody-two-shoe move on your part, dear.”

I purposely unmute my mic to mumble a quick ‘Shut up, bitch’ that somehow manages to fly under my professor’s radar and the class continues. It’s the first time something like this has happened and I’m not sure if I handled it properly or not.

The class ends shortly after, allowing me a sigh of relief as I disconnect from the meeting.

“Fucking finally.“ I mumble to myself, leaning back in my desk chair. Tilting my head backwards, I see Corpse standing in the doorframe. I grin, not only because his presence itself makes me ten times happier, but also because he’s upside down from my viewpoint. “Well, hello there! How long have you been spying on me?“

He struts over to me, leaning his face over mine, “Long enough.” His lips linger above mine without any actual contact before he pulls away, allowing me to sit up straight and proper in the chair. “You still have classes?”

I nod my head while disappointedly rolling my eyes, “Yeah. One more. Shouldn’t be too bad since it’s English Lit. You’re done streaming?”

“Yeah, I just have some other things to do. I haven’t done a narration video in a while, I miss making that type of content.“ He plops down on my bed, running a hand through his messy black curls.

“Weren’t you recording some lines a few days ago?“ I frown as I try to recall if what I’m referring to actually happened or my brain is too fried to decipher reality from my bootleg perception of it. Online class, man - messes with your head like sleeping pills - makes you disoriented and exhausted with barely doing anything other than trying to wrap your brain around a lecture or two.

He hums affirmatively, “It’s not a finished project and I don’t even know if I’ll use those or rerecord them. I’ll have to listen to them again before I make a final decision.“

I tilt his chin upwards with my pointer finger, a gesture he has told me he finds very endearing, “I’m sure they’re great and you just refuse to be satisfied. Everything you do is great.“

He smiles a small, shy smile, his fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand in place, “You’re biased. You like me too much to tell me when I do some bullshit.”

I scoff, “You know that isn’t true. If someone’s gonna kick your butt in formation, it’s gonna be me.“ I give him a quick kiss on the forehead before pulling away from him, “Go on, now. I have a class to attend. You distract me enough while you’re in the other room, I can only imagine how hard it’d be for me to focus if you were right by my side.“

He smirks, bowing a little as he makes his way out of the room, “You flatter me.”

I playfully roll my eyes, getting my headset back on as I tap the last class for the day. We have an assignment due to the start of the class which we’ll have to present if the professor approved of it. We basically had to write a psychoanalysis of a character from any book of our choice. I chose Heathcliff from ‘Wuthering Heights’ which is one of my favorite books of all time. I’m proud of what I wrote and the way I wrote it, but I’ve always barely scraped by with a B in this class, a B+ if I’m lucky, so I’ve never gotten any major credit, even when I put my 110% in the assignments and projects.

Well, color me surprised when the professor calls on me first to read my work, complimenting it on its detailed and specific nature. I get my printed assignment out in front of me and unmute myself.

“I wrote a psychoanalysis on for Heathcliff, a character from Emily Bronte’s novel ‘Wuthering Heights’.“ Just after I say this line, Corpse’s voice booms throughout the whole apartment, no doubt being picked up by my mic. It doesn’t sound like he’s actually talking, he can’t be that loud. I put two and two together when I recognize the lines he’s saying - the ones he recorded a few days ago. They’re coming from his computer speakers. He probably didn’t check the volume before playing back the recording.

I mute myself as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The voice dies down as Corpse probably turned down the speakers.

My professor, who is already done with this lecture, just annoyedly remarks, her words overdosed with sarcasm: “Read your assignment and you can go back to whatever it is you are watching.”

“Wow, Y/N! Again?! Are you one of those crazy obsessed fans or something? Is Corpse Husband all you watch?“ This bitch is really poking a stick at me, huh? The only crazy obsessed fan here is her, and my friends but they are allowed. Little do all of them know, I am obsessed but not simply over a YouTuber. I’m obsessed with my boyfriend who just happens to be a YouTuber.

“No commentary, please.“ The professor scolds her, “Go on, Y/N.“

I finish reading without any other disturbances. The professor compliments my essay again when I’m done, the small incident at the beginning forgotten already. Well, not by everyone. One of my friends shot me a quick text to joke about it which only earned an eye roll from me.

My friends don’t know that I’m dating Corpse either. As I said, they are simping HARD over him while I act the most indifferent on the subject. Whenever they ask my opinion on him I either say ‘he’s OK’ or just avoid answering completely. I know saying anything more enthusiastic than that would turn into a snowball rolling down a snowy hill - I’d just keep babbling about how nice, amazing, wonderful and a gift to this world Corpse is, inevitably revealing our relationship in the process.

I’m afraid of revealing my relationship with Corpse in front of these people. They are all run on jealousy and selfishness and I can only imagine how mean they’d be about it. I’m already not too fond of them, it would only be worse if any of my personal life was exposed.

When the class finally ends I remove my headset, putting my forehead down on the desk, barely missing the keyboard. I groan in frustration and anger at myself for not fighting back. I could’ve and should’ve said something - ANYTHING. But what? That’s a question I can’t find the answer to.

“Hey...“ Corpse’s hesitant voice comes from behind me, “You ok?“

I straighten my posture, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, but these people suck.”

I get up from my chair as he approaches me, basically falling in his arms. The comfort I feel radiating off of him makes me relax, forget the past hour or so. He has always had this effect on me. Like my own personal kryptonite to my anger and anxiety.

“Did I get you in any trouble because of that?“ His voice shows clear concern and guilt.

I wrap my arms around him tighter, burying my head in his chest. “No, don’t worry about it.“

And I really wasn’t in trouble. Not until now that the video is officially posted....

I can call these people dumb all I want but they sure put two and two together awfully fast. They recognized the lines they heard during class as the same ones from his new video that came out almost a week after the incident, aka two days ago. It’s safe to say I haven’t touched my phone or computer since.

“This is all my fault.“

Of all the horrible things I suspected would happen this has to be the worst - Corpse is blaming himself for it. I am prepared to take all the shit these people have to throw at me but seeing Corpse beating himself up over this is killing me. No amount of convincing can change his mind. Nothing I say helps.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. Non of this is your fault, Corpse.“ I’ve repeated this sentence more than a thousand time these past forty eight hours, each time saying it more and more desperately.

“All of it is my fault, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I hate myself so much.“ Has been his reply single time.

I can’t watch him be so mean to himself. It’s the most conflicting thing when the person you love most is torturing themselves. It’s easy if it’s someone else doing it, you just kick their ass. But what are you supposed to do when the person you want to protect is the same one you need to protect them from.

Corpse has shut himself away in his recording room these past few hours and though he clearly needs to be alone, he still left the door open just a crack cause he knows I’ll be worried sick otherwise.

While I’m alone in the living room, I’ve finally managed to brace myself and build enough courage to power up my laptop. Last time it was on it was going mad with notifications.

“It’s digital. Only digital. It can’t hurt you too badly if it can’t touch you, right?“ I mumble to myself, already frustrated despite not having yet seen all the horrors that await me.

And horrors there were. Everywhere. Twitter. Instagram. Facebook.

My grades. Some pictures of me no one has ever seen. My school files. People from my class tweeting Corpse to ‘expose’ me for the ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ I really am. Corpse hasn’t touched social media either and I plan on making sure it stays that way. God only knows how much worse he’ll get if he sees these claims.

And then, like a notification sent straight from hell, an email from my professor.

Practical lectures on Friday. Be here at 9 AM. Don’t forget your mask and gloves.

Good thing I opened my laptop when I did. Friday is tomorrow and I need to prepare for this day. Not only do I need to hit the books but I need to toughen up a bit. I can’t go there looking like I feel - like a mess.

Alright, time to put the brave face on. No more wallowing in it, at least not until tomorrow afternoon.

I make a study plan and hop in the shower. I feel the need to apologize to my hair for washing it so roughly, basically yanking at my strands from frustration that has been suppressed for too long.

I get our of the boiling hot shower, red as a lobster, and change into some clean comfortable clothes and put my ass in study mode. I remove all the scary expectations of the morning to come from my mind and let the information the textbooks has to offer seep into my brain.

* * *

I’m about to head out and, despite my put-together composure, I am a wreck inside. I actually put effort into my appearance, I mean - I even styled my hair. A pretty façade to hide a ruin.

I saw my friends’ texts last night, all three of them ending their friendship with me because they felt betrayed. I haven’t yet decided how to feel about that. Doesn’t matter at the moment, there are more important matters at hand, aka surviving the next three hours.

My college is within ten minutes walking distance from our apartment. That ten minute walk has never been so stressful, not even during exam season. The air feels a little harder to breathe, the path a little shorter to walk. And my moment of reckoning a little too close.

I feel eyes on me the second I start walking through the park of our campus. Sure, I could just be paranoid, but the feeling is too real to be just my imagination in overdrive. I’m glad I have my hair down and a mask on so the redness of my cheeks and neck isn’t on display. That’s a sign of weakness right now.

We have two an hour and a half long classes between which we have a snack break that’s half an hour. I usually enjoy that period but I’m dreading it now. These assholes can only be so mean in the presence of a professor, but during lunch break they can increase that tenfold.

“Well if it isn’t Corpse’s girl.“ I hear that a lot. The whispers are not so much whispers as intentionally loud enough for me to hear remarks. I’m not bothered by them, it’s the least they can do. If I let such a simple thing get to me, I’d be crumbling by the end of first period.

I hear some shuffling behind me and out of the corner of my eye I see, yeah you guessed it, THAT bitch. She’s standing as close to me as she can without violating Covid regulations. A mask is covering her face but the menacing look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about the interaction that’s about to go down.

“I’d ask how much he pays you for the hour.....“ her long nails tap the wooden desk, “but that’d be rude. I bet it’s tough being a maid. Do you just clean or are you a multipurpose lap dog? No offense, I’m genuinely curious.“

“Vy, would you be so kind as to give Y/N some room to breathe?“ The professor asks as he nonchalantly walks in.

Vy rolls her eyes, batting her eyelashes at me, “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” With a fake friendly wave she’s out of my hair, at least for now.

Remember what I said about these people not being as dumb as I pegged them to be? Yeah, scratch that. These fuckers actually tried getting away with taking pictures of me with flash in broad daylight. Like, HELLO! I have two functioning eyes and a brain, I’m onto you. Sadly, me having figured out their childish but hurtful methods of humiliating me doesn’t change much. They still posted the pics they took, using the most derogatory terms they could find in the English language, always making sure to tag Corpse and me both.

Needless to say, these were the longest three hours of my life.

* * *

Shutting the door to our apartment behind me causes relief of the highest levels. I feel like I’ve locked out all the bad shit I have had to deal with these past twenty four hours.

I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I feel like a discarded piece of paper.

And it all starts crumbling. A wall is bound to start slowly falling apart after being hit over and over again, each time feeling the blows with a stronger intensity.

I slide down the door sitting down on the floor and slowly taking my shoes off. I put my bag beside me and wrap my arms around my knees, hiding my head in the space between them and my chest.

One tear slides down my cheek.

Another follows.

And another, this time accompanied by a choked sob.

A pair of arms wraps around the ball that my body has been shaped into. One of his hands comes up to stroke my hair gently, feeding me the comfort I have been longing for since I left the apartment this morning.

“I saw it. All of it. All the shit they talk about you. All the names they call you. And I’ve never wanted to beat so many people up simultaneously.“ His words make me raise my head from its low position, giving him a knowing look. “I wish I could. I would, but that would land me in jail. Which doesn’t even sound so bad cause I don’t like going out. Only problem is you wouldn’t be with me. I wouldn’t want you to be there with me, don’t get me wrong, I’d never want you to end up in jail. I-...” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. A quick kiss that says so much but mainly shows the immeasurable gratitude for his support.

Seeing those awful tweets and comments had the complete opposite effect on him. He no longer blames himself but the people who actually deserve the blame - all those jerks from my college.

I pull away, giving him a small smile. “I would never let you go to jail.”

