#heartbreak sucks but it’ll pass

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 4

Self control? I don’t know her😂

pulling heartbreak out of hats

It’s been three weeks since your conversation. You see Dr. Sharon twice a week, mainly because Jamie kept badgering you about setting up an appointment. It’s not easy, sure, but your sessions are at the end of the day so if you’re too emotionally drained to drive, Jamie takes you home. 

You’ve started going to his games. You kind of went before, but it’s different now. You’re invested in what’s happening and you’re in your Tartt jersey that Jamie dropped on your head one evening when you walked in the door.

He had been waiting for you at the top of the stairs, so he was ready as soon as he heard your key turn in the lock.

It made you giggle and he kissed you once he got to the foot of the stairs, shirt wrapped around your shoulders like a scarf.

“You’re gonna look so fucking fit with my number,” he had said between kisses.

So now you’re at a game with red and blue streaks in your hair, yelling as Jamie scores an equalizer. He’s doing a little victory lap with his tongue out, the rest of Richmond piling onto him. He’s blowing a kiss to the crowd, except it’s not to the crowd, is it? It’s at your section which means it’s a kiss for you, and you’re so happy you feel like you could explode.

You tell him that night when you’re out celebrating with the team.

He’s grinning and you’re grinning and he’s kissing you like there’s no tomorrow in the middle of a crowded club. Ted notices and wolf-whistles, catching the attention of the rest of the time who join in with the hooting. 

You’re not even a little embarrassed.

—

You’ve discovered you sleep better in a bed that has Jamie in it. He has a habit of washing his hands with warm water before climbing in next to you. It’s a habit you didn’t notice for the longest time but when you finally did, it felt like something inside you was snapping back into place.

His arms feel safe, and you don’t dream when he’s with you. Or if you do, it’s of something pleasant and indiscernible. 

You can’t be with him every night, which is why he shows up to your house one Saturday morning lugging a giant cardboard box with a bow haphazardly taped to the top.

“It’s for when I’m gone,” he says as you slice open the tape to reveal a fluffy weighted blanket. “Got your initials on it and everything.”

It was a great Saturday. You’d gone to the Green to kick around a football and “help” Jamie with drills. It mostly consisted of you yelling, “Faster, Tartt!” while he smiled and puffed. Your favorite was pushups, because you sat on his back and counted. On the way home, he’d held your hand and swung it back and forth while listening to you chatter about your sessions with Dr. Sharon. You’re getting better.

Life has slipped into a nice routine. You work Monday through Friday, go to Jamie’s matches on the weekends, and spend most nights together at his house. 

It’s still just sleeping and there’s still a part of you that doesn’t believe Jamie when he says he’ll take it as slow as you want. You tell Dr. Sharon which starts a whole discussion about trust and you leave feeling better, but as soon as you’re home alone the intrusive thoughts start again. You begin to wonder why Jamie’s even with you. 

—

Jamie can tell something’s off. Your smiles haven’t quite been meeting your eyes, and your hugs are less enthusiastic. He’s seen it before in past relationships, hell he’s been the one in past relationships. The one to lose interest. He can feel it in the way you’re never really listening to what he says, the way you decline dinner invitations, and avoid him at work. He tells Roy and Roy says, “Just fucking talk to her.” That’s too scary, so he tells Ted. Ted always has good advice. Ted says, “Just talk to her, son. Communication is key,” so maybe Roy’s advice was good and Jamie just needs to suck it up and bite the bullet. He decides he will because this relationship is worth it, you’re worth it; with the way you make him laugh and listen to him and actually care about things. Or, you used to. Whatever’s going on, he’s going to fix it.

—

You’re at Jamie’s house, picking at some takeout. He’s talking about the upcoming match but it just sounds like static. You’re preoccupied with thoughts of models, actresses, and/or singers Jamie could date. You’re sure Keeley could set him up with someone so he won’t be alone when you’re gone.

Because that’s what’s happening. Jamie doesn’t even get a chance to ask you what’s wrong because as soon as he finishes his story about how Dani and Jan Maas ate so many kebabs they puked, you’re telling him that it’s over in a monotone voice. He says, “I don’t understand,” and you say, “I know.”

He says, “I love you,” and you force yourself to shrug although your mind is screaming at you to say it back. To tell him that you’re just scared. That you feel you don’t deserve his love, and that you’re going to lose it eventually, so why not get it over with now?

“It’s just not working,” you say and Jamie asks, “What’s not working? I’ll fix it, just tell me what it is.”

You shake your head and say, “I should go.”

You don’t sleep that night. 

You don’t want to see Jamie, so you sit on the back steps instead of the front. It’s not the same because you can’t see the sunrise and it feels too grey, too sterile. You wonder if you should move.

Table of Contents

[meowdarame]

the fool | haruchiyo sanzu

pairing: haruchiyo sanzu x f!reader (she/her pronouns used)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, ANGST ANGST ANGST, non-explicit sex, drug and alcohol usage, cursing, heavy themes of addiction

notes: i’m so fucking sad so i wrote this LMAO. but hey at least i’m channeling negative feelings into a healthy outlet, right? as always, likes and reblogs are super appreciated!

beta-reader: @christeningsakusa

the one thing that haruchiyo hates the most about himself is how he doesn’t allow the things that should hurt to cause him pain.

every tear that rolls down his wet cheeks has to be covered up with a fake smile, the two scars that frame the corners of his mouth curling upwards and pointing to the night sky. every pang that his heart feels or negative thought that passes through his mind is masked by a joke— always one that makes light of the situation that’s troubling him.

it’s an awful way to live, and it’s definitely caused a lot of strife within himself and his relationships. his friends don’t take his problems seriously, but honestly, how could they? he won’t even let himself process his emotions fully, much less tell the people he loves how he really feels.

and so, haruchiyo falls back on the only things he knows— using drugs and humor to cope with the ache that he feels deep within his chest.

“so, i was driving down the street today, right? nearby her house,” sanzu says after snorting white powder off of a tiny metal spoon. he flicks the tips of his nose with his thumb before adding on, “and i swear to god there was a lady walking down the street that looked exactly like her. had the same cute lil walk and everything— with her knees pointing outwards, making it look like she’s waddling like a little penguin.” he chuckles softly to himself when he remembers the first time he pointed it out to you, which resulted in you punching his chest and dodging his kisses for the next hour.

“you’re probably just seeing things,” rindou says nonchalantly, grabbing the lighter from sanzu’s other hand to light a cigarette. “you guys just broke up and you miss her, so it makes sense that you see her everywhere.”

“i agree with rin,” ran butts in. taking a swig from the aged scotch he’d been sipping on all night, he adds on, “when my ex-girl and i broke up, i couldn’t step foot into one of our night clubs in roppongi— it was her favorite place to go. too many bad memories associated with that place, so i had rindou collect the financial reports from that place by himself for a few months. you remember that, lil bro?” he nudges his younger brother, some of the dark liquor spilling onto the couch in the process, and it makes rindou hiss.

“how could i forget? you still owe me half of your salary for that month, remember?” the purple-haired man takes one final pull from his cigarette before smothering it in the ashtray. “breakups suck, haru, but you’ll get over it eventually. just takes time,” he emphasizes his last sentence by kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head.

of course the “resident pretty boy bachelor” who’s never experienced true heartbreak gives such nonchalant advice, sanzu thinks to himself, dismayed. figures.

“you know,” ran adds on, clapping his heavy palm on sanzu’s shoulder. “they say the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else. why don’t you try it?”

“you don’t think it’s too soon? it’s only been a few weeks…” haruchiyo asks, but ran immediately waves the thought away. “nah, i think it’ll be good for you! you’ll get to see what’s out there, maybe even find a new person to occupy your time.”

sanzu nods his head a few times, registering the words of supposed wisdom that his friend imparted onto him.

ran haitani is a lot of things— prideful, extravagant, and (at times) idiotic— but sanzu would have never taken him for a liar.

well, ran did lie, because it is way too early for haruchiyo to be sleeping with a new person. and now, he feels like utter shit.

as he ties up and disposes the used condom, haruchiyo scolds himself for his lapse in judgement. occupy my time? more like waste my time.

his coping mechanism for the night is a sweet, pretty college-aged girl whose company he would have enjoyed otherwise in any other circumstance. but right now, the only thought plaguing his mind is how she’s not you. how nobody can ever compare to you.

she tries to plant one last kiss on his lips which he swiftly dodges, outstretching his arm behind her and grabbing his car keys. he leaves without uttering another word to her, instead choosing to solemnly bow his head out of respect. as he exits the front door of the lavish hotel room, he notices the way that her eyes narrow slightly at him, studying him as if he were a specimen underneath a microscope— the same way that yours did whenever you knew something was wrong but haruchiyo wouldn’t fess up.

is he really that easy to read? he asks himself as he places his key into the ignition.

knock. knock. knock.

the dark oak doors that once signified warmth now feel cold against his knuckles. he waits a minute, reflecting on tonight’s decisions that led him to your front porch. just as he’s about to give up and walk away, he hears shuffling on the other side of the doorway.

“haruchiyo?” your sleepy form asks, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hand.

haruchiyo, huh? he laments. no longer “haru,” or “babe,” or “my love.” hell, he would’ve even preferred “sanzu” instead of his full first name. but “haruchiyo”— it exists in a liminal space, a plane between familiarity and distance, a hallmark of lovers that once were but are no longer.

“what are you doing here?” you add on, this time with more alertness in your voice upon realizing that your ex-boyfriend is at your front door. “are you in trouble?”

“no, no,” he assures you, taking his hands out of his pockets and raising them up, a sign of his sincerity. “just missed you, that’s all.”

you groan and throw your head back. “you know, phones exist, right? you could just call me instead of waking me up at 3 in the fucking morning.”

“i wanted to see your face.”

“facetime exists.”

sanzu sighs internally. you’ve always been so hardheaded, borderline bratty. he loved it throughout the duration of your relationship, but now it poses a formidable barrier. he knows that there’s no way to get through to you, so he decides to do something that he rarely ever does— he’s honest with you, and in turn, honest with himself.

“i thought i saw you today,” haruchiyo begins, and you lean against your door frame, amused by the abrupt subject change.

“couldn’t be me,” you assert, crossing your arms. “didn’t leave my house once today.”

“i know it wasn’t you,” he interrupts, slightly frustrated by your combatant remark. “i just thought it was you. but anyways, can i at least tell you my thoughts?”

you motion your hand out, signaling for him to continue on. sanzu takes a deep breath, letting the frosty winter air fill his lungs.

“i’m sorry,” he exhales. “i’m sorry for hurting you. i’m sorry for putting myself above you and fucking everything up. i’m sorry for not being more of a man for you.”

a weak “haru” slips past your lips but sanzu forges on. “i promise i’ll change— i’ll get the help i need, i’ll go to therapy, i’ll get clean. please, just give me the fucking chance and i’ll prove to you that i’m not a lost cause.”

“haru.”

ah, there it is again, sanzu thinks to himself. the nickname that he’s grown to love— mainly because you were the one who gave it a new meaning for him so many years ago. he’s hopeful as he waits for your response.

but hope has proven to be such a fickle thing in haruchiyo’s life. a double-edged sword— the rosy picture of a future with you is what keeps him pushing forward, but it’s also what’s holding him back.

“are you high again?”

his jaw goes slack at your question. “n-no,” he stutters, heat creeping up in his face and static dizzying his mind. “i mean, i did do a bump at the club but that was hours ago. i’m sober now baby, i-i promise.” he reaches out to grab your hand, but you retract and pull it back, stepping further back into your home.

“i don’t believe you. the haru i know would never be able to say these things to me sober,” you choke out; it’s clear that you’re on the brink of tears, but mustering up every ounce of strength in you, your hand wraps around your door, bony knuckles peeking out through your skin.

“i promise you that i’m trying to change!” haruchiyo pleads, but to no avail. you’ve already made up your mind.

“yea? then prove it to me,” you say, almost shutting the door completely. but before you close it fully, your somber face peeks out through a little slit in the doorway, voice now significantly meeker than before.