He smiles back at me, overjoyed that my mood is slowly being lifted, “Come on, I have a nice crowd that would like to meet you.”

I know exactly what he means. Felix, Sean, Rae, Dave, Sykkuno and the rest of his friends. The people I’ve been so shy and afraid to meet since day one. Being shy doesn’t really make sense now, seeing as how they know I exist and that I’m a part of Corpse’s life.

What do I have to lose?

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.“ Corpse’s black avatar runs around my cyan one in the Among Us lobby.

I can’t help but giggle when I unmute my mic, “Hi everyone! It’s so nice to finally meet you.“ They each introduce themselves, expressing how happy they are to be meeting me too.

It’s the first time in what feels like a while that I’m truly having fun. These people are wonderful, each so unique and lovely. They never brought up the scandal nor acted as though they knew about it. I know they did and I am beyond grateful that they never mentioned it or treated me any differently because of it. Also, Corpse was streaming the whole time. I had my phone on his stream, my eyes nervously scanning the chat every now and then. I couldn’t believe it. Corpse’s real fans were just as wonderful as his friends - they were nothing but supportive and happy to have met me.

Now, I can either choose to believe these people were being so nice to me out of sympathy or I can believe they really like me and appreciate me for who I am and not for what happened to me.

I choose to believe the latter.

And while I’m still getting accustomed to this whole new spotlight, I know I’ll be able to handle it as long as I’m holding Corpse’s hand in the process. All I need is to have him beside me and I’m prepared to tackle anything.

“They love you.“ Corpse tells me once the stream is done and we’ve hopped out of the Discord call, “But I love you more.“

His arms wrap around my waist while mine instinctively find their way around his neck, “I love them, too. But they’re at the number 2 spot.”

He smirks at me, “I wonder who’s at number 1.”

I push up on my toes, putting my lips an inch away from his, “Hmm, I wonder...”

He doesn’t let me finish, silencing my teasing with a sweet, loving kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat

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hacked-by-jake · 3 years ago

Note

Can you write Jake comforting MC who is freaking out after that final episode 8 phone call? I am literally still shaking omg

>Episode 8 Spoiler!<

Headcanon

Summary:Jake comforts you / helps you after the call of the man without a face.

A/n: Hi, dear! I hope you are feeling better. Episode 8 was really exciting, especially the end... wow.

So, this isn’t so much, I hope you’ll like it anyway. I’m sorry again for the delay, I hope it wasn’t that bad.

I don’t think I have more to say xD

Excuse the mistakes, have fun, take care of yourselves and stay healthy.❤️🌹🎭

Putting even more people in even greater danger than they were before was exactly what you were afraid of.

After the phone call, Jake immediately worried the hell out of his mind about you, knowing that was your worst nightmare and it was now coming true.

And he knew full well that, if he wasn’t there for you now, you’d lose yourself. You’ll blame yourself and hate yourself.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

He wasn’t feeling well after the call himself. Hearing how your life was threatened let him get hot and cold at the same time. The little hairs of his arms stood on and he immediately felt sick.

Because this was also his greatest fear, his greatest worry. He was always glad you were far enough away from Duskwood, glad you promised him you wouldn’t go there. And yet he was tremendously disturbed by the current course.

No matter if you were at the other end of the world, his concern that something might happen to you broke his heart.

In the group chat, the others still wrote cluelessly, only satisfied that Jessy and Thomas could escape him.

If they knew about it...

But Jake doesn’t have time for that now! Now it was all about you and your well-being.

The call was about 3 minutes ago and you were still online but you hadn’t written a message yet which is why Jake’s taking over.

"MC?"

"I saw it too"

"Don’t worry, we will find a solution"

He didn’t know what the right words would be, he was afraid to say something wrong or not understand you properly.

He waited for two minutes but nothing happened, his concern grew, he had no idea what was happening to you.

"MC? Please answer me"

"I’m really worried about you"

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

The hacker felt like he was going crazy.

Another three minutes later, he still had no answer.

He slipped restlessly on his desk chair. His fingers repeatedly stroked the keyboard, typed words but then deleted them again.

He didn’t know what to do, should he give you time? Should he continue to write to you? What should he do?

He pushed another 5 messages but still no answer came.

And so it happened that he would throw all his principles overboard and call you. The voice distortion and cover his camera should be enough.

But despite the situation, he had to smile. What have you done to him that he is so in love?

He just couldn’t just sit there and wait, he couldn’t, he had to know how you were, if you’re okay, how you’re feeling.

His fingers dialed your number easier than he thought.

He knew them by heart. On his escape, and he doesn’t know how many times, he had thought of contacting you through an old phone booth, but that too was far too dangerous.

With every dull sound that showed that the call was made to you, made him more nervous and nervous.

Not even because he could hear your voice, but because he was afraid of your reaction.

He has to wait, for his taste, too long, until it suddenly crackled at the other end and then a trembling "Hello?" could be heard.

His heart broke, it broke into 10,000 pieces when he heard your whiny and desperate voice, it broke his heart and soul.

"MC" he croaked. His voice broke off, too shocked.

"Jake!" you cry painfully.

The hacker had to swallow before he could answer, fearing his voice would simply give up.

"I - I'm so sorry," he whispered.

And then, you broke out crying, crying terribly, and he listened to you quietly. He listened to you all crying out your grief and frustration, listening to how you were at the end, how sad and broken.

And every sob made him blink away slightly wet in his eyes himself.

You’re his biggest weakness...

Only when you murmured, "What have we done? What have I done?" did he speak again. He can hear so clearly how much you blame yourself.

"No, MC, it’s not your fault. It’s his fault, not yours," he said with a stronger ringing voice. He could only imagine how strange it sounded to you with the computer voice.

"Oh no? isn’t it? ISN'T IT?"

He flinched in front of his computer when your voice suddenly got a strength he hadn’t expected.

A bitter laugh shifted through the line and made him a little nervous.

"IT. IS. MY. FAULT! We should have stayed out of it from the start! We should have given the police everything we have and let them find Hannah!"

"MC, I promise you that we will find a solution!" he assured you, but unfortunately he was unsure about it himself.

"How? If we are all going to be dead?" you shout angrily and the hacker hardly tightens his jaw. What should he do? How best to help in such a situation?

"You’re angry," he murmurs, and makes you laugh bitterly again.

"I think, I have a deja-vu. Oh wait, we had the conversation 24 hours ago already!"

"MC, you have to listen to me," he pleaded.

"You can be angry, you can be angry, sad, afraid, you can scream, cry, anything you want. But don’t turn these emotions against yourself, turn it against the guilty, against the man without a face!"

Your anger rose, rose to the immeasurable, and you knew he was right, you knew it was too late. You knew you couldn’t go back.

"We have to tell the others," you mumble, your quick changes of mood confuse you, but who could blame you?

Unfortunately it was true, you had to tell the others.. you have to tell the others, and then you can keep crying. But the others are in Duskwood. They could be attacked immediately, so they were more important now than anything else.

"I can’t do this alone, Jake," you whisper broken.

And you didn’t have to do it alone.The hacker promised to keep talking to you all the time. He promised you that he would not leave you alone, that he would be there to help you.

He didn’t want to start this topic so quickly, he wanted to give you time and he tried to tell you that. But he also understood that you don’t want to waste time.

It was clear that everyone had to come together immediately; none of the others should let the others out of sight. Everyone has to stay together from now on, not be alone.

And you explain it to them from beginning to end.

An agreement can be reached quickly.

Every time you started crying again when you read the others messages, Jake was there for you. He promised you that everything would be okay, that he wouldn’t go.

He assured you that everything would go well, that he would do anything to keep you safe.

Even if you didn’t know how he wanted to do it, his words calmed you down, because you believe every single one of them. You believe it, you hear it in his voice.

The others were equally shocked and immediately agreed to your plan. The largest apartment of all, was Cleo’s. So they started packing their things and Thomas would pick them up one by one and go to Cleo.

The first shock was overcome, but your body was still shaking.

Of course, the worry was still there, and bigger than ever.

But Jake’s presence, even if it’s only on the phone, helped you.

And even after the others went offline, you don’t stop calling.

Without realizing it, the hacker managed to distract you, and for a few hours he managed to completely take you to another world. You were amazed at it.

At first, you were a little afraid you wouldn’t have enough talking points, but this was the most beautiful conversation you’ve ever had.

The themes came and went, one after the other.

No unpleasant breaks, no stops.

He took you to get something to eat from the small Chinese restaurant.

His voice kept giving you goosebumps, his quiet manner and the stories he told calmed you down. Your heart beat fast, your cheeks hurt from the smile and again and again your cell phone battery called that you need new power.

But none of you cared.

You were in another world, as if he had taken your hand, and you had gone away; for a few hours you were no one, only yourself.

In the beginning Jake still sounded very nervous but with time and little teasing from your side, he also became more open.

His voice became more normal, less nervous and his laughter louder.

And you can swear that his laughter was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

As your phone call slowly draws to a close, you two try to keep it up somehow.

But the day was exhausting, you were tired and couldn’t finish a sentence without a yawn.

"Jake?" you ask carefully.

"Yes, MC?"

"I feel bad that I didn’t say it before. But shortly after you called me, the voice distorter stopped working."

Yeah, you could hear his real voice all the time, all the time you could hear him, the real Jake, not the hacker.

A slight laugh leaves his lips, sounds like balm in your ears.

Masterlist

"What brings you to the assumption, that it was by accident?"

#duskwood #duskwood episode 8 #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood Jake x mc #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood headcanon #duskwood hacker #everbyte studios #everbyte duskwood #duskwood theories #duskwood everbyte

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outofsstyles · 4 years ago

Text

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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bitchassbucky · 4 years ago

Text

ＢａｃｋＴｏＹｏｕ (ＳａｍＷｉｌｓｏｎｘＦ!Ｒｅａｄｅｒ)

📎Word Count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: some heckin’ words. Bucky’s in this, he’s a bit annoying (affectionately) <3 MINORS DNI.

📎A/N: omg my first Sam fic! i wanna thank my boo @babyboibucky for enabling me hsakjdhak ily! this is for you, bee!

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

📎 Follow the story: Back To You, Dimples, Inked

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky says, annoyed that Sam has been looking down on his phone, remotely giving attention to their conversation.

Sam grins, fingers dancing over the keyboard on the screen, “Yeah, yeah. Something about motel rooms—or beds.”

“I said that they gave us two beds in one room,” the former spots their door number, quickly walking to it. The tactical bag swinging over his cybernetic arm freely.

The night was warm, the air blew the ocean mist towards the town. The parking lot is empty save for a black sedan that’s already been through a lot. They chose to stay low instead of getting a room at a decent hotel close by–something about them not likening the crowd.

Once inside, both men cleared the room in 30 seconds flat. The window opens out, the door stays closed and locked. The TV has to be on but kept on low volume. The beds are made, it’s clean; beats the flat beds on the plane.

Sam throws his bag over to the bed closest to the window, calling dibs. “Hey, you got headphones?” He asks.

“No,” Bucky answers, settling his things below the foot of the bed, “why?” He catches Sam again smiling giddily over something, “what you got a girl there or something?”

“It’s none of your business,” Sam retorts, quirking his eyebrow upwards, “well? Do you have headphones?”

“If you listened to me, you would’ve heard me say ‘no.’”

Bucky should’ve had brought headphones. Sam has been droning on and on with a ‘friend’ over on a video call.

Not that he’s eavesdropping and nosy but he saw how Sam lit up when a voice came in from his phone.

“Hey, Sammy! I finally get to see your face.” You say, your voice crackling over Sam’s speakers, “am I on speaker right now?”

Sam smiles, focusing on your background and seeing pictures and posters plastered on the wall, “oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot my earphones somewhere.”

“What? Old man Barnes rubbing off on you?” You laugh, your glasses reflecting your laptop’s screen. Your joke sending Sam into a laughing fit.