“i miss you too, and i want to see you get better. i just don’t know if i could put myself through the pain of watching the man i love endanger his life every fucking night.” you sniffle and hic, hot tears now streaming down your face. “text me when you get home so that i know you’re safe.”

the door slams in haruchiyo’s face, and that’s when a realization hits him— you still love him, and you always have. it’s just that he doesn’t deserve your love.

sanzu’s ride home is unusually quiet— no loud music blaring in the background, no lit cigarette between his fingers. just his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, nails digging into his palms and threatening to draw blood.

he texts you a quick ‘home’ before shutting off his phone and tossing it onto his couch. legs giving out, sanzu falls onto his hardwood floors on all fours, hands and knees planted firmly on the ground as he feels like his heart is collapsing into itself.

he wants to break down, to sob and throw things, to punch holes in the wall. he wants to have an outburst— to channel all the anger, pain, and frustration he feels. but he can’t bring himself to do it.

and so, just to keep himself from crying, he does the only other thing he knows how to do.

he laughs.

tagging: @bxnten @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey @ohtobiors @frenchtoastmafia @miya-dynasty @sabyss @rinsie @chaotic-fangirl-blog @semisgroupie @portfolio-of-dreams @withlovetengen @momoewn + @shibuyawardnetwork

[spookysmujer]

Piensa En Mi, O. Diaz

Summary: The relationship with you and Oscars suddenly ends after he gets locked up. Now it’s 4 years later..

warnings: HELLA angst, heartbreak 

word count: 1.9K

a/n: I had an itch to write today, thank you for requesting babes! Sorry it took this long to get done. I hope everyone is doing okay these days. PSA: Stop the hate against Asians! Speak up for our brothers and sisters, please. I love you all! Please consider: following, heart/comment/reblog my content! Thank you <)

Requested by @boujee-bitches!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes)

You can remember the day you realized just how much you were in love with Oscar Diaz. It was a few months into dating, he had been in and out of town on Santo business, and yet still was able to check in with you. He even sent you doordash multiple times. And in that one moment, as the doordash driver stood at your door, carrying a bag of your favorite pastrami sub, you truly felt your heart bleed for Oscar. The feelings entirely mutual with him. You can remember that exact moment you felt it, just as you remember the moment your heart had been ripped away. 

The consequence of having such a pristine memory is the ability to remember not only the good days but the hurtful ones as well. Now, after years of being with Oscar, he’s gone. Things had been going so well with the Santos and moving up in the ranks for him. Then in a matter of seconds, all that changed. The moment those handcuffs linked his wrists together behind his back as he was  whisked away in the back of the patrol car was the day everything changed.

Change. 

They always say that change is a good thing. But whoever they are, they were wrong. Change is malicious, it’s life-consuming and does nothing but harm. In the beginning you were confident everything would be okay. Nothing could break this man, he has been through the highest highs and the lowest lows. He has endured things as a young child that no child should. Even when the judge has sentenced him to 8 years, the look he gave you said: It’ll be okay, mamas.

For the first few months, things were good. The money he would send to you, you’d put on his books regardless of his wishes for you not to do so. The phone calls that didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to. And the letters, even if you talked on the phone and visited him often, Oscar still wrote you letters, and he always drew something for you. 

But it began to get difficult. When school started up in the fall, your full-time job and now taking care of his younger brother, you started to miss calls, needed to reschedule visits. And when you would answer, Oscar would give you the cold shoulder. He realized that you were beating yourself up for trying to juggle everything. He hated himself for making you so stressed just to make it to him. So on a surprise call that you weren’t expecting, he broke it to you that dating while he is incarcerated is foolish of you. It’s a waste of your time. Please take care of yourself and Cesar, we’ll see where we are when I’m out. But for now, it’ll be just me.

That day replays in your mind. No more calls, rejected visits, ghost letters. It felt like he died, though you would have been notified of it if that was the case. But that was 4 years ago, everything had changed and according to Cesar, it’s about to change again.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You ask, after holding your breath. Spooky gets out tomorrow. 

Cesar shovels the rest of his cereal in his mouth and gulps down the remaining milk, rushing around the kitchen and gathering his school things, “Oscar. He gets out tomorrow. His sentence reduced to half the time, remember the hearing they had last week?”

Whenever Cesar would talk about his older brother, you would tune it out. Oscar breaking up with you over the phone without a thorough reason, then dropping you as a person all together really broke you beyond repair. But you had no choice but dust off your shoulders and keep going. 

You hum and nod, packing your lunch.Without saying anything else, you head back to your room to get your things ready for work. As you pass by the room that Cesar had taken residency in, you notice the packed bags. “Cesar!” 

But by the time you make it back to the kitchen, he has already left out the door. Was he about to leave? Did he want out now that Oscar will be out? Though the idea was to care for Cesar while his brother was locked up, to know he is already ready to up and leave, hurts you. But you shake it off, Oscar is coming home, shit. 

Your day goes by painstakingly slow. All you could think about is how it would go when you’d see him again, how will you feel? What about him, what will he feel?

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Cesars voice sounds from across the table, the two of you enjoying some take-out. The day has gone from slower than a sloth to as quick as sonic the hedgehog.

He stares at you, waiting for you to respond. “Now that Oscar is getting out, it’s time for you to head on back home. Yeah, I heard you. Just sucks is all, I feel like my daily routine will be all messed up.” You joke to which he grins at. 

The next day comes by in a blink of an eye. Here you are leaning against your car that is parked in front of Oscars house. You can’t bring yourself to walk up those stairs and face him. But he hasn’t exited the house yet, you wonder if he even will. After Cesar gets the last bag is when you hear the front door. He makes his way towards you, your breath getting stuck in your airways. 

Cesar hugs you and thanks you again, you squeeze him and ask that he doesn’t be a stranger. Then there stood, you and Oscar. He stares at you for a long moment, studying you. It’s been nearly 4 years since he’s seen you. You are the same with little differences here and there, “You finally pierced your nose.” He points out. 

You purse your lips and nod, scoffing and looking him in the eyes, “Almost 1,300 days of not talking to me and seeing me…. And my nose ring is the first thing you say to me?” 

It wasn’t the plan to argue, you wanted to ask him to be kind to Cesar and take care of him then be on your merry way. But being in his physical presence now, it’s made your blood boil. How could he stand there like nothing had happened between you? The history you two have was an epic love and heartbreak but by the look on his face, it’s as if you are a stranger in passing. 

He licks his bottom lip and digs his hands into his shorts pockets, “What you want me to say? I said all I needed to that day on the phone.”

Your arms uncross from over your chest and your mouth falls slightly open. But before you can let out the rage that’s been building up continuously over the years, “I miss you, querida.” He watches your face contort to confusion then back to anger. He nearly smiles to see that you are still the hot head you’ve always been.

The words weren’t coming out as you wanted them to. All you could do was stomp past him to leave but he grabs your upper arm to stop you. You look down to where his hand wraps around your arm then up to his eyes, the look you give him is loud enough for him to let go.

“Can you just listen to me? You think I wanted to break things off? That it didn’t hurt me just as much as it hurt you?” Oscar begins, standing directly in front of you and slightly craning his head down. “I fucking hated that I did that to you, mami. The last thing I want in this world is not being with you, to cause you pain and to have done that when I was locked up? I hated it. Every single day. But I needed to do it because all I was doing was holding you back. I couldn’t bare knowing that I was making your life hard.”

An eruption of laughter sounds from you, you hold your stomach and one hand clamped over your mouth, hunching over from how hilarious you find his last sentence. Though anyone else hearing it wouldn’t really laugh, seeing as it wasn’t a funny statement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But do you hear yourself? You thought breaking up would be better. I don’t know if there was ever a time during our relationship prior that I made you feel I couldn’t handle something like you being locked up, I am terribly sorry if I had but I thought I proved to you that I was more than in love with you, I was hopelessly devoted to you, I was willing to endure it all, every call or visit. I was ready to work hard to make sure you could make tienda… but what did I do or what did I say to make you think otherwise?”

Oscar feels the chains on his heart tighten with every word you say. He doesn’t know what hurts him more, the break-up or now knowing how worthless it made you feel. He knows you are an understanding person, but his intentions didn’t settle as he hoped it would. 

It takes all his might to resist pulling you into a hug, With how you reacted to his touch just moments ago, he knows a hug would only result in profanities being spewed out. As if a hug could magically glue the pieces back together and fix it all. “You didn’t do shit wrong, Y/N. You were the epitome of a down ass girl. But all I could see was the tiredness in your face when you would visit me because you were playing mother to Cesar meanwhile trying to juggle everything else. Trying to make sure you would always come to see me… so I thought ending everything would be better, I thought you would be better off.”

The rage and ache in your heart fights against each other. He is saying one thing but to you its processing as nothing but an excuse. You want to yell and thrash your fists against his chest so he can feel just a sliver of what you went through. 

“I was better off with you. It didn’t matter to me what we were going through Oscar… If it was something joyous or something scrutinizing, as long it was with you and we were together, I wanted it all with you. I was ready to go through this journey with you. But you just gave up on us like that.” You snap your fingers and blink away the tears that had begun pooling for sometime now. His shoulders cave in and he dips his head down, unable to keep his eyes locked onto yours. 

“Give me a chance to prove that I haven’t given up on you or us.”

You wanted to laugh again. To point and scream how silly he sounds and to catch the circus act before they leave town but the way he says it is the reason you didn’t. How low his voice is, how soft his eyes are and his walls had dropped to below sea level is what made you stand so incredibly still.

Do you take the chance? Should push aside all the vines and roots that have grown over the chest labeled: Oscar, to let him in again? 

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl​ @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @prettymya3 @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby  @angelxfics  @spookysbabymama @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @morenokatt @gltrpzy (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

[personasintro]

sucker (m.) | pjm

❥𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin. Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

❥𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut, angst, vampire au, horror au (?), vampire!jimin x human!reader, supernatural au

❥𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language, smut; slight biting, oral sex [man receiving], fingering, penetration, unprotected & rough sex, slight dom!jimin, death & mentions of death, blood, mentions of alcohol

❥𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 10.9k+ 

𝒂/𝒏: I got this story idea after halloween and this is the first time I've written a vampire au, so I really hope you'll like it, this is something new for me but was so much fun to write!! banner by @dee-ehn​ (thank you luv, you did an amazing job!!)

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  | © 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

Frat parties aren’t usually Jimin’s go-to place but considering the sudden circumstances, he had to agree and couldn't say no to his friend who had chosen the most overcrowded party. In other cases, Jimin would’ve chosen somewhere less crowded but enough to blend with his surroundings. Although, Taehyung deserves a few points for thinking this out considering today’s theme is Halloween. There’s no need to hide anything, especially their appearance that still doesn’t seem as weird as people dressed as pumpkin and other weird costumes. Just as a young male passes by, obviously dressed as Dracula while wearing a cheap cape, his friend snorts under his breath but Jimin can hear him perfectly.

“Horrendous,” Taehyung comments, scoffing at the guy that’s too preoccupied with a girl clinging to his side dressed as something both of them can’t recognize. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” he grins, licking his bottom lip before they make their way into the huge house full of drunk people.

It’ll be hard to find someone sober or not drunk enough, Jimin thinks while his eyes scan the entire room.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung slaps his hands over Jimin’s shoulders while he clutches them but his friend barely reacts, already used to Taehyung's rough hands and strength. “Try to have fun.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, still looking around to map out the whole room almost as if he’s waiting for something to happen. He knows nothing will, none of these people are ready for tonight and are completely clueless. Sometimes, he wonders how it’d feel like to just let loose and drink alcohol like every other person here. Loud rap music boosts against the walls, barely good enough music to dance to, but it seems nobody cares about that and dance no matter how ridiculous they look. A group of young girls pass by them, one in particular eyeing Taehyung as she winks at him, giving him a hint that even she doesn’t know about.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Taehyung grins, slapping Jimin’s shoulder with enthusiasm from receiving attention even though he barely came in. “Two hours?” he asks, slowly backing away from Jimin’s figure who responds with a short but firm nod.

Sighing, with Taehyung no longer in sight, he forces his legs to move through the crowd which is just bunch of drunk college students. It’s hard to blend, especially if he’s the only one sober out of everyone. He walks through the house, not particularly knowing where he’s going since he has no idea where he is. This is his first time here — probably last too. They never come back, not even once. They always just move on and plan things together, with Taehyung. Somehow, his legs lead him to a kitchen, less preoccupied room with an exception since there are still some people sucking their mouths off. Jimin’s nose scrunches in a slight disgust at the smell of alcohol, knowing that it’s just the picky side of him.

Taehyung had been in charge of tonight’s plans, it makes sense this plan sucks. Jimin doesn’t like it here but it’ll have to do. His sharp eyes dance across the room, nose softly sniffling as a sweet scent fills it and then he sees something. Something that looks much more interesting than anything he could’ve seen here so far.

You.

In other scenarios, you’d probably spend your Friday night differently than in a frat house full of people you don’t know. That wouldn’t even be such a bad thing, if your friend didn’t bail on you because her ex wanted to talk. You’re not mad, you’re just annoyed that you’ve been standing here for the past fifteen minutes watching couples make out, while third guy tried flirt with you. May you add, completely wasted where you could smell the alcohol on their breath. That’s enough to make you not interested and disgusted at the same time. When another guy dressed like Joker tries to talk to you, you ignore him and tell him to fuck off. You’re not rude, not all the time. But it’s only natural of you to act this way, especially when you let them know you’re not interested and they still keep trying. It’s like it pushes them to be even more eager to try to win you over. Well, you’re not some trophy and drunk enough to do that.

The guy gives you an ugly frown, visibly displeased by your choice of words but luckily he leaves you alone and your heart slowly calms down. You don’t know what drunk men are capable of, but you get the idea. You need to be careful either way. Not drinking any drink from strangers and not provoke anyone who's drunk, even if it’s standing up for yourself. Those are the rules you need to keep reminding yourself, especially in this place where alcohol clouds most people's judgement and mind. 

Ah fuck, tonight is supposed to be fun.

“Playing hard to get?”