“You know he’s in the room, right?” Sam clarifies as he turns the camera to Bucky, much to the former’s dismay. But despite himself, Bucky waves to the camera.

“Heard a lot about you, Barnes! Hope you’re ready for frequent bathroom trips from this one.”

Sam faces you again, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes, “Shut up or I’m gonna drop the call.”

You quickly send him an emoji via text, Sam rolling his eyes as you giggle. “Anyway, since you can’t join in on the fun, you’ll be my audience tonight.”

Sam gives you a confused look, a hint of crease appearing between his brows. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

A fake gasp and an overdramatic show of hurt had him chuckling, “You already forgot the karaoke night you promised me, didn’t you?”

He grins apologetically and looks at the camera, as if looking into your eyes, “I’m sorry. Been busy these past few weeks.”

You smile softly, the imagery giving Sam a burst of butterflies in his tummy, “it’s okay. I was just being dramatic. I got that from you, you know.”

You are not a good singer. But you confidently belt out the highest of notes like one. Complete with hand gestures, you hold out the last note of the song.

“Thank you,” you bow down to your imaginary crowd off-camera, “I’ll be here all night.”

“On god, please don’t,” Sam interjects with a tender smile and soft eyes.

“Sammy!” Your eyes glazing over your screen, a deep pang of homesickness hitting you, “I missed this. I missed you.”

He nods, his lips pressed tightly as he tries to find the words to respond, “I missed you too, bub.”

A soft note of a love song sounds over your speaker, traveling to his, “you love this song.”

Sam nods, reminiscing the moments he had with you during college. The one time you almost kissed—where are these memories and feelings coming from?! “Yeah, and---”

The doorbell rings on your end. Your eyes glinting as you stand up. Food delivery!

“Hold that thought, Sammy. My food’s here,” you say, your voice faint as you’re practically halfway through the door.

“She is a god-awful singer,” Bucky expresses, “but you love her, don’t you?”

“What?” Sam quickly taps a button on his screen—stupid Bucky and his stupid mouth. He covers his phone’s mouthpiece as if that could help, “shut the hell up.”

Sam’s changed demeanor confirms Bucky’s growing suspicion, “so you do love her!”

The latter glances at the empty screen, hoping you didn’t hear anything. Or maybe, he does?

The only sign of life from your end is the sound of various utensils cluttering and a metal bowl falling to the floor, making both men wince at the sudden noise.

Sam lowers the volume of his phone, facing Bucky from their respective beds.

“Shit,” Sam exclaims, running a hand over his handsome face, “maybe I do.”

This time, he finally lets himself go through the memories you made together before he left for the military.

The coffee dates, the late-night calls, the breakfast hangouts, the study sessions. You light up even the most boring of things. The texture of your skin, the sound of your laugh, the twinkle in your eyes bring Sam into a warm place.

You make him feel enough. You see him through and through.

Oh shit, he is in love with you.

Bucky just looks at him, boring holes in his face, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really just realized, just now?” Sam’s not sure if it’s a rhetorical question.

“The way you talk about her. The way you talk to her. You see her and the things she like everywhere we go and you realize it just now?” So, it is a rhetorical question.

The revelation leaves Sam amused but unable to form words, “I… Do–I do love her. I’m in love with my best friend.”

A silent beat drops in the room—save for the faint hello? coming from Sam’s phone.

Ah, fuck.

Bucky put on his jacket planning to head out (to the motel’s ice machine) to give you two privacy. He bids Sam good luck and you a good night before walking towards the door.

As soon as the door shuts, Sam increases the volume on his phone again.

“Sam?” You call out, “I can’t see you, your cam’s off.”

In panic, he realizes that he tapped the wrong button—maybe Old Man Barnes had rubbed off on him.

You smile and sat up a little bit straighter when his face lights up your screen again.

“So… how much did you hear about the whole thing?” Sam wants to tread carefully around the subject, the first time he feels uncomfortable opening up to you.

He fully expects you to dismiss the topic, turn in for the night, and leave him lamenting about his feelings. And he’s somehow okay with it.

“Kinda, everything.” You confess, there’s nothing holding you back now, “I, you know-- I’m glad you got ‘round it. Even if it took you years.”

Another pin drops inside Sam’s head, “what do you mean?”

“Look, I confessed to you before we graduated but you never acknowledged it. So, I never brought it up again.” Even miles apart, Sam’s presence was around you. The bracelet he gave you during junior year, his favorite mug you borrowed from him, a ton of his shirts and hoodies that he gave to you before moving out after graduation.

“You confessed to me? When?” Sam racks his brain for the smallest of details, for the quietest of whispers.

“I wrote you a letter. Remember? I slipped it under your door after finals week.”

After all these years, Sam never quite found out who wrote him that letter, “you never signed it.”

Sam didn’t expect you to laugh, to double over such a serious conversation, “dude, I did, I signed it. Why would I send you a deep proclamation of love without signing it?”

“It was written on pink paper, right? I still have it. You wanna bet that you don’t have your name on it?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, heat creeping up your cheeks, “oh my god, are you serious? I didn’t sign it?”

Sam laughs softly, his eyes crinkling the same way. There are lines decorating his eyes but he was still your Sam.

“No, ma’am.” He declares, the air somehow lighter now, “if you did, I would’ve said something.”

A hum escapes your lips, curling into a gentle smile, “good to know.”

The comfortable silence envelops the room, years of yearning and pining finally coming to end.

“Hey, after this mission - I was thinking if you want to go out. Catch up and you know, finally, talk in person.” Sam asks, there’s still a tiny voice inside his head not believing the talk that had transpired.

“I’d love that, Sam.”

The sentiment crashes and closes in on itself as Bucky barges into the room, holding a bucket of ice in one hand and a pack of beer in the other, “congratulations, idiots.”

#bitchasbucky writes #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x reader fluff #sam wilson x reader angst #sam wilson x reader smut #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson angst #sam wilson smut

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qwanjiro · 3 years ago

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Dream Soulmate anon here back with more brainrot! Ishimondo AU where they both join an idol group and Taka is the only one who watches those ship analysis videos without understanding the point. On a livestream with himself and Mondo, he mentions that he watches "Ishimondo" videos and thanks the fans for compiling clips of their friendship. The fans (and a crushing Mondo) freak out in the chat!

Hi again! Back for more incredible AU I see?

I'm sensing some hardcore oblivious Taka here, ah.. good content.

Warning : I wrote a fuckin fic. I lack self control. Help.

Just imagine.. your two favourite idol doing a live stream together, all comfy and casual and sitting so close to each other. This is it. Your heart cries in pure joy. Your shipper side is finally being fed with ishimondo crumbs after starving for so long.

Your fingers danced around your keyboard without needing your guide. You can't help it. This is your chance. You need to say it for your deepest satisfaction, and you know there are many other just like you. But you decided to be the brave one. Just this time.

Send button. You pressed it without hestitation. You felt your heart beats two times faster as your comment going up, up with the other's compliments and good evenings. And at the same time, you saw Mondo Oowada's eyes glanced through the chat. You held your breath.

Xx_Local_Fangirl_xX : FINALLY IT'S HAPPENING!! ISHIMONDO!!

Mondo furrowed his eyebrows. A curious smile gracing the rapper's feature. "Ishimondo? What's that?"

Your breath hitched. You were noticed by your idol.

Quickly after that, before anybody could respond, Kiyotaka Ishimaru perks up with a smile so bright it puts the sun to shame. "Oh! I've heard about it!"

There's a slight pause in the chat, as if time just frozen. Then just as fast, the chat were filled with 'oh no!'s, 'oh crap he knew!'s, 'pack up boys we need to be more careful when writing fanfictions!' And a lot more along the line. You're too paralized to type anything.

Mondo already turned his attention to the shorter boy next to him. Still with those curious tint, he asked. " Really? How come I didn't know that? It kinda ticks me off cause it sounded so familiar.."

Kiyotaka giggled. It melts your already liquified heart. "That's because it IS familiar, Mondo! Don't you recognized it? It's our names put together! ISHImaru, MONDO, ISHIMONDO!"

"W-What?!"

The chat is going miles per-second, so did your heartbeat. You joined the ruckus of yaoi fangirls and fanboys in the chat. Your felt your grin getting bigger and bigger as you saw Mondo Oowada's cheek rapidly tinted in red.

Seemingly not noticing Mondo's change of behaviour, the vocalist faced the camera directly and said in a happy tone, "You know, I really appreciate the amount of effort you guys did to make those Ishimondo compilation videos! I've watched many of it already and it never failed to be endearing! I'm really glad you enjoyed our friendship!"

Oh..

Oh no..

Pure baby strikes again, you said to yourself.

If anything, this just makes it even more interesting. Mondo's red cheeks is enough proof of that. The chat is going so nuts it might even break the server.

"T-Taka I think that's a ship name.. for us?" Mondo chirped. You can visibly sees his attempts to stay cool, it conviced no one.

"Ship.. name?" Kiyotaka cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. And you know damn well Mondo loves puppies. "I never saw a cruise ship having our name.. maybe I didn't dig deep enough?" He said. You laughed. Hahas and lols filled the chat.

"Oh!" Kiyotaka suddenly snapped his fingers, ruby eyes wide and bright as if he just had the best idea. "Hey Mondo, maybe we should watch the compilation together with our fans and react to it!!"

"W-what?!" The rapper's forehead is now sweating. Deep down you felt bad for him. But you encourage it all the way. "B-but the stream has going long enough hasn't it..?"

"Come on, Mondo! It's going to be fun! It won't take too long I promise! Besides... don't you want to grant our fans' wish?" The shorter tries to sweetly persuades Mondo. Mondo took a quick glance to the chat section and, yes. Literally 'yes'. New 'yes' popped up every second. All the viewers are on the affirmative side, including you. much to Mondo's displeasure.

The next 20 minutes are spent watching, you guessed it, Ishimondo watching Ishimondo compilation videos. You can almost feel the embarassment radiating from Mondo Oowada, as he watched himself eyeing Kiyotaka in such a fond, love-filled eyes in each and every one of those compilation videos.

Ah, what a legendary live stream.

#danganronpa #ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo oowada #idol AU #anon #you ask and i shall reply #live stream #sorry for the long post :')

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bostongirl13 · 4 years ago

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Piano, Thanksgiving and heart attack

A/N: I wrote this with the intention of continuing this story ➡ New Dodger photo , but it can safely be treated as a one shot.

Summary: I think the title explains it all 💙

Warnings: age gap, Scott and Chris are assholes, swearing, mistakes

Words: 1,5k +

TUESDAY

You growled in frustration not being able to remember a single word and what was in the linguistic pragmatics tasks.

"Stupid subject" you muttered, throwing your pencil across the room and letting it hit the wall. Dodger, who was lying on the couch behind you and keeping you company, raised his ears to the sound.

You've been sitting in the living room with your back against the sofa for a good five hours because your lecturer thought up an exam the day before the long weekend. Because, of course, speech acts, language functions, the theory of speech acts, and the communicative intention are so damn important that they can't wait until next week.

"Fuck" you cursed under your breath and rubbed your tired eyes. You felt your head starting to ache. And tears fall from my eyes from staring at the laptop screen for a long time. You needed a break, but you knew that if you do it, there is no chance that you will go back to studying. Being stubborn and hard to give in by nature, you took a deep breath and started reading the definitions and tasks once again.

Chris, of course, knew how difficult and hard this item was for you, so he was always as quiet as possible, occasionally bringing you a bowl of fruit, coffee, or tea, and ordered take-out food. He was loved. Even though you didn't thank him and just nodded your head, or just said nothing and paid him no attention, he knew you appreciated his help anyway. But seeing you sitting another hour in front of the computer with red eyes and tired, broke his heart. He couldn't watch his love work to death, and he knew that if he asked you to take a break, you wouldn't. So he came up with an idea, the implementation of which would make you leave your studies.

So he went to the piano standing against the wall and after a few minutes of choosing what he wanted to play, he put his fingers on the keys and caused the first notes to come out of the instrument.

You stretched and flipped through the notes page when you heard like music fills the air without effort, the sound rushing in and around every person in the room. You smiled and closed your eyes, leaning your head against the couch behind you. You listened to the melodies played by your boyfriend, feeling it sweep your whole body. The best thing about music was that it gave you strength and motivation. The variety of music in the universe is so diverse that there is something for everyone to enjoy. Music doesn't worry about anything; that’s the beauty of music.

You turned to Dodger and stroked his head.

"Dad is probably giving us a sign that there is enough study for today"

Dodger licked your face. “Okay, okay, that's it. Come on "you got up and stretched again. The dog jumped off the couch and followed you into the room where Chris was playing.

Chris was sitting in sweatpants and a navy blue sweater. His long fingers moved over the keyboard of the instrument, pressing the keys in the correct order so that the emerging notes formed a melody.

You walked up to him and hugged him from behind. "Thank you," you whispered in his ear and kissed his cheek.

"I'm glad you finally got away from studying. Do you like what I play?

"Very" you sat down next to him and put your head on his shoulder "Can you play any more?" you asked.

Chris kissed your head and started playing again.

Now sitting close to him and the instrument, you could hear and feel the musician much more clearly than before. Dodger lay down on his bed near you and listened too. Your eyes immediately felt heavy. You closed them, but you tried to stay awake. He had time, music surrounded the space him. You had to admit that of the many talents Chris had, this one was one of your favorites.

"I think it's time to sleep, Princess" you nodded and you let him rise you from chair. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, holding tight. "I guess I should start talking to you Koala" he laughed and you pressed your face against the hollow of his neck.

After a warm shower and putting on something to sleep, you both cuddled into each other, or rather you into Chris not allowing a minimum of a gap between your bodies. Even though you had an important exam tomorrow, you felt calm and knew that you would do well tomorrow.

THURSDAY

Quick update: there was no exam because it turned out that the lecturer did not have time to prepare the questions. You were relieved, but you were also furious because you could spend this time with your beloved men. However, you will not turn back the time, and what was now mattered.

You sat snuggled up to Chris on the couch in his mom's living room and watched as two pupies and Dodger attacked Scott on the floor. You tried not to laugh because you knew the video would end up on Instagram, but you really couldn't help but see this scene. Even Stella giggled and watched the whole thing happen. You put your cheek to Chris's shoulder when he finished recording.

"All right?" he whispered to you, seeing your eyes freeze at one point, you were thinking something

"Yes. I'm just happy. Thank you for taking me with you to your mother's Thanksgiving. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel like I'm surrounded by my family."

"How could I not take you with me," he said in an offended tone. The invitation was obvious to him and he saw no other scenario for the day. "Honey, you shouldn't feel bad about being comfortable with my family. On the contrary, I'm glad you feel that way. It means a lot to me. And I can assure you that they also treat you like a family member." he kissed you on the lips to which you heard "ugh!" and laughed seeing Stelle covering her eyes.

Later that same day

You, Chris, Scott, and Dodger came back to Chris's house. All the way you couldn't stop laughing at the guys whining about eating too much.

As soon as you entered the house, the three men took their place on the couch in front of the TV. You rolled your eyes and being a good girlfriend, you went to the fridge for a beer.

"What have I done to deserve you," Chris said, taking a cold bottle of amber drink from you.

"Don't get used to it too much" you kissed him, "I'm going to take a shower" you add and disappeared down the hall.

"Don't you dare to let her go," said Scott, being sure you couldn't hear "If you do, I’m gonna kick your American ass." he took a sip.

"Funny." Chris laughed, "Don't worry, I'm not going to let her go."

Getting more comfortable after showering, you put on leggings and Chris's hoodie. Completely unaware that a trap awaits you as soon as you exit the master bedroom.

You've been moving around Chris's house by heart. So instead of looking straight ahead, you looked at the phone. Chris and Scott were standing behind the wall so that you couldn't see them and both of them, with video recording, waiting for you. After a while, they heard your footsteps and they both looked at each other. Chris showed three fingers as he counted. 3... 2 ... 1 ...

"Y / N !!!" they both shouted giving you a heart attack.

"Aaaaaaaaaa ... !!!" you screamed, terrified, and you jumped up and you slipped and fell. Chris grabbed you at the last minute and pulled you close. "Are you crazy ?!" you snarled.

Your heart was beating dangerously fast in your chest, your breathing couldn't slow down. Both guys were laughing when you thought you were having a heart attack.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but you were the only one I hadn't scared off yet."

"Be careful I don't scare you, you asshole," you threatened by hitting him on the chest. "How old are you? 5?"

"Oh, don't say you haven't got used to our childish behavior yet." Scott smiled at which you rolled your eyes.

"Sorry," Chris repeated and kissed the top of your head.

"You guys are so cute," commented Scott.

"That goes for you, Scott too. You both are on my blacklist," you narrowed your eyes.

Chris hugged you tighter, feeling your heart beating fast. You hugged him, cuddling up to him and trying to calm down.

About an hour later you managed to play on them and scare them. In both cases you recorded everything and with a smile on your face, pleased with yourself, sent them the video, which they both later uploaded to Instagram.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chrisevans #chris evans x reader smut #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagine #chris evans instagram #chris evans fluff #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans fandom #my writing #new dodger photo

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the-real-tc · 3 years ago

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Addendum to Heartland Ep. 1502...

Okay, so there were not that many humourous bits in Runaway, but I was just reminded of the burnt chicken fingers scene.

Jessica Steen did a great job in those scenes as Lisa is on the phone, trying not to lose her cool as she hears bad news about Bow’s health, along with Lyndy’s discordant keyboard-playing (”I wrote this song for you!” plonk-plonk-plonk), Katie’s interruption asking if they could order pizza, and then finally Parker pointing out the smoking oven. How Lisa doesn’t totally blow up more often is beyond me, but I’m glad she put her foot down this time, and that Jack stepped up and backed her up, too. I’ve seen comments from several viewers that this was a long time coming, and a real at last Jack is defending his wife moment.

This leads me to wonder how Amy and Lou will treat Jessica Cook moving forward. In many ways, they have “experience” dealing with a new woman in the family when Jack married Lisa. After their bumpy start (Lou, after all, does have valid reasons not to like her former boss) it seems Lou might actually get along with her stepmother. I wonder if it’ll be easier for Jess because Lisa has already cleared the way. She’s beaten down a path ahead of Tim’s new wife, and I think Amy and Lou might turn out to tolerate Jess’ presence a lot quicker and easier than they did Lisa.

Time will tell, right?

#Heartland #Season 15 #Ep. 1502 #Runaway #Lisa Stillman #Jessica Steen #Jessica Cook #Amy Fleming #lou fleming #Katie Fleming-Morris #Parker #Jack Bartlett #tim fleming #additional thoughts #addendum #Lyndy Borden

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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years ago

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Sweets (Soft Yandere! Jungkook)

You keep being visited by the most peculiar thief…

➵ in which jungkook steals your lip balm and perfume instead of talking to you, you leave a post-it note with your number on it for the strange thief who only seems to take the most inexplicable items and has a strange sense of responsibility for your wellbeing, and the cute boy in your photography class with the fluffy hair and the oversized sweater keeps getting more and more endearing…

➵ Warnings: Soft Yandere Jungkook, Breaking & Entering but without the Breaking, Reader is a bit of a ditz (lol sorry guys)

➵ Word Count: 4.2K

➵ Masterlist

“Hello, uh, I’d like to… report a crime?”

Your statement, which had always sounded suitably firm and assertive when you practised it in front of the bathroom mirror, ended with an unplanned upturn, making it sound more like a question than you would like.

“Please state your name and address, ma’am.”

You did so, listening anxiously to the tap of a keyboard as your information was filed away. The undoubtedly over-worked police officer on the other end of the line sounded like he was two seconds from falling asleep, and you questioned yourself for the millionth time over whether you really needed to report this or not.

“What is the nature of the crime you are reporting, ma’am?”

“Um… well…”

You twisted your hand into the fabric of your shirt self-consciously, trying to decide the best way to explain the strange little occurrences that had been surrounding your apartment over the last few months. You had not yet found a way to put it without sounding ridiculous, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

“I, uh, I think someone’s breaking into my apartment and stealing things.”

“You have an intruder?”

“Uh huh,”

“…Are they currently in your residence?”

“No, I think… they come and take things when I’m not here and then they’re gone by the time I get back.”

“What items have been stolen?”

You bit your lip.

“I know it sounds silly, but…”

“No crime is too small to report, ma’am. We are committed to making the lives of everyday citizens safer.”

“Well… they’ve stolen my lip balm like… several times. I keep buying new ones and they keep being stolen after a week or so. And my perfume. And my hairbrush one time, and-”

“Ma’am,” The officer cut you off with the impatience you had been both anticipating and dreading ever since you decided to call the police, “Listen, we don’t have the capacity to deal with prank callers-”

“It’s not a prank call!” You blurted, a momentary burst of desperation overtaking you, “I- um, sorry for interrupting, officer, but this isn’t a prank call. Things have been going missing. I can’t afford to keep replacing my lip balm.”

A sigh crackled across the line, and you pictured the officer maybe taking off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose like those people in movies always seemed to do when they got frustrated. Personally, you had never found that it helped.

“Are you sure you aren’t just… misplacing them?”

You gasped, offended that even a stranger could think you so stupid. “No! I remember exactly where I leave things and then they just vanish! I swear!”

“Has anything of value ever been taken from your apartment?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, excited to be able to prove the officer wrong, “My bunny plushy! Mr Snuggles is extremely valuable to me!”

“…Monetary value, I meant. Has anything expensive ever been taken from your apartment?”

There was an embarrassing silence. The officer sighed again, with a little more exasperation colouring his tone.

“If anything significant is stolen, call us back. For now, just… be a bit more careful with your possessions.”

He hung up. You pressed your forehead against the wall and wished your strange thief had taken your phone in one of his little visits. Maybe then you would’ve avoided making that agonising call.

The next morning as you were leaving to go to class, you noticed a pile of discarded post-it notes on your desk — the remnants of a redbull-fuelled late night study session. Your newly purchased lip balm lay next to it. Impulsively, you grabbed a pen and scrawled a message on one of the post-its, sticking it horizontally to the curved surface of the lip balm tube.

it reads:

pls don’t take this i just bought it and this brand is actually v expensive and i am only a struggling college student with loans and chapped lips (。•́︿•̀。)

It might have been a little too polite considering it’s intended recipient was someone who had stolen multiple items from your apartment, but you figured there was no point in being rude. They probably wouldn’t even read it anyway.

You strolled out of your apartment, planning to pick up a smoothie on the way to your lecture, and promptly forgot all about it.

When you returned home to find a pile of newly bought lip balms on your desk — all embossed with the logo of your favourite brand — you were slightly puzzled. But, once you remembered the note you had left- well, the confusion didn’t exactly vanish, but at least you were given some context.

The note had disappeared, along with the lip balm you had used a scant few times. But, you didn’t understand what the thief’s aim was. Why on earth would they steal small things like lip balm and perfume? And why would they buy you new copies of the product? Wasn’t that counterproductive?

you’re very bad at your job

Your next note read, stuck to your fridge as you left to grab coffee with your study group. It remained there for a few days, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart sank a little each time you saw it hadn’t been taken.

After six days, when it finally vanished, you felt an odd sense of happiness bubble up within you. Yes, there was someone routinely breaking into your apartment, but at least now you had an open channel of communication with them. They had left a brand new bottle of your preferred perfume — which had been stolen at least twice before you stopped bothering to buy it because perfume is pricy — resting on your kitchen counter, beside a box of your favourite chocolates.

As you dug into the box later, snuggled in a blanket and having a Studio Ghibli film marathon, you didn’t even consider the fact that the sweets might be tampered with. If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve killed me already, you reasoned to yourself, sucking the icing sugar off your fingers. Nor did you question how they knew your favourite chocolate. If they broke into your apartment as much as you assumed they did, they probably knew you better than your own parents by now.