Your head whips at the soft voice, completely contrasting with the awful music and people’s chattering drunken nonsense. Mouth opening in a mere shock, you’re met with a guy you’ve never seen before which isn’t that weird since you barely know anyone here. But you’d surely remember him, if you ever met him. It’s safe to say, he’s probably the hottest guy you’ve ever seen and looked your way. His blond hair is parted in the middle, swiped back as this particular hairstyle shows his sharp jaw but soft features. One of the most eye catching features are those thick lips, looking juicy and soft, like two pillows and the most delicious desert. And you can’t fucking believe you’re gushing over some stranger but you’re surely not done yet. His eyes are sharp and there’s a weird glint in them, maybe it's because of the orangey–red shade they hold. Black leather jacket hugs his frame along with, what seems like a casual white shirt underneath, and a great fit black jeans. You wonder what kind of mask he’s wearing, but then he grins at you and shows you his white teeth. Two sharp fangs poke his bottom lip, making you almost jump in surprise but you sigh in relief.

He seems to know you were just checking him out, judging by the slight smirk he’s trying to hide while he makes his way over to you.

“Just not interested.” you reply, deciding it’s better to find your own voice rather than to gawk at this sex god.

“I don’t blame you,” he speaks, your eyes flickering to his. There’s something that makes your heart skip a beat, maybe it’s his alluring eyes that seems to know everything. As if he could tell you’re mentally screaming at his hotness. “Young guys can be... very persistent and act upon their hormones.”

You snort, placing a hand over your mouth as you start giggling at his choice of words. “You can say it. They’re just horny and looking for sex.”

He smiles, tracing a tongue over his lower lip as his steps come to a halt just a few inches before you. He looks even more heartbreaking from up close. The lightning is shitty but there’s not an inch of flaw on his soft glass skin, he looks slightly more on the pale side, but that has to be the make up. At least he hadn’t overdid it like you’ve seen some other guys. And those eyes... what kind of lenses are they?

“You’re right, they can be like that.” he agrees, still sporting that secretive smirk adorning both his eyes and lips.

You snicker, causing his brow to raise in a mere confusion. “So, what? You’re not one of them?”

There’s no way such a handsome guy wouldn’t use his charms to get the best out of it. He said it himself, young guys are horny just like most girls. It’s not like you judge him for it, he can do whatever he wants as long as he’s respectful to others and doesn’t cross any boundaries.

“I’m certainly not,” he says, voice lacking of that sweet yet mysterious tone he used before. There’s something that flickers behind his eyes but it’s gone before you can dwell what it really was. “I didn’t come here to have sex.”

You’re surprised by his bluntness, not expecting him being so blunt all of a sudden, especially about that sex part since he basically ran his way around the topic of guys being horny and wanting to have sex. But you like it, even though you can’t bring yourself to grin like you want to, not when he’s staring at you with gaze darkening.

“Why did you come here for then?” you ask quietly, eyes searching for any kind of emotion or something that could give you a better glimpse inside of his mind.

There’s something about him. He’s mysterious, hiding something and you’re sure it’s just a part of his personality. Either way, it makes him even hotter and you’d drop onto your knees for this man. But there’s your dignity in the way and somehow, you’re glad about that. You’re not one to have a meaningless one night stand. Not that he’d probably want or care to have one with you.

It’s getting awkward, the silence between you two as he complements about his answer causing you to play with the hem of your stupid dress that aren’t even yours. But then something clicks inside of him and he smiles.

“To have fun.”

“Good luck with that.” you murmur, sarcasm lacing in your tone because you can’t believe Yeri just went after her ex leaving you ‘socializing’ (as she called it) with total strangers. Drunk strangers.

You don’t expect the hot stranger to hear you, your voice muffled by the loud music mainly, but he does when a deep chuckle erupts past his lips.

“Why’s that?”

“If you didn’t come here to have sex or get drunk, I don’t think you’ll have fun. Look at everyone.” you chuckle, arms motioning around you to prove your point.

He doesn’t, his eyes stay solely on you but you’re too busy being sarcastic and still bitter about this party to properly register that.

Jimin isn’t stupid. He knows how these parties work. Where’s alcohol, there’s a big urge to have sex and it proves to be right when everyone’s kissing or dancing which mainly leads to the sex itself.

“I take it you’re not here willingly.” he speaks up, eyes dropping towards your mouth where a fake blood is smeared in the corner of your lips.

It’s supposed to add a little bit of horror detail to your look, but you’re far from that.

“Debatable. My friend had decided to invite me at the last minute and now she ditched me because of her ex. Honestly, the guy is a total prick, I don’t know why she keeps running after him.” you explain, scoffing as you cross your arms over your chest.

Jimin reacts with a low chuckle, slowly licking his bottom lip before he takes a deep breath. It’s interesting to watch him, there’s something about him that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You wouldn’t tell Yeri’s business to just some stranger, or anyone, but maybe it’s those two shots of soju that let your mouth on the loose. He doesn’t know her anyway and you’re too annoyed to care, even though you do feel a pang of guilt.

“What are you doing here? Besides, to have fun here. Did you come here alone?”

Great, Y/N. Now you sound noisy making it sound like you’re asking if he has a girlfriend. Did you come here alone is a totally straightforward question, a very bad pickup line usually guys use. You’ve no idea why you just asked that. However, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind and even though, his lips quirk in a sly smirk and you act like you haven’t noticed, he shakes his head to give you an answer.

“My friend was particularly interested in this party.”

He doesn’t lie, it’s true. Taehyung did persuade Jimin to come to this one.

“Oh, so you were dragged into this like me,” you chuckle.

He isn’t, but he stays quiet.

“I wish she’d tell me sooner than four hours before the party had started. I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t even get to shop for my Halloween look and ended up with Yeri’s costume from last year. God knows what these dresses have been through.”

The incredibly handsome stranger laughs, like truly laughs and it’s the most beautiful sound ever. It makes you grin without even noticing.

“I do think you make a perfect mixture of spooky and ravishing nurse.”

Yeah, Yeri’s costume last year was a nurse but you put your own thought into it and put some fake blood in the corner of your lips and the top of your cheekbone. There’s some of it on your collarbone and arm just to make it more ‘scary’ but it’s just a huge fail. The dress is short, luckily not dangerously short for you to feel uncomfortable in them. You’re not even sure if this is a Halloween costume. Yeri looks like the type of girl to like foreplay, maybe she used it with her ex. Oh fuck, you can’t think about that.

His compliment completely blows all your thoughts out, your heart picking a pace as for the first time, your facade slowly falls down and you blush. Did he just called you hot?

“Thanks,” you grin, “Although, I think this costume is shitty it’s still better than being dressed as Harley.”

“Harley?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

You stare at him, watching his confused gaze before something flickers in his eyes and he just stares at you.

Well, not everyone had seen Suicide Squad.

“From the movie? Suicide Squad? Harley and Joker? They’re this lunatic couple and everyone’s been wearing their costumes for the past... three years, is it? I don’t even know but it’s so cliché. I think I saw four Jokers on my way to the bathroom. Don’t get me started on Harley.” you roll your eyes, leaning yourself against the kitchen counter that’s behind you.

The two of you just stand in silence for a couple of seconds, and you almost think it’s awkward even though there’s not an awkward atmosphere and you’re just standing in a comfortable silence.

“So, vampire, huh?” you fill the silence after a moment, catching his attention as he watches you with a serious look. “Not to be an asshole, but that’s an overused costume as well.” you add, wondering if you’re getting too comfortable with this stranger.

But he’s probably the most normal and sober guy you stumbled upon, even if he’s the one who approached you. There’s something odd about him, but that’s just because he’s not like one of those drunk assholes trying to get you into one of the rooms upstairs. He’s not rude, disrespectful and drunk and that’s all that matters for you to feel comfortable talking to him.

His features relax and he lets out a breathy chuckle, showing his fangs. “Their costumes don’t do the justice.” he comments, eyes watching one of the guy passing by who’s got vampire costume which makes you snort. 

Overused, like you said.

“They do look cheap,” you comment, giggling. “Isn’t it uncomfortable to talk with those?”

He looks at you with confusion, mouth opening in realization when you point at your teeth to explain.

“No.”

It comes out short, surprisingly deep and serious and for a moment, it looks like he wants to say something else but decides not to when he closes his mouth.

“You look believeable, though.”

“I do, don’t I?” he chuckles, and your body relaxes when all the seriousness is gone.

“Your skin is pale, not covered in that awful white color and your eyes... wow, those lenses look beautiful. It must’ve been an expensive costume.” you tell him, head leaning towards him as you study his eyes.

They’re almost deep red. Weren’t they more orange before? The lightening is shitty and honestly, you’re too busy inspecting the beauty and uniqueness of his eyes.

He looks stunned, and it looks like he stopped breathing for a moment when you lean closer to him to study his eyes and face. He closes his mouth, not letting you see the fangs hiding underneath those plump lips and even though they’re slightly poking, you can’t see much. He’s dressed normally, not wearing some awful costume. He’s done the minimum with his costume but he can easily win as the vampire of this party. It’s not too much, decent enough to make people stop and praise his costume if they had the chance to be face to face with him.

“I’m Jimin.” he decides to say instead, not even showing his gratitude from your compliment but you ignore it.

It was more of a loud thought anyway. You’re distracted again, this time by his name.

Jimin.

Fuck, even his name is beautiful.

“Y/N,” you tell him, giving him a smile which you hide by taking a sip of your drink.

He watches you, eyes scanning your lips before they move down to your throat as you gulp. You’re too focused watching people dance to notice the way he licks his lips and gulps.

“So, are you studying here?”

His eyes shoot up, your voice catching his attention once again before he thinks through your question. It’s weird how long he’s taking to actually answer, it’s quite simple question that's got a simple answer.

“No,”

That’s it? Just no?

He must’ve noticed the faint frown that settles on your face before he gives you a little quirk of his lips, those plump lips stretching to a handsome smile that once again gets all your attention.

“Are you?”

“Huh?” you blurt out, embarrassed how quick that flew out of your mouth.

You’re even more embarrassed, your cheeks slowly tinting into a red color when he chuckles lowly under his breath, completely aware of your lack of attention because all of it was focused on his goddamn smirk.

“Are you studying here?” he asks, not hiding that amused smirk that slowly settles into a soft smile that encourages you to answer.

“Yeah,” you smile, “psychology.”

“Are you a future psychologist?” he asks, a glint of teasing in his tone but there’s a curiosity lacing on his soft pale features.

How did he guess that?

“Maybe?” you chuckle, poking your inner cheek with a tongue. “I thought that’s what I want to be in the future, growing up it used to be my dream.” you tell him honestly.

You’ve no idea why you’re so honest and talkative with a complete stranger. Even though you haven’t exposed anything too personal about yourself, it feels very simple to talk to Jimin. He holds this calm aura around him that makes you want to tell him your deepest secrets without you feeling guilty about it the next morning.

“Used to? It’s not anymore?” he asks, cocking his head innocently but you know he’s not stupid and knows what your words meant very well.

For some reason, it seems like he really wants to talk to you and urges you to talk more. He seems interested in you. Not seeing you as a snack and walking vagina, but maybe just someone he wants to talk with because he’s been dragged into this party just like you have. That’s one thing you’ve in common.

“Do you really wanna hear my heartbreaking life story?” you tease him, chuckling when the corner of his lips quirk up once again as he gives you a final nod.

“I’m quite intrigued.” he simply says, your heart skipping a beat for some reason and almost as if he could hear it, he lifts his eyebrow in a provocative and cocky manner.

“Will you tell me yours?” you ask in return, cocking your brow at him which makes him smile.

“Depends on how interesting yours will be.” he says, your lips set into a straight line before you purse them and give him a long sigh.

“It’s nothing drastic. I just feel like it’s not what I wanna do anymore, the worst thing of it all is that I’ve no idea what I wanna do in the first place. But it’d be a good job for me, something I need. It pays well and maybe, it’ll be more fun than I think it is right now. All I can think about is my dad and just the fact that I need to keep going. Life sucks, right?” you chuckle, trying to ease the sudden serious and saddened tone you had.

Jimin is not a person who gets bluffed easily but he acts like he hadn’t noticed anything.

“Your dad?” he asks, slowly watching your reaction as if he’s waiting for you to tell him some drastic news about your father.

“It’s just me and my dad. He’s got a huge loan for the next couple of years and I’m trying to help him, but the part-time jobs just aren’t enough. When I finish college, I’ll be able to find a better job and help him with that. He deserves it and that’s what keeps me going, y’know? I need to pay him back for taking care of me. But it’s okay, I just can’t wait until there’s no loan over our heads. I came to the conclusion that life can be happy and fun, even if there are things that suck.” you explain, noticing how interested he seems to be with your words, sinking all of the information you just gave him.

Despite how sad you seemed to be talking about your family, Jimin notices that you’re staying positive no matter what exactly happened in your life and what you haven’t told him. And that you’ve a goal, purpose you want to fill and probably a bigger heart that you're letting show to others. Maybe he’s wrong, it doesn’t have to be this way. He doesn’t know you. But it’s not right to think that it’s only you. Every person in this house, or even in the entire world, has something they want to accomplish. Dreams, goals and all of that. Maybe some of them don’t know it yet, they’re lost but that’s what life is for. To let them figure it out. 