You were the very definition of a broke college student. As far as you were concerned, if this random stranger wanted to buy you things and sometimes clean up your apartment — you had definitely come back to a home tidier than you had left it more than once — then you certainly weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it was a little naïve of you, but… you had already called the police, and they hadn’t cared.

thank you for the perfume and chocolate <3

You wrote next morning, hesitating slightly before putting the heart. Before you could convince yourself not to, you scribbled another line underneath.

i wish you’d write back someday…

As you walked to class, you scolded yourself for the butterflies swooping in your stomach. They’re literally a criminal, you told yourself, Stop getting crushes on anyone who shows you the slightest bit of attention. You don’t even know their name.

Despite the small amount of common sense that you did have mocking you all day, you sat in classes and daydreamed about your mystery home intruder. Would they read the note? Would they be happy about your appreciation? Would they — you bit your lip — would they write back?

You felt like a dumb schoolgirl, excited by the prospect of a badly written love note shoved in her locker. And, like a school girl, you trudged back home with your arms weighed down by class work, a billion essays and quizzes that had to be completed overnight. Did your professors not realise you had a life outside of college? Not that you did, of course, but like… in principle.

You were so preoccupied with the coursework that you didn’t even notice the note stuck to your bedroom door. After an hour of studying, you rose wearily to start fixing yourself something to eat, and your eyes snagged on a flash of yellow.

You squeaked, almost falling over yourself in your rush to get to the door and read the note.

i’m glad you liked them. i’m sorry i took your things, that was mean of me. i tried to only take things you wouldn’t miss, but i guess that backfired… i just wanted to feel close to you. and these notes… are the closest i’ve ever been. i know that must sound weird, but… well. i’m a weird guy, i guess. i just liked hearing from you. that’s all.

~ koo <3

You didn’t stop freaking out for a full five minutes. After that, you poured over every detail of the letter, eager to extricate any fragment of knowledge possible. You ended up with a list which you scribbled down in your diary, above which you pasted the note.

The list went as follows:

They want to feel close to you

They have not talked to you before, since the notes are the closest they’ve ever been, but they must have seen you in person at least once

They are a he

(you adamantly did not get flustered about that)

and

4. He calls himself Koo

When you left your apartment the next morning, you placed your note on the exact same spot he had left his. An indirect touch.

hi koo !!!!!!!!

i was so excited to see you had written something!! you know, if you want to talk to me more often, there is an easier way…

Underneath you had scrawled your phone number, hastily and not allowing for regret before you flounced out of the apartment. The reason why you were in such a rush was because you were about to go to your favourite class: Photography 101.

You had taken it as an extra credit, something that interested you but not enough that you wanted to pursue it as a career. You had expected it to be fun, something artistic to break up the monotony of classes. What you had not expected was the dreamy boy who sat in the first row and had full possession of your heart.

You didn’t even know his name, but you were pretty sure you were half in love with him. With fluffy brown hair that fell over his forehead whenever he leaned over to scribble down notes, and cute bunny teeth that stuck out in a flustered smile whenever the professor praised his work in class, he was perhaps the cutest boy you had ever seen.

Though you were sure he had many girls sighing after him, he seemed to be really shy, only ever speaking in class when called on, and even then it was in a quiet, soft voice. He was kind of like you in that respect. But that was where your similarities ended.

Yes, you thought, sighing as you watched him pay avid attention to the professor’s lecture on the composition of frames, his cute doe eyes wide and twinkling like stars were embedded in the pupils, He is way out of my league.

It took three days for you to lose hope. You hadn’t received a text, nor had you found any notes left for you. You tried not to be disappointed, even as your traitorous sub-conscience mocked you for being able to scare away the one person who arguably paid you the most attention.

You didn’t really have many friends, and the ones you did have preferred each other over you, and often left you out of activities because of your shy nature. You guessed this whole thing had just been a way to feel like you actually mattered to someone, like, for once, someone cared about you, but-

You were pulled out of your musings as your phone chimed.

From: Unknown Number

[6:48 PM]

this is koo

The two of you texted every day, and soon enough you were hiding your phone underneath your desk in order to chat to him, keeping your phone on your person at all times in case koo wanted to talk. Of course, the only class you didn’t do this in was Photography, so you could spend a blissful forty-five minutes staring at the boy who played the role of your husband in all of your favourite daydreams.

Koo still broke into your house occasionally, and he still left you sweet, considerate gifts. Often, you would receive texts like this:

From: koo ✨

[3:24 PM]

sweets i’ve been checking your groceries and your vegetables are not being eaten as often as they should be

i know you have a sweet tooth and that’s cute but please try to stay healthy

To: koo ✨

[3:25 PM]

but i can’t cook all i know how to make is microwaveable mac n cheese :///////

You came back home that day to discover a bunch of Tupperwares full of pre-made healthy meals and a note stuck to the top of them.

try microwaving these :)

To: koo ✨

[3:01 AM]

koo are you awake?

From: koo ✨

[3:01 AM]

i am now

what’s wrong?

To: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

i can’t sleep :////////

From: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

sweets you need to go to bed

you have an early morning class

To: koo ✨

[3:02 AM]

i knowwwwww

i just… i can’t sleep without mr snuggles :((

From: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

Mr Snuggles??

???

To: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

my cuddly bunny :((((

i think you took him a while ago

could i maybe have him back…?

From: koo ✨

[3:03 AM]

Shit

i didn’t know you couldn’t sleep without him

[3:04 AM]

sweets im so sorry

To: koo ✨

[3:04 AM]

its okay koo

From: koo ✨

[3:04 AM]

no it isn’t

you’re loosing sleep because of me

fuck

i could… bring him to you?

To: koo ✨

[3:05 AM]

you’d do that?

…i could see you?

From: koo ✨

[3:05 AM]

no i’d leave him outside

you’d have to promise not to come out until i text you saying i’ve left

To: koo ✨

[3:06 AM]

but kooooo :(((((

From: koo ✨

[3:07 AM]

sweets

To: koo ✨

[3:07 AM]

okay :((((((((((

but i expect you to leave a big box of chocolates on my pillow for me to come home to tomorrow evening!!

From: koo ✨

[3:08 AM]

of course sweets <3

im gonna get going now

don’t look outside your apartment

To: koo ✨

[3:08 AM]

okay

From: koo ✨

[3:34 AM]

im gone and mr snuggles is waiting outside for you

he might have a little gift with him

You trudged outside your apartment, rubbing your eyes blearily, and looked down to see your beloved plushie clutching a single rose in its paws. You gasped, leaning down to pick up the flower gently, and you noticed all the thorns had been taken off. Koo must’ve removed them so that you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself.

You felt warmth flood you, drowning the butterflies in your stomach and replacing them with something much less fleeting, much less shallow.

It sunk into your bones, into your heart, into your breath as you sighed, squeezing your long-lost Mr Snuggles close to your face. He carried the familiar scent of nostalgia, but also something different, something sharper. You realised with a jolt that you were smelling Koo’s cologne.

You went back to bed, nuzzled your face into the plushy’s furry belly, and dreamed of fluffy brown hair and bunny smiles.

Though with Mr Snuggles’ help you were able to sleep wonderfully, you were only able to do so for four hours before your alarm jolted you back into early reality. Honestly, you were sorely tempted to just ditch class, but it was Photography, and if you missed your regular dose of the cute boy in the front row then you thought you might just crumble into dust.

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on your softest oversized hoodie — a gift from Koo which, now that you thought about it, smelled like the same cologne that Mr Snuggles did. You flushed at the thought of him giving you one of his hoodies to wear, though you couldn’t say exactly why that image charmed you.

You stumbled into the lecture, arms full of textbooks because you knew you wouldn’t have the energy to return back to your apartment to retrieve the relevant materials for your next class later in the day. Your excellent plan was to crash in the library directly after this, have a two hour power-nap, and then make yourself get up in time for Calculus.

You barely had the energy to listen to the professor droning on and on about… the perfect lense, or whatever. You allowed yourself the indulgence of tuning out, resting your chin on your palm and gazing dreamily at the boy in the front row. He was taking notes, as per usual. What a good student! You praised him in your head. I bet he has the best handwriting.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep within ten minutes. You were woken as the class concluded by the clamour of students grabbing their materials and the scrape of chairs as your classmates stood up, leaving you behind — the only one half-splayed across the desk in front of you.

You jerked upright, grabbing your stuff in one hand as you tried to tug on your bag, eventually succeeding with much struggle, only to drop it all again as soon as you stood up. You whimpered, watching helplessly as your textbooks fanned across the floor. You saw one of them split along the spine as it landed on an open page.

That cost me two hundred dollars, you thought absently, and I just chucked it down like a bouncy ball.

Suddenly, you glimpsed someone crouching down and gathering them all up into a sturdy pile. As he stood up, your vision was full of fluffy brown hair, errant strands falling into star-filled doe eyes.

Oh. Oh no.

“H-Here you are,” He murmured, passing you the pile gently, making sure you were able to take the weight before leaving them in your arms. When he leaned close to you, you breathed in a scent that was oddly familiar, and yet new at the same time. As his hands receded, his skin brushed against yours for a second and you swear your vision blanked out.

“Thanks,” You whispered, your gaze so firmly focused on the floor that you didn’t notice his flushed cheeks.

As soon as you got to the library, you whipped out your phone, all tiredness banished from your system by that momentous experience. You had talked to him.

To: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

koo i think im in love

From: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

what

with who

To: koo ✨

[8:47 AM]

this boy in my photography class

he’s just so-

[8:48 AM]

i can’t even explain it

i dropped my textbooks and he picked them up for me and i stg i almost cried

From: koo ✨

[8:48 AM]

wait

seriously??

To: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

yeah i cry at like the drop of a hat

From: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

no-

cute

but i mean

that’s who you’re in love with?

To: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

yeah?

From: koo ✨

[8:49 AM]

gray sweater

[8:50 AM]

big eyes

tall-ish

that’s him???

To: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

OMG YOU’RE IN MY PHOTOGRAPHY CLASS AREN’T YOU

From: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

WHAT

IM NOT

To: koo ✨

[8:50 AM]

OMGGGGGGG

YOU SAW HIM HELP ME SO YOU MUST BE IN MY CLASSSS

[8:51]

okay!

are you the frat guy who always comes in hungover???

no judgement

From: koo ✨

[8:51 AM]

To: koo ✨

[8:52 AM]

are you the guy who only ever wears knitwear???

From: koo ✨

[8:52 AM]

To: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

…are you the professor?

From: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

NO!!!!!

oh my god lets just meet up or something before i explode

To: koo ✨

[8:53 AM]

WAIT

ARE YOU SERIOUS????

From: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

…you’re that excited to meet me?

To: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

OF COURSE I AM

OH MY GODDDD

WHEN?

From: koo ✨

[8:54 AM]

now?

i can meet you at the campus coffee shop in like five minutes?

To: koo ✨

[8:55 AM]

five minutes???

that’s not enough time koo i have to go home and pick out something pretty to wear !!

From: koo ✨

[8:55 AM]

it doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re always beautiful to me

To: koo ✨

[8:56 AM]

you

you think im

b-beautiful

: ’ ))))))))))

From: koo ✨

[8:57 AM]

…

haha see you there!!

To: koo ✨

[8:57 AM]

GET BACK HERE WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS-

You sat on an empty table, fiddling with the tea bag tag which hung over the side of your mug. You had bought Green Tea as an effort to calm yourself down so you weren’t too anxious to meet Koo, but it hadn’t worked because you were impatient and sipped it too soon so now you were sat there nursing a burnt tongue like an idiot.