“That’s very nice of you.” he says, surprising you how serious and soft he sounds at the same time.

“But what about you? What is your life story?” you ask, wanting to change the topic because your life being discussed when you’ve had a few shots isn’t a good idea. Few more and you’d be probably bawling your eyes out just because you get emotional easily, especially if alcohol is involved.

“It doesn’t matter,” he chuckles, “It’s not interesting anyway.”

You don’t hide the disappointment that settles on your face, causing your lips to pout which makes him scrunch his nose cutely. What a shame, you really wanted to get to know him more. It’s like he’s putting distance between you two, keeping a safe distance but still wanting to be in your presence. He’s confusing you.

“But I told you mine.” you pout, mumbling under your breath like a child that just lost a game.

It’s comical, how you’re dressed in a sexy nurse costume and pouting just because you’re dissapointed. For the first time since being here, he feels unsure and actually stops for a second as you see his eyes dance between yours.

“My parents are dead. And I wish I could’ve made them proud like you’re making your dad.” he says, completely serious as you gape at him with an open mouth.

Is he serious? You don’t know him, his reactions are mysterious and despite him talking about his dead parents, he looks too serious and doesn’t show any sadness.

“I-I’m s--“

“Don’t,” he stops you, voice rough as he coughs and tries to mask his all of a sudden unfriendly tone.

It makes you speechless and actually bad for pressuring him into telling you more. Although, you’re not sure if that can be called pressuring.

“It’s been a long time since they’re not here. I’ve had time to process it.” he explains, hand brushing through his golden locks while you watch them bounce right back into its place.

You don’t ask how long they’re dead, or anything about them because it’s not your place to be curious about that. If you knew sooner about them not being alive, you wouldn’t even show him how disappointed you were of not hearing his shortened version of life story.

All you can give him is a slight nod, awkwardly glancing at your heels that, of course are borrowed from Yeri. Remembering that there's still almost a full bottle of soju that you snatched for yourself behind you, you turn around and pour yourself a shot as you glance at Jimin. He's staring at you, attentively paying attention to your face, as you give him a crooked smile.

“You want some?” 

“No.” he answers, causing you to shrug as you drink the shot in one go, weirded out by the expression he gives you. It almost looks like he's glaring at you for drinking and it makes you give him a dumbfounded look.

“Aren't you thirsty?” you ask, his jaw clenching before he allows himself to relax and a low chuckle comes out of his mouth. 

“You've no idea,” he grins, taking a step closer to you as he hovers over you, cornering you while your lower back digs into the kitchen counter. 

Your eyes are big, staring at him in a complete shock by his sudden move but you can't move away. Your whole body is frozen, staring into his red eyes that stare right back into yours as if he's looking for something in them. His own hands lean against the kitchen counter right beside your waist, almost touching you while your heart trembles with excitement. And then when you think it can't get worse, he actually leans his face closer to yours as he takes a sniff of you. He hums at your scent, your cheeks flaring both in embarrassment and praise, mentally clapping yourself on the shoulder for choosing that expensive Yves Saint Laurent perfume you got from Yeri last Christmas. You've always saved it for special occasions, and even though you don't think of this party as anything special, you're glad you've listened to your own guts and used it. Let's just ignore the fact that you used it because you were counting on sweating, knowing the strong perfume will make you smell amazing either way. 

He pulls slightly back, your noses almost touching as you can smell his own cologne, mixed with something that smells like mint. You don't even blink, not allowing yourself to budge as he gives you a tiny smirk. 

“I'm particularly thirsty for something else.” he tells you silently, his voice getting a few octaves deeper but yet sounding calm and soft.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, the huge lump there almost uncomfortable, as you stare at him with still the same shock. Gulping, you blink a few times as you wonder what the hell just happened. 

You should be mad because after all, he lied to you. He told you he's not here for sex, yet he implied something erotic and suggestive with a simple sentence that rolled off his tongue so easily and elegantly, but that's not the worst part. The worst part – that you're not proud of – is that you like it and you can feel yourself pressing your thighs together. This had never happened before. No guy could made your body hot without even touching you, and you wouldn't be so thirsty too for someone you only know by their first name. 

“I thought you didn't come here for sex.” you manage to speak up, successfully without stuttering or sounding too nervous, although confusion and the slightest tremble in your voice is audible even to you. 

“I didn't,” he confirms, nodding but not moving an inch from you. Without taking your eyes off him, you slowly blink as you watch him lick his lips. “But you look irresistible to my eyes.” he says simply, slowly reaching for the strand of your hair as he twirls it around his index finger. 

He's not touching you fully, and unfortunately you can't quite feel his touch through your hair because even now, he delicately touches your hair like you're a fragile doll that may break.

“Then, why don't you do something?” you surprise yourself, not believing something like that just left your mouth. You would never say something like this to a stranger, no matter how handsome and freaking hot he is. But this is Jimin, it seems like everything is different with him. 

And he laughs. He actually laughs like you've just told him a funny joke, and all you can do is stare at him like he just lost his mind. Is he just playing with you? Was he testing you? Before your crazy thoughts and theories could swarm your already confused mind, something else catches your attention that makes a prominent frown adorn your features. This doesn't get unnoticed by Jimin, his laughter dying down as he realizes where your eyes and attention are focused onto. 

There are no longer any fangs poking out of his mouth, and you watch something flicker behind those red orbs that seem to glow in the gloomy lightning.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, ignoring your look of confusion and curiosity that still lingers in your eyes that don't look away from his mouth just yet. 

“Where are your--”

“Took them off,” he cuts you off, letting go of your hair. “Now, be a good girl and answer my question.” he hums, inching closer to you as you hold your breath. 

“What do you want to do?” you ask instead, getting a breathy chuckle from him. You're not sure whether it's because of your question or because you purposely avoided answering his. 

“You wouldn't wanna know,” he chuckles, eyes dropping down to your lips that are already nibbling on your bottom lip. “It'll bleed if you keep bitting on it.” he comments, licking his own. 

“What, are you scared of blood?” you joke, releasing your mouth that seemed to get his attention, before the mention of blood causes him to snap those red eyes to yours. 

“Not in the slightest,” he smirks, for whatever reason but it shoots butterflies straight to your stomach. “Are you?” he cocks his head to the side, reminding you of a snake that eyes its prey. Or some predator that has some fun with its prey before they kill it. 

Fuck, you shouldn't have watched that horror movie Yeri suggested yesterday. 

“Of what? Blood or you?” you find the courage to ask, raising a brow at him as you eye his from up and down. 

He smirks, cocking his brow at you. “You tell me. Are you scared of me?”

Maybe you should be. No one has ever approached you, talked to you or given you this kind of attention before. This is a completely new territory that you're tiptoeing around, and it does give you some kind of thrill. Maybe it's because your life is boring and Jimin summons a new temptation that you've never felt before. There could be hundreds of reasons why you feel this way or what you should feel instead, but you can't bother yourself to think about it any longer. Because instead of feeling any fear towards the new stranger that has angelic features and voice, and with some kind of darkness that he's hiding, you feel yourself getting more interested and temped. In this case, he's like a forbidden fruit for you. 

“No,” you reply confidently, head held high as you grin. “Should I be?” 

This constant teasing and the lack of touch just sets a flame of temptation inside you that slowly drives you insane. 

“Maybe,” he says, tips of his fingers reaching for your dress as he plays with the hem of it, fingers dancing dangerously at the top of your breasts. “You're the one who's gripping the kitchen counter for your dear life.” he teases, your eyes shooting to your hands that in fact, are gripping the corner so tightly that they turn white. 

Embarrassingly, you let it go as you cross your hands over the chest to make yourself appear more confident, trying to mask the way your heart thumps loudly against your chest.

“That doesn't mean I'm scared.” you tell him, indirectly suggesting that there may be another reason why you appear to be so tense. 

Judging by the tiny and already known smirk that slowly stretches across those beautiful and thick lips, Jimin confirms that he knew way before you even said it out loud. No matter how many times you seem to outrun him, he's always two steps ahead of you, having a prepared answer. 

“What it could mean, then?” he asks lowly, feigning an incomprehensibility that this time – you see and are prepared for.

“Many things.” you gulp, breath hitching when the tip of his finger slightly touches your skin. It's short-lived and almost unrecognizable, but it still makes you shiver over the fact he's so close touching the top of your breasts. 

In other scenarios, you wouldn't let anyone this near to you, nor someone almost touching your breasts that are covered in a costume dress.

“Care to share, my love?”

The new petname shoots excitement straight to your body, your cheeks flaring pink as you look away from him for a moment. You know he's aware of your reaction and how that little petname affected you, but you remain confident as you stare right back at him. 

“I think you get the idea.”

In no way in hell, you'd ever tell him how much you wish to be fucked by him. Those sinful thoughts have to stay in your head, and even if you're not saying them loud like he wants you to, you know he's smart enough to get the idea. 

“Tell me.” he presses, fingers playing with the top buttons of your costume that you can't unfortunately feel that much, except the tiny pressure he puts on them by playing with it. 

“Jimin...” you whine, causing him to grin cheekily at you. For a moment, it looks like he lost that dark and mysterious aura. “Why won't you kiss me?”

You're done playing this game, your patience is slowly dying as you wish to feel his lips against yours. Even just for a second.

“Because you never asked me to,” he answers simply, surprising you by his diplomatic answer that sounds nothing but truthful. 

“If I ask you to,” Oh fuck, this is embarrassing. He's doing this purposely, he wants you to make the first move. You feel like his goal is to make you desperate for him, which he didn't have to do for long. You don't get it. 

“Will you kiss me?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his once again. 

“Mhm,” he confirms. “If that's what you want.” 

First of all, you're surprised that he's more interested in your own interest and consent, instead to taking the first chance of your attention and weakness for himself. And there's a chance that you were wrong. Maybe he hadn't been doing this to push you to make the first move, or to enjoy how you're squirming underneath his hovering figure. All he wanted this whole time has been your consent. Second of all, it makes him fucking attractive for doing so and no matter what the real reason is, you're willing to risk it all for this man. 

“Jimin,” you tell him, voice strained and raspy. “Kiss me.”

For all you know, he could be playing with you this whole time and he doesn't have to be interested in you. Again, Jimin proves you that you're wrong and manages to surprise you all over again when in seconds, he pulls you closer to him and presses your lips together. Jimin seeks your lips hungrily, surprising you how rough and fast he is as if he was controlling himself this whole time. His hand is holding your head from the back for support, while the other one grabs your hip and squeezes it. Gasping, you shiver at the feeling of his tongue dancing across your bottom lip before he envelopes your mouth again. Your tongues move together, your own hands gripping his biceps that are hidden beneath his leather jacket. Jimin has a boosted energy, barely allowing you to breathe between the hungered kisses he's showering you with, and when you start desperately trying to catch your breath, you're forced to press against his chest firmly. It's hard, much harder than you've imagined and it takes an extra strength to actually make him budge, which primarily is the soft whimper that you let out against his mouth. He moves away, almost jumping away from you as he stares at you all frozen. 

He watches your chest move quickly, trying to catch the oxygen that your lungs are craving for. You put your own hand over your chest, chuckling when you feel your heart beating fast and hard. 

A group of drunk people stumble inside the kitchen, catching your attention as they laugh loudly, unable to walk properly as they're reaching for other bottles that are placed on the kitchen island. You weren't here alone this whole time, there are still a couple of people making out or talking, probably searching for somewhere more peaceful than the living room where the most people are. Considering this fact that someone might've seen you sucking off each other's faces, it doesn't bother you and it's probably mainly the fact they probably hadn't even noticed. 

The sudden drop of soju bottle that breaks instantly and stains the floor snaps you out of your thoughts, your gaze shifting to the drunk girl who starts giggling over the fact she's too drunk and clumsy to the point she just dropped a bottle. Now, there's soju smell lingering in the air and staining the floor with shards of glass laying there.

Turning to Jimin, you catch the sudden scrunch of his nose at the smell of alcohol which makes you giggle, even though you find it not so pleasing either. Taking a few steps towards him, you grab him by his wrist and drag him deeper into the house. Surprisingly, he allows you to drag him as he stares at the back of your head until you stop and push the door open. You're quick to turn the lock, making sure there's no one disturbing you as he finally notices where you brought him. The bathroom is decorated in deep blue, the same gloomy lightning that comes from the round mirror and creates a much more dark and intimate atmosphere. Standing in the safe distance, he watches you turn around to him and lean against the small counter where the sink is. 

His eyes turn dark, the red color almost unrecognizable as he keeps staring at you without making any move. Throwing out your insecurity, because this in fact is your first bold move that you've made on someone, you don't let it disturb you from your plan. Your palms sprawled against the bathroom counter, ass digging into the edge of it, you straighten yourself and cross your exposed legs. 

“Are you gonna just stand there and stare at me?” you ask, one hand flicking your hair over your shoulder which catches most of Jimin's attention and his eyes get big. The exposure of your nakedness, the vein that pokes beneath your beautiful and warm skin makes him react instantly. 

You yelp when he's suddenly in front of you, using the lack of your attention and the second of you closing your eyes to blink, he's gripping your face before he attacks your lips with his own, kissing you hungrily that he did the first time. Only this time, you're ready for the strength and intensity of his kisses, awaiting for his tongue that darts out into your mouth. You grip his jacket, trying to take it off but it's impossible with him holding you so close. Tugging onto the leather material, he gets your message and strips it off, tossing it carelessly onto the dirty floor. Your palms spread over his chest, feeling his hardened muscles that are surprisingly too hard. In an instant, you're turned around, hands gripping the sink as you feel Jimin's hands on your thighs, slowly disappearing underneath the skirt of your dress. You shiver, his hands cold against your heated skin as you look back at him as much as your current position allows you to.

Unfortunately, you get only a brief glance at Jimin who turns you around rather aggressively. From this position, you can barely see him in the reflection of the mirror but as he looks up, you're met with his red eyes that stare at you back. 

“What do you want?” he asks lowly, hands slowly caressing your ass cheeks that aren't covered by your panties, his nails grazing over the soft flesh. 

Thank God, you chose to wear sexy underwear – the only sexy underwear you own.

“You,” you breathe out, telling him the obvious answer that he probably just wanted to hear. “You.. Jimin.”

You hear his low hum before your panties are pushed aside and dress hiked up, enough to let his fingers replace the lacy material. As soon as the tip of his cold fingers meet your heat that's coated with your slickness, your breath hitches. He starts rubbing the area, making sure he does the same thing to your clit before he pushes two fingers in. You gasp, not expecting him to enter you all of a sudden, especially with two fingers that stretch you deliciously. It slightly burns, but your arousal that's used as a lube helps a lot and it makes it easier for him to get in. 

Jimin's surprised by your tightness, wondering when was the last time someone touched you while his red eyes flicker to your reflection to check your reaction. He's a monster, he shouldn't care if he's being too rough with you but for some reason he's curious to see how you react to his touch. A cocky smirk flickers on his lips when he sees your eyes closed and mouth open in delight. 

“You like that?” he whispers, mouth hovering over your ear as he takes another sniff of you. Do you really smell that good?

He presses his thumb against your clit, circling it when he feels you clenching around and that's why he adds another finger. You gasp, mumbling something incorrect to both your and his ears. Again, he just smirks at your lack of response and how fucked out you already seem to be. He barely had to do anything. 

Pulling your hips to him, he makes you arch for him with your ass pursed up almost dangerously close to his crotch. 

Fucking you with his fingers, he has no mercy on you and your loud pleas of slowing down. He doesn't know you, but it feels like he reads all the signs your body gives him and with you clenching around his three fingers, being a mess that barely stands on her own feet, he knows you're close. The pleasure gets too much, his palms slapping against your clit as he keeps fucking you is nothing you are prepared for. The orgasm and the chase after it gets too intense, no longer in your hands and with you being able to control it, you're cumming around his fingers, sucking them right in. He slows down, but still keeps a sloppy pace that fucks you through it. Your whole body burns with tingles of post-orgasm and if it weren't for your hands desperately clutching onto the sink, and Jimin's body behind you caging you in, you'd probably fall like a potato sack.

He pulls out his fingers, sounds of slurping leaving his mouth as he cleans them. Unfortunately for you, you've missed that devilish sight of him doing it. You pry your eyes open, slowly straightening yourself as you turn around to check the devil himself.

Just as expected, he's smirking at you, proudly staring at your flushed cheeks and the quick rise of your chest. You surprise him, clutching his shirt between your fingers before you pull him closer and connect your lips together. He lets you kiss him, hands wrapping around his neck and finally feeling up his skin more properly. You're surprised how cold he is, yet no hint of goosebumps cover his skin.

“You're so cold,” you comment, rubbing your hands over his forearms trying to warm him up.

Glancing back at him, you're surprised by the dumbfounded look he gives you before his mouth quirks up. “You wanna warm me up?” he asks, cocking his brow at you as your mouth salivates, your hands completely stopping.

“Yeah,” you answer, no idea why the fuck would you even answer that when you should just put yourself to action. The little act makes him chuckle, leaning closer to you as you hear him gulp.

You think he's about to kiss you, his lips close to the crook of your neck and you tilt your head to the side, to give him a better room for that. However, you're surprised when his mouth never makes an actual contact with your neck. You slightly tilt back, staring at his frozen state as you see his throat bob. 

“Jimin?” you ask, growing worried when he seems to be acting weird all of a sudden. “Are you okay?”

Your voice is muffled to his ears, he barely hears you as all he can focus is the way your blood pulses in your veins and the soft heartbeat of your heart. But you don't know that, all you can see is Jimin standing there gulping and not moving at all. It's until your hand makes contact with his cheek, your warm palm ready to envelop it but before you can even properly touch his skin, he's gripping your wrist at an extreme speed. You stare at him, almost jumping back from the sudden movement. 

“You scared me,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension as he takes a step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly, staring at you with those red eyes. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, surprised by the sudden change in his behavior and tone. He starts unbuckling his belt, your mouth salivating at the thought you're about to see his cock. It's been awhile since you gave a proper blowjob and although, you're not quite satisfied with your skills of giving one in the first place, you just can't wait to taste him. 

If Yeri could see you right now, she'd never believe that it's the same best friend that has always been opposed to one night stands.

Dropping onto your knees, your face is facing his growing bulge as you look up at him for permission. He chuckles, licking his bottom lip as he nods his head at you, silently telling you to get to it already. You put his jeans down, not entirely just enough to expose his casual black boxer briefs, as they stay wrapped around his mid-thighs. His boxer briefs are next, your fingers too eager to see him rather than to tease and play with him. Something tells you that Jimin is not the type to enjoy teasing. His erection spreads free, finally out of the material of his tight jeans, and it slaps against his clothed stomach that's hidden beneath the white shirt. 

You wish there was a better lightning and for a second, you contemplate whether to turn the main light on, just to fully appreciate his erected length. No matter what the lightning is, you notice how thick he is and a few veins that poke underneath the thin skin. From the light patch of hair to the red tip that's leaking with a little bit of pre-cum makes your mouth salivate like never before, and you make sure you gulp all of it before you can embarrass yourself. Not wasting any time, your hand curls around the base as you give him a testing squeeze which surprisingly, makes him barely react and when you glance up at him, he stares at you with dark eyes. 

Little do you know he needs your touch, he needs to distract himself from the thirst and hunger, and that dark voice inside his head that tells him to do something completely different, rather than have you on your knees and ready to take him.

As if you could hear his thoughts – which you can't and he knows that – he almost sighs in relief when you wrap your pretty red lips around his tip. It doesn't matter that your lipstick is completely smeared from Jimin's lips and his furious kisses. Sucking on it, you let the angry red tip glisten with your saliva before you start pumping him. Through hooded eyes, Jimin watches you licking a strip up his cock as you go back to sucking him off while pumping his hardened length, this time harder and quicker. Jimin's low grunts that occasionally leave his mouth encourages you to take him deeper, the tip of his cock almost hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes burn with tears but you blink them away, curling your tongue around the head of Jimin's cock. His hand grabs the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist as he starts moving his hips. It hurts a little, he's putting too much pressure and strength into grabbing your hair and the roots that burn your skull. But with your own arousal between your legs, slowly dripping down your thighs and the undying lust that you feel towards Jimin, you've no time to complain. It adds another pinch of pleasure, a pleasure that makes you moan around his length and almost gag when he thrusts into your mouth. Surprisingly, you look up and you find him checking your reaction.

Your warm hand around his cock and even warmer mouth that's wrapped around him feels surprisingly nicer than he thought it'd be. He takes his time to notice your reddened cheeks that he can see even from up, and with the dim lightning his red eyes catch the line of saliva that's drooling out of your mouth. And he growls, he actually growls and pulls you from his cock in seconds, before he's pulling you up and if it weren't for his strong hold, you'd surely stumble how quick he got you up. He backs you into the bathroom counter, to your previous position before he fingered you, but this time you're face to face. Your ass is digging into the edge of the counter, although you don't seem to care. You're too focused staring at Jimin that clenches his jaw, suddenly bumping into you as he starts kissing you. Whimpering into his mouth, you're surprised when he easily lifts you up and gets you seated on the bathroom counter. However your yelp is muffled by his mouth, his hands pulling you close to the edge, dangerously close that you're clutching onto him, scared of a possible fall. But Jimin got you, his body is caging you and creates a barrier between you and the floor. 

Jimin's hand wrapped around his erected cock looks sinful, like nothing you've ever seen before, at least no one made it look so effortlessly hot. Your body almost trembles with the anticipation of feeling him inside of you, and you know it's coming because he starts pumping himself. Not even aware that you stretch your legs to give him a better space, plus giving him a view of the mess between your legs. He pulls you closer, nudging your thighs apart even more before his other hand moves your ruined panties more to the side. He gets a better view of your pulsating heat that's waiting just for him.

“What about a condom?” 

He stops, eyes flickering to yours as he stares at you with unreadable recognition. It's enough that you're about to have sex with some stranger, even though it's very hot and irresistible stranger, but you don't know him after all. Are you ready to risk it for him? The rational you mentally praises you for remembering such important detail before it could've been too late. 

“Don't have one,” he says through teeth, almost seeming to be annoyed that you stopped him.

Maybe you should grow offended or annoyed yourself by his reaction, but for some reason you don't. You just stare and wait for him to say something else. 

“You don't trust me?” There it is – the smirk comes back and makes an appearance on his thick lips again. 

“I don't know you.” you point out, cocking a brow at him.

“Yet, you're here sprawled for me ready to be fucked,” he chuckles lowly, your expression dropping as your eyes grow big. “I don't know you either, that's why we need to trust each other.” he says, but still doesn't move to do anything else. 

Your mind is screaming at you, telling you over and over again how a bad idea this is and that you'll regret it. There's no actual threat of disease of a potential pregnancy (even though, you've been taking birth control since your teenage years) but you don't know that. He can't exactly tell you without having to explain something that he doesn't even want to or has to explain.

“Hm? What's it gonna be?” he purrs, his hand cupping your jaw as he starts caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Are we gonna trust each other?”

In a way, you're aware he's coaxing you into agreeing and using your temptation by using his low and tempting tone, but you don't find yourself calling him out for it. You're speechless, not able to move your mouth and find your own voice, even though you're not sure what your answer is going to be. But then he's pulling away, taking your silence as an answer which kind of surprises you because you thought he really is coaxing you into agreeing. Before he can fully pull away, you wrap your legs around his frame and cage him. 

He opens his mouth staring at you as you can feel his hardened length touching the exposed skin of your thigh. 

“Fuck me, Jimin.” you tell him, meeting him in the middle as you both crash your lips together.

The kiss is heated, even more than ever before and you shiver when you feel his tip against your heat. He looks at you, checking one more time as you give him a nod before you crash your lips together again.

He needs you as his distraction but he's not an asshole to take you without your consent, or trying to control you.

With that, he pushes past your folds and enters you. You gasp, pressing your face into his shoulder as you bite onto him gently. He doesn't budge, not surprised by the feeling of your teeth dangerously poking him through the fabric of his shirt. He's pushing in, bottoming out before he's already pulling out just to thrust back in. Jimin has no patience, already getting to work as he starts fucking you. With each thrust, it gets easier to move inside of you as your cum and arousal helps him. You're surprised how good you're taking him, even though your walls do burn with the sudden penetration and the new feeling of his thick cock. Even the pace is going too fast, the top of his thighs slapping against the back of yours while his balls make contact with your ass. The bathroom is filled with sinful sounds of skin on skin slapping, and it coaxes you to clench around him repeatedly. You can't keep up with the animalistic and rustless pace he set, whimpering and moaning his name all over again with an occasional curse falling out of your lips. Jimin grunts are no longer silenced ones, although he seems to be controlling his voice much more.

“Fuck,” you moan, head tilting back as your hands are doing a poor job at trying to hold you in place. 

Jimin's hands are around your thighs, making sure your legs stay apart as he keeps fucking into you. You can feel sweat slowly dripping down your neck, even your ass getting sweaty from the contact of the bathroom counter.

“I'm--fuck, I'm close.” you gasp, clutching the edge even harder and before you can say something else, you're already cumming around him. “Ohhh, fuck, Jimin.” you moan out through your orgasm, his pace not slowing down even after you're done and gritting your teeth at the overstimulation.

His head falls into the crook of your neck, lips almost making contact with your skin as he starts shaking and grunting. You think he's close, that it's only a natural reaction of approaching orgasm and you're completely thrown back when he suddenly pulls away completely. His cock is out of you in a record time and as you blink, he's in the middle of the bathroom standing with his jeans and boxer briefs wrapped around his mid-thighs, along with still hardened cock that's coated with your cum. If the situation weren't so weird all of a sudden, you'd probably focus on the sight in front of you much more. 

You watch Jimin's features twist in an almost painful expression, his nose scrunching as his whole body shakes. It's nothing too drastic but just enough to notice by the way he's shivering and trying to control himself. He gulps a couple of times as well, seeming like he's in a pain. You've no idea what has just happened and you just stand there completely clueless, eyes big and mouth agape. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, wondering what the hell is wrong with him. 