You knew it was irrational to be self-conscious. He already knew who you were, and seemed to like you, it was just you that was in the dark. You went over the possible people Koo could be, mentally cycling through the boys in your photography class. It was an annoyingly large class, which meant he would be anyone from the guy who smelled like Funyuns to-

Fluffy-haired boy strolled into the coffee shop and you let out an involuntary sigh. He seemed to be cheerful, a smile exposing his bunny teeth and making his cheeks bunch up adorably, with like, five different sets of dimples poked into them. You had never agreed more with the saying that dimples were caused by an angel’s kiss.

Well, at least I’ll have something nice to look at while I wait, you thought, just before all your thoughts suddenly tipped out of your head when you realised he was walking towards your table.

“Is this seat taken?” He grinned, before sliding into the seat across from you.

You whimpered, and his smile grew devastatingly wider.

“Hi,” He breathed, before his gaze flickered down to your mug of tea, clutched so tightly in your hands that you worried the ceramic might shatter. “You didn’t get hot chocolate? I thought you had a sweet tooth?”

“Uhm-” You choked, before forcing yourself to get a grip. How would Koo feel if he walked in here and saw you sitting with another guy? “I’m actually- I’m waiting for someone. Sorry.”

If it was possible — and it certainly seemed to be — the boy’s grin broadened even more, his eyes crinkling into adorable half-moons.

“Is that so? Is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” You blurted, before flushing profusely. The boy across from you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the display. “I mean- uhm, I don’t know. Maybe? This is our- this is our first actual meeting.”

“Oh?” The boy tilted his head, “Really? How exciting.”

You hummed in agreement, eyes fixed on your slowly cooling beverage. You raised it to your mouth to take a hesitant sip and- nope, still too hot. You whined quietly, rubbing your sore tongue against the inside of your cheek to try and soothe it.

“Oh, sweets,” The boy murmured across from you, and you were too distracted to notice the nickname. He plucked the mug out of your hands and placed it on the other side of the table, as if he was trying to make sure it couldn’t hurt you anymore. “Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the campus infirmary?”

“Wha- no, it’s okay,” You mumbled, lisping slightly on your burnt tongue and blushing when he cooed over you, “It’s- I’m waiting here for someone, and- I mean, I don’t even know your name-”

“It’s Jungkook,” He interrupted cheekily, deliberately ignoring the rest of your statement, “Some people call me Kookie, and really special people call me… Koo.”

Oh. Oh.

Fuck.

“Really special people?” You asked, your voice small, and not because of the burn.

“Well, people…” Jungkook- Koo paraphrased, tilting his head slightly, “I guess it would be more accurate to say… one really special person.”

“Really?” You breathed, and Jungkook leaned over the table, close enough that you could smell his cologne, the same scent embedded in the fabric of your hoodie- his hoodie.

“The most special person.” He murmured, the fervent emotion packed in each word speaking louder than any increase of volume could.

You had never been anyone’s most special person before, but, as you looked into Jungkook’s chocolate eyes, you started to believe you could almost taste it, sticky sweet on your lips. And when Jungkook eventually, finally coaxed your lips in a gentle kiss, you let him in, and found out that happiness tastes reassuringly honey-sweet.

#bts fanfiction #Yandere bts #soft yandere bts #yandere jungkook #soft yandere jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts scenarios #yandere kpop #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts jungkook imagines #bts Jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook

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cosmic-goddess-leo · 5 years ago

Text

Special Stream

AgedUp! Kuroo x Reader Roommate AU

Summary: Kuroo discovers his roommate is a cam-girl.

Warnings: SMUT!!!

Author’s Note: I figured we were due for some Kuroo smut since we didn’t get any in First Love / Late Spring

Taglist: @caxsthetic @vventure @ardorwrites-hq-mha @cmllnc

Kuroo never saw any issue with having a female roommate.

He had known (Y/n) for years, he trusted her and was comfortable enough to approach her about being roommates after he learned they would both be attending the same college.

She didn’t seem phased by the proposal at all. She was excited more than shocked.

Their families gave them some grief at first, insisting if they were ever to live with someone of the opposite gender, they should be engaged. No, the two didn’t pretend to be engaged to get their parents’ blessing to live together, it just took a lot of convincing.

Now here they were, living together now almost two years, and without any awkward incidents. They were good about respecting each other’s privacy and knocking before they entered bedrooms.

Everything was perfect until Kuroo decided to try something new and check out a NSFW livestreaming website when he got home from class.

(Y/n) had been home for a few hours now, her Friday schedule ensured she would be home by noon.

He didn’t feel the need to announce he was home, she knew his schedule. Plus, he was sure she was still in the middle of her afternoon nap.

Kuroo settled into his bed once he made sure his bedroom door was locked. He clicked onto the site as a guest, not fully committed to the idea of creating an account and subscribing to someone.

He began looking through the different feeds for the tags he took interest in, but nothing was really catching his eye until he recognized something in the thumbnail for a livestream.

The streamer’s bedroom looked oddly familiar. Maybe it was the placement of the furniture, or the posters on the wall. Kuroo couldn’t shake the feeling he had been there before.

He clicked onto the stream, immediately a banner popped up saying he could only watch a couple minutes of the stream without a subscription. He clicked past it and began watching the video.

A cam-girl sat on her bed, a see-through, lace slip just barely covering her body as she reached somewhere out of the camera’s view for something.

“I have a few toys here we can use today,” something about that voice was so familiar... what was happening? “But I wanted to use something new for my subscribers today!”

She settled back into her spot, a few of the users in the comments section now complaining that they didn’t have a good view of her ass anymore. Kuroo’s jaw almost dropped to the floor as he covered his mouth and screamed into his palm.

The cam-girl was wearing a mask, but Kuroo recognized her instantly as his roommate.

“This came in the mail yesterday!” she smiled, holding up a vibrator. Kuroo remembered taking a package to her room yesterday... was that what was inside? “We all know my old one broke, and I haven’t been able to cum the same without it! Should I use it?”

Kuroo watched, mortified as the comments section blew up. (Y/n) giggled before leaning closer to her camera, giving the viewers a nice look at her cleavage.

“You’re all so eager today! I’ll have to put you in slow-mode!”

Kuroo felt ashamed at his staring, ripping his eyes off her chest to look at the comments instead. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her sit back and take off her lace panties, leaving them to rest on her ankle. She spread her legs, and Kuroo almost flinched away. Almost.

HIs masked roommate turned the vibrator on, and leaned back against the wall her bed rested against. She pressed the toy to her clit and sighed shakily, closing her eyes in bliss.

Just as she tilted her head back and moaned, the stream paused. Kuroo groaned, glaring at the banner that popped up over (Y/n)’s body.

Want to keep watching? Create an account and subscribe to this Streamer!

Kuroo’s fingers were like lightning as he created his account and submitted his card information. It was 15 bucks a month to subscribe to (Y/n)’s channel, no wonder she could afford to get takeout all the time.

He clicked back onto the screen, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding once the stream resumed.

It felt so wrong watching his roommate play with herself, but hey, at least he was supporting her work!

She slowly rocked her hips against the vibrator, her moans like a symphony. (Y/n) bit her lip and began teasing her vibrator against her slit, moaning louder at the sensation.

Kuroo didn’t know when he began rocking his hips against the laptop rested atop the bulge in his sweatpants, but he soon started moaning in sync with his roommate.

(Y/n) eyes shifted over her screen and she sighed shakily, grinding against the vibrator faster. Kuroo curiously looked away from her and at the comments section, freezing in place when he saw the red text that caught (Y/n)’s eye.

Getting a little loud, doll. Won’t your roommate hear you?

Kuroo gulped at the thought of that comment turning her on. He had to be wrong. His fingers twitched, feeling a sudden urge to type out his own message. He would never know unless he tried...

HIs fingers flew across the keyboard, his hormones doing the typing for him and hitting the ‘enter’ button.

It would be such a shame if your roommate walked in on you, kitten. What if he likes what he sees?

(Y/n) was very obviously staring at the comments section now, her moans sounding less staged and more genuine by the second. Kuroo felt his lips twitch into a smirk and he continued typing.

What if he climbs on top of you and fucks your brains out right in front of us, kitten? Takes you as his without a second thought? That would be such a shame...

(Y/n) moaned louder, this time he heard her through the wall, and she turned up the speed on her vibrator. Kuroo moved the laptop onto his bed and shoved his hand down his sweats, pumping at his hard length while typing with his free hand.

Kitten doesn’t have any other toys to play with for us?

(Y/n) panted hard and reached for something out of the camera’s view. In her free hand, she now held a slim, curved vibrator. She turned it on and began teasing it against her slit while the other worked her clit.

The rest of the comments section were either ignoring Kuroo’s comments or egging him on. He wrote out another comment, rubbing himself faster.

That’s it, kitten. Your roommate’s teasing his cock inside you. He wants you bad but he just wont let you have it.

(Y/n) shook slightly as she prodded the tip of the toy inside herself. Kuroo felt his cock twitch at the sight of her wetness. He continued to watch her tease herself for another few minutes, unable to keep this up once he felt his orgasm approaching.

He typed out one last message, hoping it would push her over the edge.

Yes, kitten. Take that cock. Your roommate’s about to cum, cum with him.

(Y/n) squealed and shut her eyes, finally pushing the vibrator inside herself and cumming hard with a loud moan. The sight of her squirting onto her toys had Kuroo cumming in his sweatpants, his own deep moan bubbling from his chest as he stared at (Y/n)’s flush body.

The two laid on their beds, panting hard as they came down from their orgasms. Kuroo didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until the sound of (Y/n) sitting up and speaking brought him back down from his high. He opened his eyes and watched her set her toys aside.

“Sorry guys, I kind of lost myself there.” she smiled shyly, reading through all the comments being left for her.

He decided to leave her one last comment before leaving the site and taking a shower.

You did so good kitten.

(Y/n) giggled softly and thanked him, then bid the viewers goodbye before ending the stream.

Kuroo quickly left his room and made his way into the bathroom. He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper and took a hot shower.

He left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and began the trek to his bedroom, only to run into (Y/n) on his way there.

“Hey Kuroo! How was class?” she asked, sipping on a juice-box at the kitchen counter. She was wearing sweatpants and a tank-top, her typical relaxing clothes.

Kuroo felt his cheeks burning as he tightened his towel around himself. She had seen him in a towel before, but it was a different experience now that he had masturbated to her.

“I-it was good! Slow as usual but oh well! Just glad to be home!” He was about to retreat to his bedroom when he opted to join her in the kitchen instead. “How was your nap...?”

(Y/n) shrugged, watching him retrieve his own juice-box from the fridge. “It was fine. Usual nap stuff, y’know?”

Kuroo took a sip of his juice, sighing happily as the cool liquid ran down his throat. “I thought I heard your voice earlier, were you up?”

He noticed (Y/n) shift in her seat. “I dunno, I might’ve woken up and yelled to see if you were home. I woke up when I heard you get in the shower.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at her before finishing off his juice and tossing the box in the trash. “Well, I’m gonna get dressed and go meet the guys for some drinks! See you later tonight!”

“See ya! Tell Kenma I say hey!” she called after him, relaxing into her chair as he left.

Kuroo shut the door to his room, breathing a sigh of relief once he was in the privacy of his own bedroom. If things weren’t awkward before, they would be now.

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

Kuroo went straight to bed when he had arrived home from his night out. He hadn’t seen (Y/n) in the livingroom, so he assumed she had gone to sleep early that night.

The next morning, he woke up to a knocking at his door. He dragged himself out of the warmth of his bed and opened the door to meet the icy daggers (Y/n) was glaring at him.

“Morning...?”

“Are you KittenMaster204?”

Kuroo froze at the mention of the account name he set for the streaming website.

“Uhhh... no?”

(Y/n) crossed her arms and tightened her jaw. “I have a subscriber who’s good with computers. I got curious yesterday and had him trace the IP for that username and this address came up!”

Kuroo couldn’t keep his cheeks from turning a deep shade of red. “Okay, yes. Im KittenMaster204...”

“Ugh! You were watching me yesterday?!” she shrieked, tightening her robe around herself.