You hop off the counter, ignoring how sensitive you're between your legs and how hard it feels like to be standing on your feet all of a sudden.

“Don't,” he warns you, voice raising as he outstretches his arm to keep you from coming closer. “Don't come any closer.” he says lowly, head held high as you can't see his face.

“What, why? What happened?” you ask worriedly, your eyes filled with worry and confusion at the same time. 

When you're about to take another step towards him, it's like he can sense it before you can even more your feet, his head snaps to you and he growls at you. 

“Fucking stay away.” he warns you again, almost yelling at you as you jump in fear.

The last thing he sees is your scared eyes before he focuses his gaze to the floor again. He can feel the veins starting to cracking up on his skin, showing what he really craves for. He can't let you see. With your heartbeat being the loudest melody in the room and your smell filling it too, he can't promise not to do something he doesn't want to. That was the whole purpose of tonight, the whole purpose of approaching you and talking to you. He has no idea what's happening to him and why can't he listen to what his mind is telling him to do. He's controlling himself and he knows if he stays any longer, you're not going to make it without any harm. 

And that's why he focuses his attention on something else, desperately listening to people slurring drunken nonsense and the loud music before something else catches his attention. It's not too much, just the only thing that helps with not focusing on your smell entirely. It's something no one else can hear, the whimpers and slurping sounds that could only mean one thing. 

You notice how he zones out, your hands pulling your dress down to have at least some kind of modesty as you eye the stranger in front of you. 

“J--”

His eyes snap to yours as he turns around. “You need to leave.”

“I-- what?” you blurt out, seeing him tucking himself back into the jeans. You ignore the feeling of disappointment that clouds your mind for a whole second, before you're back to confusingly staring at him. 

“I don't know wha--”

Taking two long steps, he's right in front of you before he grips your face tightly into his hands. You whimper at the strength staring into his dark orbs that shine like never before. 

“Get your friend and leave. You've to leave, right now.” 

The firmness in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you, however it gets somewhere in the back of your mind as you stare at Jimin with big eyes. Painfully for you, he lets you go as he starts backing away from you but there's nothing you can do. You can't bring yourself to move, nor rush after him when he flicks the lock open and walks out of the bathroom. You stand there, your mind suddenly snapping into action as the only thing you can think about is getting Yeri. 

When Jimin makes it through the crowd, successfully hiding and blending with his surroundings, he stops and makes sure he has a great view of you walking out of the bathroom. He's watching you from the safe distance, seeing you trying to find your friend that seems to be nowhere in sight. When desperation is evident on your face since you've checked every room downstairs and you still can't find her, your legs lead you upstairs. He wishes he'd tell you to go alone, the longer you're staying... no, he doesn't care. 

His mind drifts away to the moment in the bathroom, where his long canines started growing and all he could think about was sinking them to your delicious neck.

He can hear your faint heartbeat but he doesn't allow himself to get closer, not even if you're already upstairs opening every door of each room to find your friend. And when he sees Taehyung with a satisfied grin and blood dripping down his chin nearing him, it makes Jimin think only one thing. None of these people are aware of the liquid dripping down his friend's chin, thinking that it's just another fake blood even if Jimin can smell the metal scent from miles away.

You're growing annoyed when the third room you open, there's still no sight of Yeri but some drunk couples having sex or smoking weed. You scrunch your nose in disgust, wondering if these people don't know what locks are. As you're nearing another room, you just hope there are no naked people and any possible butts that you'll be seeing before you take the doorknob into your hands. 

But nothing could ever prepare you for the sight behind that door. 

The room is dark, the street lights create at least some kind of lightning but you still decide to turn up the lights. It happens in seconds. The first thing you recognize is the costume, the same one she proudly showed you this morning saying she'll be the hottest Black Widow. You stare at the horrific sight of the face of your friend which is almost unrecognizable. Her lifeless body is laying on a bed, blood trickling down her neck and staining beige sheets underneath her. Your piercing scream rings in your ears but you can't stop screaming from the horror sight in front of you. 

Jimin hears your screams, his eyes shifting towards the house as he starts the engine. 

“You killed her?” he asks, voice low as he starts the engine. 

“Y'know how I get,” Taehyung chuckles, wiping the remains of blood from his chin and mouth. “I was hungry.” 

Jimin grips the steering wheel tightly, stealing a last glance at the house and the party that slowly turns into chaos. That's why they never come back. They can't and he should've known his longtime friend would get one of his moods. Taehyung is crazy, much more dangerous than Jimin because he gets so into his own needs. 

“You didn't have to kill her.” Jimin points out, leaving the driveway while the house keeps getting further and further.

“I didn't have to, you're right. But I did,” he sighs pleasingly, patting his stomach as he makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “And she tasted fucking great.”

Jimin's jaw flexes, slowly growing irritated by his friend's decision to end someone's life again. He should've gotten used to it by now, but he can't never really process it. It's even weirder now that he knows that someone wasn't just someone. It was your best friend. 

And that night, almost everyone who attended that party had some regrets. And you've got many of them. 

You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin. 

Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

If you just paid attention, maybe your friend would be still alive. And maybe you'd be in her place and would never make it out alive, if it weren't for the stranger with red dark orbs that hunts you every night.

[hello-everyfandom]

“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you."

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Summary: James Potter is desperately in love with you.

Part One “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her, not me.”

Part Two "James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”

(Hi! This is part three of my James Potter series. Feel free to read those before hand!)

It was odd to see you without James. It seemed that after the Gryffindor party, you had disappeared. It was rare to see you during meal times and you were nothing but a passing figure in the corridors, fleeing before the boys could stop you. It wasn’t just Remus you were dodging, Sirius could barely find you in a crowd and Peter had spoken to you all but once these past few weeks. James, it seemed, was taking your absence the hardest. He frequently turned to his side to tell you a witty or inappropriate joke only to find that you weren’t there. Living without you was torture. Living without the person he loved was torture. And, what made it worse, was that it was his doing that brought this fate upon the Marauders. Remus Lupin, to put kindly, was extremely fed up. He missed his friend and found himself quite lonely studying in the library. And if he were to catch you somewhere, reading or doing homework, you were quiet and reserved, almost fragile to an extent. So, Remus made it his mission, after a grueling day of classes, to find you. He stalked the halls, peering left and right, checked the Astronomy Tower and the Owlery and the kitchens. It was only until he found you, tucked away and unseen, in the back of the library that he let out a sigh of relief. 

Remus pulled a chair from the table and sat down, staring at you intently. “Right, Y/N. This has got to stop.”

“What are you on about, Remus?” you asked, raising your eyes from your book that you were barely reading.

“Don’t play dumb!” Remus used his hand to refer to you, “This has got to stop. It’s become ridiculous.”

“Rem-”

“No, just listen to me. I don’t want to raise my voice or become angry, but you’ve beyond frustrated me. Y/N, this has got to stop, you cannot go on like this.”

“Go on like what?” you asked sharply.

“Like this!” you knew exactly what Remus was talking about. You had become quite skinny, almost gaunt like. Your body adorned an old knitted sweater that James had given you after his growth spurt. It engulfed your body and swallowed you whole. Your face has lost its colour, and your paleness reached all over your skin. You looked sick. Lovesick, if you will, and suffering from heartbreak and losing the battle. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you gazed back at your book, hoping Remus would leave.

“Damn it, Y/N. Stop it.” Remus slammed his hand on the table, making you jump. Remus had never raised his voice at you, but looking in his eyes, you could see how desperate he was. Remus redacted his hand and shook his head, “I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly, reaching to place your hand on his.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know,” you said truthfully, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb, “but I’m alright.”

“No, no you’re not, Y/N. This isn’t you. The person sitting here isn’t you.” Remus trailed off. If this is what love is, Remus thought, then maybe he didn’t want it. He could see how this was tearing you apart, inside and out. “Everyone misses you. James misses you.”

“I miss you too,” your voice quivered a bit, hearing James’ name struck a blade in your throat.

“He’s not the same, y’know? Have you noticed?” 

You couldn’t say you had. Every time you had seen him in the corridor or in the common room, you practically ran away. It was utter agony to see the man who you so desperately loved, not love you back. But, if you had lingered, if you stayed for mere seconds, you would have seen how broken James was. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair as he usually did, but the smile was nearly blank and his hair was pulled nervously. 

“Rem-”

“I know,” he sighed, “But at least think about coming back, okay? It’s scaring me to see you like this.”

You nodded, “I love you, Moons.”

Remus squeezed your hand, sending you a worried smile and stood up to leave you alone with your thoughts. As you sat there, you found yourself playing with James’ sweater, fiddling with and pulling out the loose strands. You feared that this was the end of yours and James’ friendship, perhaps even for good. You weren’t sure you could go back to being friends, it simply felt too emotionally difficult to be nothing but mates. You couldn’t do it. A small part of you wanted to be angry with James. In fact, you wanted to be furious at him for toying with your feelings like that. You wanted to scream and send him a jinx that would cause his head to become an octopus. Maybe then he’d see how much he sucked. But, you couldn’t. You couldn’t even be annoyed. The only thing you could feel was the throbbing hurt of your broken heart and helplessly missing a certain James Potter.

Sirius had become just as frustrated if not even more frustrated than Remus. He had become fed up with constantly telling James to grab life by the balls and tell you how he truly feels. It became too much when James was fidgeting during breakfast before his second Quidditch game.  

“James Middle-Name-That-I’ve-Forgotten Potter!” 

James looked up alarmed, “Padfoot? What’s wrong? You never call me James,”

“You! You’re what’s wrong.”

“Padfoot, don’t do this right now, I’m already nervous enough for the game.”

“This is the absolute last time I’ll say it if you don’t tell Y/N how you feel, I won’t talk to you for a week and we both know that’ll be right awful.”

“I’ll do it! I swear, I’ll do it, it just has to be the right time. And-and now, it’s just not.”

“Then when will be the right time?” Sirius prodded, “In a year? Two? When you’re old and wrinkled?”

James bit his lip, knowing full well that Sirius was right. “I’ll tell her at the party tonight,”

Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah, like that turned out well last time you did that.”

“Well! I-okay? It’ll be fine!” James groaned loudly. Why was he such a coward?

“I mean it, James. Do it, or you’ll regret it.” Sirius pointed. “I didn’t pretend to be Y/N and fake kiss you for nothing.”

“You were the one who pretended to kiss me!” James accused,

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” Sirius clicked his tongue.

“I didn’t,” James said. 

Although James felt joyous over his quidditch game win, he could feel the nerves bundled in his stomach. As he reached the common room James swallowed harshly and plainly greeted the partying Gryffindors who congratulated him. 

“Drink of firewhiskey?” Someone offered him, James shook his head.

“No thanks, mate. All yours.”

James searched the common room, his eyes scanning the heads of the bouncing and swaying students. His brown eyes locked with Sirius who sent him back a pointed look with eyebrows raised. He had to do it. He had to do it now. James Potter blinked, hoping to find you somewhere in the crowd with a smile on your face that he so loved. James pushed against the throng of students before reaching Remus who was leaned against the wall.

“Moony,” James said with relief.

“There you are! Hold on,” Remus fixed James’ glasses that seemed to have come askew and crooked on his nose. “Two wins in a row, how bloody lucky are you?”

“Yeah yeah,” James waved it off before asking frantically, “Where’s Y/N?”

Remus’ face dropped and his eyes showed nothing but wariness, “Why?”

“I need to tell her something.”

“Have you been drinking again?”

James shook his head rapidly, “No. Where is she?”

“Prongs, I think-”

“Moons, I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this. I need to see her, I need to see her and tell her I love her. I need to do it and I need to do it now,”

Remus’ eyes lifted in surprise, “Oh.”

“I know, I know. But, where is she? I need to find her.”

Remus’ thoughts were racing horses and he seemed to piece together what was happening, “James.”

“Please, Remus. Please tell me where she is.”

Remus bit his bottom lip, “I think I saw her in the courtyard, sitting in one of the window sills, but-” Before he could continue, James spun around and hurried out of the common room. 

Sirius strutted over and slung an arm around Remus’ shoulders. 

“Is he going-”

“Yup.”

“And does Y/N feel-”

“Yup.”

Sirius turned his head with a wide grin, “Thank god. I was nearly ripping out my hair waiting for him to tell her.” Remus hummed in response. As Sirius seemed to quiet, Remus turned to him with questioning eyes.

“I need to tell you something-”

Remus interrupted him, “You pretended to be Y/N for James, didn’t you? That’s why you pretended to wear a dress.”

Sirius sighed pathetically, “Yeah. And I kind of liked it.” 

James could feel the sweat begin to bead on his forehead, and the adrenaline run through his veins as he looked the corridors for you. This was it. James could feel it. He was ready, he was in love with you and nothing else seemed to matter but the idea of you. You. He loved you. He would rip the skin off his back to keep you warm or swing upside down on a tree with his trousers off just to make you smile. 