Kuroo bit his lip, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I-I couldn’t help it! I clicked on cuz I saw your room looked familiar and then I couldn’t stop watching! It was only yesterday, I swear!”

(Y/n) groaned and blushed darkly, turning away from him. “God! You could have totally not watched!”

“I’m sorry,” he frowned, “Im a weak man... and you’re a beautiful woman. I thought since I paid the full 15 dollar subscription it wouldn’t be too skeevy but it was...”

(Y/n) seemed to perk up for a second and she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Well... it kinda was...”

“Only kinda? I watched you masturbate...”

(Y/n) turned to fully face him, avoiding eye-contact with him. “You did... but you also gave me an idea...”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at her, looking her over as the played with the tie on her silk robe. “Forrrr...?”

“An idea for my 2,000 subscriber special...”

“You have 2,000 subscribers?!”

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

(Y/n) had been moaning away in her room for a while now while Kuroo watched on his laptop in his bedroom. He struggled to keep himself from touching his erection through his sweatpants while he studied the way her chest heaved and her hips jutted while she played with herself.

Then she looked at the camera and licked her lips.

Kuroo sighed deeply before setting the laptop aside and leaving his room. He got over his nerves, took a deep breath, and opened the door to (Y/n)’s room, trying to hold back a laugh as (Y/n) shrieked.

“Toshi! Oh my god!”

Kuroo had made fun of her when she suggested the fake name for him, but he would be lying if he said the roleplaying wasn’t a turnon.

“Ai! What the hell?!” He shouted from his side of the room, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Toshi, out!” she huffed, covering herself with her sheet.

Kuroo took the mask she had left on her dresser and put it on. “What are you doing!” he insisted, moving to the edge of the bed.

(Y/n) squirmed, biting her lip and glancing between him and her webcam. “I’m livestreaming...”

Kuroo looked deep into her eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found none.

“You don’t need any help?” He pressed, pushing off his pants and kicking them aside.

(Y/n) looked him over, pressing her thighs together at the sight of his naked body. “N-No...I can manage...”

Kuroo climbed onto the bed and slowly crawled towards her like a predator stalking his prey. Once he was in view of the webcam, Kuroo grabbed (Y/n) by her ankles and pulled her towards him.

He saw her lips quirk up into a smile for a moment before she pouted at him. “Toshiiii!” she whined, looking at the webcam, “at least let me turn it oooff!”

‘Toshi’ shook his head and took hold of ‘Ai’s’ wrist as she reached for the laptop. He pinned her wrist above her head and steadily ground his hips against hers.

“They get to watch, Ai. You can’t let your fans miss out on the show, can you?”

(Y/n) whined softly and squirmed against him, biting her lip and batting her eyes at him in a plea to continue.

Kuroo slowly leaned down and dragged his tongue up her neck towards her lips, which he captured in a heated kiss. (Y/n) stopped squirming and moaned against his lips, arching into him so the lace of her lingerie brushed against his bare chest.

Kuroo nipped her lip before slowly pulling away, smirking down at her as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Why don’t you show me what you were doing kitten?” he cooed, releasing her wrists and sitting back on his haunches.

(Y/n) shivered at the pet-name while reaching for her long-forgotten vibrator. She turned it on the lowest setting and pressed it to her clit only for Kuroo to snap his fingers in her face.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, “It was higher than that, kitten.” His stern tone sent a jolt of electricity to her clit.

She reluctantly turned up the speed, moaning shakily at the sudden vibrations. Kuroo smirked down at her and slowly ran his slender fingers up her calves and over her thighs, resting them on her hips.

“That’s it, good kitty... Keep working that pussy...” he murmured, his fingers trailing down to her slit.

(Y/n) gasped at the feeling of his fingertips teasing her lips open. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about Kuroo touching her like this. But she never imagined doing it in front of an audience.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Kuroo pressed the tip of his finger inside of her, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. He slowly eased his finger inside of her, then a second finger.

(Y/n) bit her lip to suppress her moans, but Kuroo was having none of that. He took hold of her chin with his free hand and roughly tilted her head to look up at him. “Hide your moans from me again and you’ll get the belt. Got it?”

(Y/n)’s cheeks were on fire. This was heaven. She had died and gone to heaven. That’s what happened.

She moaned at his words, hotter than she had ever moaned on camera. Kuroo brushed his thumb over her lip, pleased with her obedience. He began pumping his fingers into her faster to reward her. “Good kitty...”

(Y/n) moaned louder and began rocking her hips to meet his fingers. Kuroo traced his fingers down her throat and cupped her breast through the thin lace of her lingerie. His fingers teased at her nipple, only pulling away to push the sleeve of her slip down her shoulder to expose her breast.

He leaned down and captured her nipple between his lips, eagerly suckling on her delicate skin and drawing more wild moans from her.

“T-Toshi, I’m so close...” she whined, arching her back and closing her eyes.

Kuroo traced his tongue up her chest, along her throat, and to the shell of her ear. “Master.” He corrected.

“Master...” she sighed, “I’m so close...”

Kuroo gripped her shoulder, holding her in place as he pumped his fingers into her harder. He glanced down at her legs, making sure the webcam had an adequate angle of her pussy.

“You’ve been so good,” he cooed, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and teasing her lips with his. “You have my permission to cum...”

(Y/n)’s eyes flew shut as she came on his fingers, moaning loudly at the feeling of squirting onto his fingers. Kuroo peppered gentle kisses along the curve of her jaw, whispering soft praises only she could hear against her skin.

“Awww, I make my kitten squirt so much. I bet I’m the only man to do that to you, huh?” he purred, laying her on her side.

(Y/n) whined softly and watched as Kuroo grabbed her legs and pulled her against his thighs. He lifted her leg and bent it at the knee, giving him adequate access to her pussy.

He teased his cock against her entrance, sighing at the feeling of her wetness.

“Master pleaaaase go gentle. I’m still sensitive...” she mewled, batting her eyes at him.

Kuroo licked his lips and eased his length into her, earning a long, deep moan from her that was cut off when he had pushed in to his hilt. Kuroo moaned at her tightness and rolled his hips against her, glancing towards the laptop. He smirked at the comments, groaning as (Y/n) seemed to tighten around him once she realized what he was doing.

“They don’t like that I’m doing this to you, kitten.” Kuroo chuckled, slowly rocking in and out of her, his words almost drowned out by (Y/n)’s moans. “Do you like it, kitty?”

(Y/n) gasped as Kuroo gave a solitary snap of his hips, urging her to answer. “F-fuck, I love it! God, no one ever fucks me like this!”

Kuroo smiled evily towards the webcam, happy that the screen cut off the upper half of his head. He looked more threatening that way, in his eyes. “Say it to the camera, kitten.”

(Y/n) looked into the webcam, opening her mouth to speak only to be cut off as Kuroo thrusted into her harder. “F-Fuck! Fuuck! Uuugh! I love it! Fuck! I love it when my roommate fucks me like this!”

Kuroo growled softly, his thrusts getting sloppier by the second.

“Fuck this...”

He pulled out and flipped (Y/n) onto her stomach, then roughly pushed back into her heat.

(Y/n) shrieked and clung to her sheets tightly, arching her back at the feeling of Kuroo filling her pussy completely. Kuroo took hold of her hips and pulled her to meet his hard thrusts, his moans harmonizing with (Y/n)’s.

“Kitten’s so fucking tight... Kitten’s gonna make me cum inside of her...” Kuroo said, earning something between a whine, a moan, and a scream from (Y/n). She buried her head in the covers and screamed shakily.

He smirked and slowed down his thrusts, opting to thrust into her deeper and hit her g-spot. “Ooooo, does kitten want me to cum inside her?” he teased, punctuating every other word with a deep thrust. “Does kitten want master’s cum?”

Kuroo grabbed a fistful of (Y/n)’s hair and lifted her head so she could speak. “If kitten doesn’t speak up, she won’t get master’s cum...” he tsked.

(Y/n) whined shakily, her voice hoarse as she begged. “Pleaaaase, master! Pleaaase! Cum inside meee!”

Kuroo released her head and took hold of her shoulder, digging his fingers into her as he sped up his thrusts. He pulled her to sit up straight, her back flush against his bare chest. Spit dripped past her lips as he took hold of her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

Kuroo pressed a kiss to the shoulder the webcam had no view of. He peppered kisses on her earlobe and whispered against her flesh. “Let go, (Y/n)... I have you...”

(Y/n) let out one more scream as she came on Kuroo’s cock. She gripped his arms and shook hard, whining loudly as he continued thrusting into her.

Kuroo felt his dick twitch inside (Y/n) before he buried himself deep inside her heat and came. He moaned, growled, and cursed as he pulled her body flush against his, emptying himself inside her pussy.

They both sat there, winding down from their orgasms together as the comments section blew up. (Y/n) grew tired of the notification noises and turned off the stream before shutting her laptop.

Kuroo took off her mask before taking off his own. He peppered gentle kisses on her shoulders and the back of her neck before hugging her waist and pulling her to lay down beside him.

“Holy fuck...” he murmured, closing his eyes as (Y/n) cuddled into his side.

“Yeah...” she sighed, “holy fuck...”

Kuroo pulled her into a lazy kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair as he moaned against her lips.

When the two parted, (Y/n) had a coy smile playing on her lips, despite her fatigue. “Can you be a regular on my stream...?”

Kuroo chuckled before planting another kiss on her lips. “Anything for my kitten...”

#Kuroo Tetsurō #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurō x reader #Smut #Kuroo Smut #Kuroo tetsuro smut #Im sweating...

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mouse-fantoms · 4 years ago

Text

An Opening Scene

Read on Ao3!

Basically Jatp is taking too long to be renewed so I’m writing how I’d like the opening scene of season 2 to go and no one can stop me

Another gig at Eats & Beats, was a whole lot better than another gig at their own garage. Ever since the Orpheum, they had been booking more and more gigs, some places even calling them themselves.

Julie was up there, in her element. On stage, playing her keyboard enterance. She was getting lost in the opening part of the song that her and Luke wrote together. The first one they were performing after they wrote Great together. This song especially held a place in her heart because during the writing process she was reminded of the fact that she could now touch her ghosts.

It was after the Orpheum, they had started writing this song. It still seemed like a fever dream, being able to hug and touch and feel the boys… it was a lot in the moment to take in.

Luke had his journal open to a partially blank spread. He had already begun writing a bit of lyric ideas on the page. After a few seconds of pondering if they could expand on any of them, Julie swiped the pen from his hand and began writing lyrics down that had come to her head. It was as they were passing the pen back and forth that she was reminded of the new information. Their fingers would brush passed each other as the pen changed holders. It was a nice refresher that the hugging, them becoming solid, wasn’t just a one time thing. She’d be lying is she said there wasn’t a light blush across her cheeks.

In the crowd, she saw her dad, Carlos and Flynn. Ray was snapping pictures, Carlos was enjoying the performance and Flynn was recording it. It was really nice that her dad knew about her little band now and that he always insisted on coming to their performances.

It wasn’t like every face in the crowd she would recognize. But the ones from school would stand out. Recognizing some of their faces as ones she’d see in the hallways. It could have been the stage lighting but she found herself staring at one audience member more than the others. The strawberry blonde wavy hair was familiar. Like if you were to put a pink wig on her she’d-

The audiences woah’s of amazement from seeing her boys’ entrance brought her back to the stage. She grabbed her mic and went to the center of the stage. Singing her part as her boys played their backup vocals then Luke taking the lead when it was his turn.

Ever since Stand Tall she was adamant about writing in more solos for Alex and Reggie in their music. Reggie didn’t seem to mind but Alex still needed some more convincing.

“You and Luke already kill it on your own.” She recalled him saying.

“We’d kill it even more if we add your voice into the mix!” She had answered.

Reggie had run it by her that Alex wasn’t one to “own his awesomeness” as he put it. She was optimistic that the drummer would come around eventually though.