It was cold. Cold enough to feel a brisk breeze on your shoulders and cold enough for you to wrap yourself in your arms. You enjoyed the quiet, at least you learned to enjoy it. You debated on returning to the common room to attend the party like Remus and Sirius had begged you to, but you quickly decided against it. You stared up at the stars that blinked back at you. Though you were absolute bollocks at astronomy, you found yourself counting the stars, seeking a constellation, or maybe even guidance. A cloud brushed over the dark skies, the twinking stars disappearing into the darkness. You sighed and stared at your feet until you heard something. What was that? It sounded almost like thunder, pounding against the corridor floors. As you curiously faced the source of the noise, you could barely make out a tall figure bounding towards you. You could make out their messy hair that seemed to stick out everywhere. Messy hair. James. It was James. He ran towards the courtyard, pausing to look madly all-around before spotting you. James Potter froze, his mouth coming agape. The adrenaline and rush that he had previously felt faded every slow step he took towards you. Your hands instantly became sweaty and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from his. Should you run? Maybe, if you hurried now, you could make it back to your dorm in minutes. But you stayed. You stayed, watching his every move until he finally reached where you were sitting.

“Hi,” he whispered, barely trusting his voice right now. 

“Hi,” you said back, your voice shaky and low. His eyes looked towards the free space next to you on the bench, a silent question if he could sit. Your eyes widened as you scooted over allowing James to sit. It was silent, something neither of you were used to. Before, it was rare that you two had a minute of quietness between you as the conversation seemed to bounce naturally. But now, it was hushed. James clenched his hands nervously.

“Congratulations on your win, James,” you said sincerely, surprised that you had even said something. James inhaled. He didn’t want to talk about quidditch. He didn’t want to talk about anything, he wanted to lean in and kiss you and tell you how much he truly adored you.

“I need to tell you something.” James let out.

“James-”

“No, please? Let me talk.” You stayed silent,

“I made a mistake at the last party.”

“Really, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just forget about it.”

“No, I don’t want to forget about it. It was a mistake. But not in the way you’re thinking. It was a mistake because I shouldn’t have told you how I felt like that. I feel like a right prat and, and.” James lost his words for a moment before clearing his throat, “I should’ve never told you I loved you when I was drunk. And, I should’ve never pretended I had forgotten about it either.”

This was painful. He did remember, he just ignored it. You managed to pull your lips into a small smile, “James. It’s okay. It didn’t mean anything, we can just-”

“No, that’s the thing. It did mean something. It meant something to me. I have been trying, constantly trying, to find a way to tell you, but I’m terrified of losing you.” 

“You’d never lose me-”

“Y/N, you little shit,” he let out a small joke making you laugh, “Will you please be quiet because I swear I’ll go mad if you don’t.”

“I...  I adore you.” James said finally. Your hands went cold and you struggled to breathe. It was a trick, wasn’t it? Or a nightmare? Or were you daydreaming in the library again and you’ll soon be woken up by the sound of a book dropping? 

“What?”

“It’s true. I adore you. I think you are frustratingly annoying sometimes when you lose at exploding snap, when you argue with me I go a little insane and sometimes you snort when you laugh. I had this whole speech planned out and I was supposed to have flowers, but whenever I see you I just. I lose myself a bit. But, I think you’re amazing.” James shifted in his seat, getting a good look at you. You were thin and had bags under your eyes, but you were still just as beautiful as you were when you were children. “And I. I love you.” 

“Have you been-”

“No. I haven’t been drinking. I’m as sober as a nun and I can say now, finally, that I, James Potter, am terribly and irretrievably in love with you. I have been and always will be.”

You sat there stunned. James bit his bottom lip nervously, looking up at you, eyelashes on his cheeks as he wondered what you were thinking. He had an anxious smile on his lips.

“Say it again,” you said softly. 

“I love you.” James reached and interlocked his fingers with yours.

“Again,”

“I love you.” You let out a breath of shaky air, your lungs could implode. You couldn’t help it. Tears welled in your eyes, you couldn’t even blink them back in time. You could taste the salty tears slip down onto your lips as you began to cry. James looked alarmed and raised his hand to cup your cheek softly wipe the tears with his thumb.

“Please don’t cry Y/N. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“No,” you sobbed, “Please. Don’t say anything. This? This is... perfect.”

“But, you’re crying,” James said worriedly, brushing more tears off your face. You felt yourself do something you hadn’t done in a while. You smiled. You beamed through your tears and sent James a dazzling smile that nearly knocked him off his seat.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m... I’m perfectly happy right now.”

James could feel his own eyes begin to tear up as he sniffled and laughed, “Well you’ve gone and made me all soft now.”

“Oh, James. I missed you.” You leaned comfortingly into his hand.

“I missed you too, Love.” James whispered, “And I’ll never leave you again.”

“Will you say it again, for me?”

“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You laughed out in relief, wishing to hear him say those sincere words again.

“I love you too. I love you, James Potter. I’ll love you until I stop breathing, until the day I die and even more.”

“Will you say it again for me?”

You closed your eyes, “I love you.”

Under the stars, the stars you had earlier compared your love to James Potter to, he kissed you. The salty tears of both yours and his mixed as you smiled, beyond joyful, effortlessly happy. A weight slipped off your shoulders and landed on the ground as James held your face in his hand and pushed all his love, his endearments, his affections into this kiss. You pulled away, foreheads pressed together as you felt nothing but content. From the beginning of your life together, James Potter knew you were destined to be together, tied with heartstrings. And slowly, but surely, the love you both shared combined, and not even the stars could outshine it. 

[mrsmaybank]

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous. 

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights 

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002 

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up. 

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful!  Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee. 

I love you and do not leave the bed.  

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so. 

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer. 

“Hi.” he said. 

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.” 

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest. 

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey. 

Honey is incredibly sticky. 

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out. 

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months. 

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity. 

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques. 

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius.  “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened.  “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.” 

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.” 

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury. 

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?” 

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.” 

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy. 

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.” 

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?” 

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.” 

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated. 

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it. 

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved. 

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?” 

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked. 

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life. 

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?” 

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?” 

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.” 

Here goes nothing. 

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.” 

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.” 

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”  

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.” 

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-” 

“Emily..” I started. 

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!” 

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.” 

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.” 

Fuck.

“Correct.” 

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head. 

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?” 

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.” 

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.” 

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good. 

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever. 

Here goes nothing. 

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 :  this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic  be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :) 

[aquarri]

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[trashcanfanfics]

I am loving the Valentino favorite actress series! But I can’t help but wonder for what’s the alternate ending. If possible, and if your willing to write about this, may I see a what if situation where the actress rejects Valentino because they simply don’t see it that way?

Oooooo this is gonna suck lol

*Val confessed his feelings, the drunken confession, and you dipped

*When he woke up after passing out, he avoided you fro quite some time and you weren't thrilled about talking about it either

*Eventually he comes up to you to talk and tells you again, sober this time

*You spent a lot of time since the first confession practicing in the mirror, telling him that you weren't interested

*But all that flew out the window the second you were in front of him

*You sighed and just let out a "I'm sorry, Boss, I just don't feel that way for you"

*This breaks his heart and he nods in understanding, he should have expected as much

*He tones down the gifts but other than that, he doesn't treat you differently

*He could never bring himself to hurt you, even if he wanted to

*He spends most of his days wailing to Velvet and drinking, it'll take him a while to get over you

*He's never loved someone before, so this is his first heartbreak

*Some part of him hopes you'll change your mind, but most of him knows that won't happen

[paper-n-ashes]

Here

Characters: Dan Jones x Reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), mentions of sadness/depression, PIV sex, otherwise it’s the fluffiest fluffy fluff

Author’s Note: The last repost. A piece I wrote to work through my own issues at the time. A reminder to anyone, if you feel down, unhappy, or even just a bit flat, feel free to reach out to me. I will always make time for you as an ear to listen or a distraction with Oscar or Adam gifs 🥰

It had been a long and draining day. Not unusual really. Every evening Dan trudged up the stairs to your shared apartment, he felt much the same way.

Tired. More emotionally than physically. The things he read, the truths he was unravelling… It was truly soul-sucking work. Yet just the image of you, patiently waiting for his return home after another late night, provided a stark light in the darkness he found himself momentarily falling into as his muffled footsteps echoed down the hall.

He knew he was lucky. Lucky you were so patient. So understanding. Always waiting on him. Spending more time apart than together. The cancelled dinner dates, the events you’d had to attend alone, the weekends away you never got to plan, believing his work was more important.

There wasn’t a single time you complained. Always giving him the same loving smile, one he wasn’t sure how he deserved.

It wasn’t on your face when he slipped through the door. Curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, you looked… sad.

Noticing his entrance, your expression quickly changed, beaming as your eyes locked with his. “Dan,” you breathed, a relieved edge to the name, releasing yourself from the tense ball and rushing to join him at the entryway.

The room was dim, air filled with silence as you slinked your arms under the jacket of his suit and around his torso, squeezing tight.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You don’t need to say that every night,” you urged, words muffled into his chest.

“I know.” He still would, no matter how much you protested. Stroking a palm over your hair, Dan touched his lips to your forehead. For a moment, he simply breathed you in. Relishing the flowered perfume still lingering on your skin that would forever remind him of you.

It was such an unexplainable phenomenon. How you eased his stress with a single warm embrace. He hoped he could do the same for you.

“Is everything alright?” he asked softly.

“Absolutely,” you lied, nodding against his crisp, collared shirt. “You’re home now. Everything is just fine.”

Dan couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of your response. But he also wasn’t stupid. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You shifted your head to look up at him. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

There was a redness around your eyes that became glaringly clear. Crying. You’d definitely been crying.

A thumb traced the line under your lower lid. “Please don’t lie. I have to deal with enough of those every day.”

Your mouth twisted, feeling your throat tighten. Unknowingly, he’d illustrated exactly why you tried to hide your sadness in the first place. He didn’t need your burden. He already had enough weighing on his shoulders.

But you also knew he wouldn’t let this go. The man was a bloodhound for seeking the truth, and the way he was looking at you now, features filled with heartbreaking concern, your resolve weakened.

Taking a deep breath, you were honest. “I’ve just been feeling a little… sad lately. Not a big deal. It’ll pass.”

Dan’s eyebrows drew together, heart already aching at your admission. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You shrugged, pupils darting to the floor. “A few days. As I said, not a big deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Two palms quickly found their way to your cheeks, forcing your stares to lock. He looked almost panicked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve got other things that need your attention-”

“You think your sadness is not worth my attention?” he cut off, positively stunned at how casually you’d spoken your answer.

It’s what he’s always feared. This. Shielding him from the troubles in your own life while you joined in fighting his. Being his remedy, his source of comfort, while you struggled alone.

“It’s okay,” you attempted to soothe. “I can handle it myself, really.”

He shook his head. “No. No. You shouldn’t have to.”

Your fingers grazed lightly over the clean-shaven line of his jaw. “You’re so busy-”

The sentence couldn’t be finished, pulled into a squeezing embrace, hands cradling around you. “I will never be too busy when you really need me. Ever.” Breaths began to waft over your hair, Dan’s voice riddled with a gentle urgency. “And I’m here right now. Tell me how to make this better. Please.”

His caring hold had your resilience failing, unable to camouflage the misery you’d been feeling any longer. “I don’t even know h-how… What I need…” you quivered, voice starting to break. A sniffle escaped, barely able to suppress the urge to cry.

Dan wasn’t ever particularly good at solving problems. He knew that. Finding them, providing the support others needed to take action, that was his sweet spot. What he was good at. So that’s what he would do now.

The pressure around your body vanished, only for Dan to dip down and pluck you into in his arms, bridal style, carrying your body effortlessly to the bedroom.

His movements were cautious, making sure to place you delicately into the mattress. Without removing a single piece of clothing, shoes still on, he laid down, making your shape curl into his.

“We’re going to lay here for a while, okay? However long you want. You don’t have to talk. You can just… be sad.” Another kiss landed on the top of your head. “If you need me to do something, if you figure out what might help, I’ll be here. I’ll be right here.”

That did it. The wall you had been forcing to remain standing, now a crumbling pile of rocks, leaving you exposed. Vulnerable.

You began to cry.

At first, it was a soft weeping, tears wiped away by your own shaky fingers. Yet restraint withered into nothing, succumbing to the gloom that had haunted you for days.

Your breaths were harsh through heaving sobs, first clutching into Dan’s shirt, salted droplets staining the white fabric.

He couldn’t deny, it was painful to see you like this. To hear the whimpers of your distress. A slight wetness appeared at his corner of his eyes, clutching you closer. It was all he could do. Remind you of his presence, stroking your back as you let your emotions spill over.

As minutes passed into the next, your crying slowed, yet the quietness that followed was never broken. You both remained muted in the darkness, a tangle of limbs, your face nestled into Dan’s neck, his cheek resting over your hair.

Soon, without intention, the two of you fell asleep.

*

It was close to 3am when you woke again. Blinking through the haze of slumber, Dan rustled next to you, still fully dressed in his work attire.

Recent memories came surging through, the way he’d given you everything you needed, by doing nearly nothing at all.

Illuminated only by the light streaming through a set of half open blinds, your eyes wandered over his peaceful, dreaming face.

You didn’t get to see it as often as you liked. But when you did, you were infinitely grateful. Every long absence kept you savouring the time together more deeply. Quality over quantity.