For this gig, it was Julie and Luke doing their same Julie and Luke thing during the song. They so easily got lost in their own music. Hopefully her dad didn’t pay too close of attention to the mic sharing... that happened several times. It wasn’t her fault! He did the head nod! One had to come to him when he did that. However one of the times, he got a taste of his own medicine. His flushed face engraved in her mind forever. If he was doing things that weren’t in the rehearsal... it was fair game for her. It was of course all in good fun. It always was when all of them were on stage.

She finished off the last note, getting a roar of applause for her vibrato even before she was done. The standing ovation felt good. As soon as they all bowed her boys played their disappearing act and she said into the mic, “Tell your friends!” Getting the last claps and whistles of enthusiasm as she came off the side of the stage, she was immediately embraced.

“That was-!” Ray couldn’t find the words to describe his excitement as his chin was burrowed into his daughter’s curls.

“You don’t have to hug me after every performance.” She laughed.

A voice piped in, “Surprised you don’t do it.” She looked and saw the boys behind Flynn and Carlos. Alex’s tease was directed at Luke who was next to him then Reggie after him.

“Oh arh, arh.” Luke mocked laughter.

“Probably does it all the time during their writing sessions.” Reggie guessed.

“That is a good point they are in those quite a-”

“Really? We’re discussing this right now?” He didn’t seem to be a fan of his relationship with Julie being discussed when she’s feet away and present in the room.

Ray released his daughter. “She’d be so proud.”

She matched his warm smile, nodding, “...She would.”

“I should probably get some more pictures outside to show the venue.” He held up the camera in his hand then disappeared to gather his pictures. Thus, she was left with Flynn and Carlos along with the boys behind them. She noticed Flynn’s phone horizontal in her hand.

“Did you get it?”

“Every second!” She shook the phone for effect. “Again, doing really good on the whole eye contact thing.”

She rolled her eyes.

Carlos couldn’t help but notice the mic shares,“Was that the song I heard you up writing?”

“You heard us?” It was more so a statement than a question.

“You and your boyfriend aren’t necessarily quiet.”

“Carlos!” She began to scold, opening her palms in frustration. No matter how many times she would tell her brother Luke’s name, he still insisted on calling him ‘her boyfriend’.

Of course, he did it when Luke just so happened to be in the room one time. Before Luke.exe could fully combust, she explained that it’s just a little brother thing and that she’s sorry he does it.

Flynn put their hands on Carlos’ shoulders behind him. “Why don’t we go help your dad with those pictures?” She suggested.

“Hey Flynn,” Julie called before she left with her brother, “...you didn’t happen to see someone from school here did you? When you were recording?” She wondered if she was the only one who might have seen the strawberry blonde. Plus, Flynn of all people would notice the strawberry blonde in the crowd.

“Oh you saw the sweetheart too?” She smiled before she left with Carlos.

Sweetheart? Why did-? Well maybe she was. It had been a bit since-

“Boyfriend?” Alex was hung up on Carlos’ nickname for Luke.

“Since when did that little name start?” Reggie seemed just as intrigued as Alex was as both looked at Luke for a response.

“It’s nothing boys.” He put his palms up in defense. “It’s just a little nickname he has for me, probably has them for all of us.” His eyes looked across at Julie to help his case.

She, however, gave a smiled light shake of the head left to right which did not help his case at all.

“Oh well I-“ before Luke could try to continue to defend his case, with the questioned looks of Alex and Reggie staring him down, he was interrupted.

“Molina!” The smiley blonde unawarely interrupted the ghost via by standing right in front of Julie, where the ghosts were gathered.

“Oh!” Said an open mouthed Julie. “Nick! You’re here!”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss a performance!”

“A fan?” Reggie smirked and crossed his arms, pushing his head back for a moment.

“Pff.” Luke responded, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the sweetheart that Flynn meant.” She realized what she said out loud. “Not that you’re not just that I thought she meant someone else.” She tried to save herself.

“You guys were just as good as when you were at the Orpheum.”

“Oh you were there?” Julie cocked her head curious.

He nodded. “Of course! I couldn’t miss Julie and her band at the Orpheum of all places. How’d you get that gig anyway?”

“Oh you know… they needed someone to fill in for Downslide, must have seen our video of Great and happened to call the right number.”

“You were amazing.” He spoke with high praise.

“Well, my band makes me amazing.” She had to give credit where credit was due.

“Your guys were insane as always!”

“I like this fan of ours.” Alex beamed.

“Your drummer and bassist were-“ he was interrupting his words trying to form the right ones to describe the two.

“Can see why you know him Julie. He’s good company.” Reggie recalled her saying his name earlier, which implied she knew him.

“Pff.” Luke let out a huff of air from his mouth that blew his bangs up for a moment. “‘Your drummer this, your bassist that.’” He mocked.

“Oh is Lukey upsetty he didn’t get a compliment?” Alex teased.

“But oh my god your guitarist!” The ghosts and Julie were suddenly very intrigued by Nick’s words. “Those riffs! Those chords! I- Wow.” He let out breathless.

“Yeah, he sure is something.” Julie found a response to Nick’s enthusiasm. “Thank you for coming and glad you liked us. There’s more to come where that came from.”

“I bet. Pretty soon you’ll have flowers and encores getting thrown at you guys.”

She laughed. “You can dream.”

“You guys are insanely talented Molina.” Nick left her with a final compliment and disappeared into the crowd.

“He was nice.” Reggie said once Nick left and Julie looked at her boys.

“He complimented all of us.” Alex appreciated.

“‘Those riffs.’ What does that mean? What does he even know?” Meanwhile Luke was stuck on the compliment he got.

Julie shook her head at the stumped Luke finding him humorous.

~~~

“What does that even mean?”

“Are you still hung up on Nick’s compliment?”

It was just before noon, Luke was sat on top of the kitchen counter, his legs hung over the edge, as Julie happened to be making her lunch beside him.

“What does he even know?”

“He does play guitar.”

“Huh?”

“Nick plays guitar… that explains why he was so impressed with your playing especially.”

“Impressed? By me?”

“Nick complimented you. Take it as it is. When Sunset Curve played gigs, didn’t you guys get compliments all the time?”

His mouth knotted to one side, recalling. “We never stuck around that much after we’d play, there was always another one in line after us.”

“Then... I guess get used to them. We get comments all the time on our performances on YouTube.”

She looked up from making her sandwich at Luke to see his questioned look at the mention of something internet related.

“People like us.” She translated in terms he’d understand.

She saw him nod understanding then resumed her sandwich making.

Luke continued to be in his seat at the counter, Julie continued her sandwich making even when Carlos came into the kitchen.

“Kids and their technology.” Luke said at the sight of Carlos with his eyes glued to his tablet as he got leftover from the fridge as his meal of choice for lunch.

He put the leftover on the island and went to the drawer that was by Julie. His eyes came off the tablet when the drawer wouldn’t open.

“Huh?” He set the device down on the counter space behind him and tried to pull the drawer again.

“Julie help, it’s not opening.” He requested.

“Luke move.” She instead instructed. “Move so Carlos can get his silverware please.”

Carlos saw as the open jar by Julie’s sandwich making station suddenly almost tipped over but she caught it in time. She looked aggravated at the air beside her.

“Get off the counter please.”

“He’s on the counter?”

“He was.” She corrected. “Now try.”

He was able to open the drawer and get his wanted utensil with no difficulty this time.

“I’m no fun by asking you to move out of the way so my brother can get a fork?” She did an about face apparently talking to air.

“Okay…” He grabbed his meal and tablet off the counter, fork in hand that took more than needed time to get. “I’ll just leave you and your-” She shot him a glare knowing what words he was about to refer to Luke as. “You and your ghost to it.” He corrected.

He headed out the kitchen and into the living room. He was ready to plop himself on to the couch when Ray called from the computer.

“Carlos…” he said suspicious, “do you mind looking at these pictures for a second? I know your sister has a better eye for stuff like this but you’re right here.”

He set his items on the coffee table for a moment and went over to the computer to see what his dad wanted.

“These are from the other day.” He cycled through the pictures he had taken of his daughter’s gig.

Pictures of moments before she was on stage, when she was on stage at the keyboard, a few shots of the line outside the venue, just a supportive dad cycling through the pictures he had of his daughter’s gig.

“They all look pretty good.” Carlos saw nothing wrong with the images.

“Thanks but then,” he clicked on the mouse and the image flipped to one of the band, “there’s this one. It turned out… weird.”

The image was of Julie on stage, like the others, except it was only of Julie when Ray for sure knew it was one of when the band all was on stage. She had taken the microphone off the stand and gone to the center when the boys materialized on stage, like they did whenever they showed up all the previous times. Except, there was no guitarist, bassist or drummer, there were three floating orbs in their place.

“Doesn’t it kind of look like the pictures I took in the garage that one day? What did you say it was? Ghosts?” He tried to recalled.

“Maybe you need to check the lense on the camera.” He had to cover for his sister. She specifically instructed that no one else must know about the boys. If Ray did find out, she might blame him for blabbing he secret. “Didn’t we get rid of the ghost when he had his French dip recipe?”

“Aren’t you the ghost expert?” He started to become more and more suspicious.

“Yes.” He immediately answered. “As the ghost expert, when we had the French dip pretty sure we completed the ghost’s unfinished business. You probably just need to check the lense on your camera.”

He watched his son leave it at that and plop on the couch, finding it a little off that Carlos, of all people, dismissed his ghost claim. The pictures were more odd when seeing the video Flynn posted of their performance, the boys showed up fine.

Was it only in pictures when they showed up as orbs, which coincidentally looked like ghost orbs? Did the hologram making gimmicks do that? If they were holograms wouldn’t they show up on camera, not as orbs? Come to think of it, why was her band called Julie and the Phantoms, as in ghosts, to begin with? The more questions that swirled in his head, the more it hurt.

“How long has he played? How’d he learn? Does he-”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Nick?” She let out a laugh finding Luke humorous again.

“Can’t I be interested in your friends?”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

His face dropped. “That’s not what I- I didn’t mean-” he cleared his throat trying to separate the misunderstanding of words, “I mean you know…” the wood floor of her kitchen suddenly seemed more appealing to the eyes, “a ghost and lifer… that wouldn’t really-“

“Yeah…” Julie trailed off understanding his words exactly. He looked back up at her. “It would definitely be an interesting little relationship.” The smiles were like the ones they shared when he first said that to her, warm and tender.

“So how long has he played?” He cut the moment off.

She rolled her eyes, smile on her face though. “I don’t know. Maybe as long as you. It would add to the two of you getting along factor.”

“Really? You think?”

“Yeah you both are kind of really similar.” She topped her sandwich off with a piece of bread and brought the plate over to the table, leaving Luke still in the kitchen.

“Wait,” he realized, “you’re not just saying that because of the bangs and guitar right?”

“No.” She let out. Or because of how I like/liked both of you. ...Maybe she had a type now that she thought about it. “You both-“

Her sentence was cut off by the doorbell ringing.

“I got it.” She called to her dad and brother if they happened to move to get the door, sliding out of the chair at the table.

“We’re both what?” Luke asked from the kitchen as she went to get the door not wanting to be left on a cliffhanger.

“You two are caring and extremely passionate about the things you love. You both are totally sweethearts too.”

“Oh.” He nodded as she grabbed the front door’s handle. “Wait? Sweetheart?”

She gave him a simple smile, he thought he saw a possible blush that matched the shade of her dress too. The simple coral dress that had black buttons up the front of it. She turned her head back to the front door when she opened it.

“Hi! Nick!” She greeted.

From where he was in the kitchen, Luke could see Nick turn his head, his blonde bangs moved with the turn, at Julie. Then he saw him hand a bouquet of blush flowers to her.

“Thanks.” She smiled when she received his flowers. “Why don’t you come in?” She invited the boy in as her ghost one was in the kitchen, anxious to see how this interaction would go between Julie and Nick while he was present. It would definitely be an interesting one, but for reasons neither would understand just yet. The perfect set up for another part of the story that had yet to be told.

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