A crackled snore suddenly broke through, having you fighting back a laugh. Dan shifted, still unconscious, turning closer into you, draping an arm over your waist. With a humming sound, you noticed a tiny smile curl his lips.

Oh, how you loved him.

You wanted to show him that, right now.

Carefully, you wriggled upwards, enough that you could press a dainty kiss just above the bridge of his nose. When he didn’t respond, you repeated the action, bringing your fingertips to his hairline, nails skimming over the inky strands.

You watched as his eyes fluttered, a sigh leaking from his throat. Before he could enter back into reality again, your lips landed on his, rolling over the supple pillows of flesh.

His reaction was sluggish, still gripped by a fog of fatigue, although soon his fingers were reaching into your hair, pulling your face even closer to strengthen your adoring kiss.

Words weren’t needed, Dan realised this as you began to unfasten the knot of his tie.

You’d figured out something he could do. Funnily enough, it was what he needed too. To make sure you knew exactly how much he loved you.

You’d done this dance many times, peeling off each other’s clothes. Yet this time felt… different. There was no rushing, no impatience. You both took your time, uncovering each portion of skin without reckless abandon.

With more exposure, Dan had more parts of you to kiss. So he did. Trailing them down your arms, your legs, his touch skating over your skin with such tenderness it made you shiver.

Eventually, the last piece of clothing that remained was your panties. Usually, being so desperate to fuck you after days going without, they’d be ripped off, sometimes even pulled to the side in his hastiness to fill you.

This time their removal was unhurried, restrained, Dan gliding the flimsy material down your legs with a calm poise.

Below, you noticed his touch disappear, looking up to see his stare roaming over your bareness.

So beautiful, he thought. Your body bathed in moonlight. While he wanted to speak it out loud, there was something poignant about the way the silence had continued to linger. He didn’t want to disturb it.

Instead, Dan covered your figure with his, skin to skin, scooping hands under you jaw. Another collision of your lips ensued, the exchange unabashedly passionate and filled an emotion too intricate to name.

Within an unspoken moment of harmony, Dan moved, lining himself to your entrance between your opened legs.

You’d been taken by him many times. In the bathroom stall on your first date. Over tables. On chairs. Floors. Kitchen counters. Countless times in this very bedroom. On this very mattress.

None of those scenes produced the same sense of satisfaction you felt as he sunk into you now. Not from the sensation itself, but the meaning behind it.

Words were fickle. They could be misconstrued. Altered by tone. Changed by moods and attitudes.

The way Dan began to thrust, steady yet severe, bruises being made from his grip at your back, kiss consuming your mouth and every facet of your thoughts…

There was no differing interpretation. No miscommunication. The definition explained merely by the feeling invoked from every action each of you made.

Two people. Expressing love in the most basal way in existence.

For a long time, longer than previous encounters, Dan worked himself in and out, relishing the feeling of your silky wetness, the whimpers he heard with each drag of his length.

Although, the feel of you clenching around him, when your thighs wrapped around his hips to to force his pelvis into yours with increasing intensity, soon had Dan struggling to stave off his release.

He didn’t ask to let it overtake him. Somehow, he knew didn’t need to.

Hurdling into a decadent climax, Dan drove hard into you, painting the deepest parts of your centre, filling you with everything he could give.

Slumping into your form, his nose burrowed into the curve between neck and shoulder. “I know I’m not always here,” he murmured. “But I’ll always be here. For you. Please remember that.”

Fingers swept over his messed hair. “I don’t think you’ll let me forget.”

One final kiss brushed over your throat. “Never again.”

*

@tlcwrites @roanniom @maryforyou @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @hopeamarsu @foxilayde @goddesstonythetiger @caillea @direnightshade @blackberries45

[rebeccccccaaa]

P̶h̶i̶l̶o̶p̶h̶o̶b̶i̶a̶

___________________________

Peter Parker x Reader

Requested|| (ANON) If this is not too much trouble, could I request something with the reader always trying to run from relationships because all the men in her life hurt her, and then she meets Peter and she's trying so hard not to fall for him, so he starts thinking that there's something wrong with him, until she tells him that she doesn't wanna get hurt again and he's all like 🥺 I'd never hurt you and it's all fluff?

Warnings|| major angst, slight smut but nothing crazy (minors dni)

Author’s Notes|| this kinda sucks but oh well someone will like it lmao

___________________________

You sat at the bar wallowing in sadness as if the world’s problems revolve around you. You felt stupid and selfish but you could brush the feeling. You downed yet another drink waving the waiter for another who smiled sympathetically before handing you another glass. 

“Hey,” a familiar pulled you from your sulking. 

“How’d you find me?” you said quietly. 

“Got lucky I guess,” that was a lie; he swung throughout all of downtown New York for the past hour looking for you. 

“I suppose you here cause…” you trailed off.

“What happened?” he sat down next to you.

You were hanging with Peter in his room playing video games. You two had a beer just talking as friends do. 

Friends.

Friends don’t usually sit this close to each other. 

“You ok?” 

 “Yeah, just feeling a little tired,” you responded.

“You want to stay here tonight?”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I insist. It’s pretty late and a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out so late.”

“Peter.”

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that,” you mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncom-”

“Maybe I should go,” don’t let him in; he’s just gonna break your heart like the rest of them.

“Y/n,” he stood up with you.

“Why are you running?”

“What?” you defended.

“You’re running away from me. This isn’t the first time you've done this," he explained walking up to you. You instinctively backed away almost insulting Peter. The look in his face was as if you broke his heart. You felt overwhelmed and you needed to get out. 

You pulled open the door abruptly hearing your name being shouted. You hurried down the stairs to the busy streets of New York instantly hailing a cab. He asked where to and you gave him a bill telling him however far it would take you. 

Peter ran back upstairs freaking out. He pulled his phone out and tried calling you first, he honestly didn’t know what had happened. Peter’s had an infatuation with you since the day you walked through the door in his class.

You two quickly became friends and although Peter wanted something more you always declined his advances and Peter respected that. That didn’t stop him from sharing his fair share of flirty comments that you had always seemed to laugh at. But this time he knew he fucked up calling you pretty but he doesn’t exactly know why it scared you so much. 

He suited up quickly and flew out the window searching every bar, club, cafe, library that you could possibly be in. His heartbeat quickened every passing minute that he couldn’t find you until after over an hour of searching and panicking and no response to his phone calls he finally found you. He quickly changes before heading inside as naturally as he could possibly act to not make you even more uncomfortable. 

“Hey.”

“I don’t know,” you responded to him.

“Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something out of line?”

“No, it’s not you, Peter,” you said, slightly raising your voice but not enough to draw attention.

“Can you at least explain to me what’s making you upset because I hate seeing you like this,” Peter said softly.

“I was just having a bad day,” you lied.

“The other day too? I know there’s something bothering you and I want to help you; I really care about you.”

“You can’t help me,” you said frustratingly.

“Why?” he urged.

“Because it’s about you!”

“But-”

“Gah! Peter, just- ugh!” you rubbed your face stressfully. You don’t want but the way you treated him and how you’ve done this too many times to be considered ‘a bad day’, you owe him an explanation; no matter how hard it’ll be to admit.

“Y/n,” he whispered, reaching out to touch you, making you flinch.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked fearfully.

"No! It’s not that,” you teared up.

“Peter, I’m falling in love with you and it terrifies me,” you whispered, stray tears falling gracefully down your cheeks. 

“What?” Peter was indeed surprised. Of course he dreamed about what it would be like if you loved him back but because of the way you avoided him and avoided even the topic of relationships altogether, this was the last thing he was expecting you to say.

“All my life, I thought there was something wrong with me. I was so confused how people can just break someone’s heart so easily. And yet, I still fell in love, over and over again just to get hurt in the end. It went on too long, and I let it. I told myself love is dead. Then I met you. You ruined my plans of dying sad and alone. I tried so hard to not fall but I can’t help it. The second I see you, I get these butterflies in my belly, and it feels like my skin crawls but like not in a bad way, you know? And I’m scared; it scares me,” you cried. 

“Y/n,” Peter whispered, bringing his hand up to your back, rubbing softly.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through all that and I know that my words and promises won’t do much. I just want you to at least hear me. You are the beautiful woman I’ve laid my eyes on, just being around you is enough to make me feel happier. Everyday I wake up thinking about you and-nand I go to sleep with you on my mind. All I do think about you; your smile, your eyes, your lips, your- your body,” he mumbled the last part shyly. 

“Y/n, I- I want to be the one that loves you; so much that you wouldn’t even think about heartbreak, you’d forget what it feels altogether."

His words hit you hard. You wanted that; you were so tired of running away but you don’t know if you can handle one more heartbreak; especially from Peter, the guy you fell so hopelessly in love with. Is it worth the risk? 

“I just want to feel loved, truly and genuinely loved,” you cried. 

Peter moved your hair from your face and wiped the tears with his thumb. One look into his dreamy brown eyes and you fell. Hard.

Peter pressed you against the back of his bedroom door. His lips were soft and velvety against yours. Your hands were intertwined and your stomach couldn’t help the eruption of butterflies. You’ve never particularly felt this emotive before for someone especially so intimately. His lips kissed the shell of your ear so softly you barely felt it.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered before pulling you to the bed.

You sat down lifting your arms for Peter who slowly pulled your hoodie over your head. He kneeled in front of you and pressed kisses down your torso making you wiggle and giggle. His hands cupped your breasts softly, squeezing playfully as his teeth nipped at your skin along your belly. 

He brought his hands to your bottoms and you lifted your hips to let him take it off. Once he did, he stood up quickly removing his one clothes and you sat up reaching out to touch his extremely toned torso. He grabbed a condom from the drawer beside the bed and hummed softly at your hands that roamed his body lovingly. 

He rolled the condom over his throbbing cock, crawling over you with a devilish smirk. He dipped his head in the crook of your neck kiss softly making you softly moan and sigh in pleasure. Your belly burned with desire aching for his cock. You wrapped your legs around his hips hissing when he pushed himself past your slick folds. 

“You’re a bit bigger than I anticipated,” you choked out. 

“You need a minute?” he cupped your face. 

You weakly nodded holding onto Peter tightly. Once you felt better and the pressure slowly dissipated, Peter brought his hips back and pushed again in you slowly. Your moans bounced off the walls as Peter thrusts sped up. 

“You feel so good, baby,” you pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Fucking hell,” Peter breathed out. 

His thrusts became sloppily and your skin slapped against each other loudly. You moans got louder and higher and Peter’s lower and rougher. Soon enough you couldn’t hold it any longer; your body contracting and tightening under him desperate to cum.

“Pete-”

“Go ahead, baby girl. Let go,” he looked into your eyes. 

You let your orgasm rip through you, letting your back arch into Peter and your toes curl. Peter’s mother opened but no sound came through as he reached his own high. His arms gave out after he climaxed and collapsed atop of you. Your body slightly trembled as you calmed yourself. 

“Please, please don’t break my heart,” you cried.

“I promise. I could never hurt you,” he kissed you passionately. He could taste your salty tears that stained your lips and tugged on his heart. He held you closely as you fell asleep never once letting go. And for once you felt loved. 

Truly, and genuinely loved. 

============

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison​

@buckybarnes101​

@l-sofiamia-l 

@pluto-grl

@partr1dge

[wonder-kid-pugh]

Waiting Long Enough - (Rose Lavelle x reader)

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!!! I was thankfully able to finish this late last night (sorry I was busy and only got to post it now). I'm working on another one but I'm not sure if I'll get it finished for today but I'll post it as soon as it's done. But for now I hope you enjoy!!!

The idea of soulmates is great. Scratch that it's euphoric. I mean imagine having someone who was literally made to be with you. Someone to be there for the good and bad days. Someone who does the little things for you just cause. Someone who gives you that sense of calm when the world might be falling around you. The perfect partner who knows you better than yourself sometimes.

In theory

The idea of soulmates is brilliant. But there's the small fact you have to consider. The fact of you have to find them first.

That's the part Rose struggled with.

Now they did have some help. Everyone had the day they meet their soulmate tattooed on their wrist. So you could imagine the feeling when Rose's tattoo told her she would meet her soulmate on Valentine's Day of all days.

Rose couldn't believe her luck. It seemed like something out of a movie. When she was younger she would always imagine these romantic chance encounters that would lead to her meeting her soulmate. Like something out of a fairy tail. How she would meet her soulmate and would be swept off her feet for the love holiday and fall in love.

The thought of it sounded perfect except for one thing......

The tattoo told you the day....not the year

So it was a repetitive cycle of heartbreak as Rose would wake up excited for Valentine's Day only to be disappointed when she wouldn't meet her soulmate. She tried to stay optimistic but it was hard when year after year pasted only for her to remain single on her own having no one to celebrate the holiday with.

Now it wasn't fool proof. I mean there was plenty of other situations where the soulmate tattoo failed. There was Lindsey and Sonnet for example. Obviously they had both met at camp but they had never expected it to be one of their teammates. And Sonnett still to this day would have thought her soulmate would have been that girl at the coffee shop if it wasn't for a friendly game of Truth or Dare at a team bonding session which she was dared to kiss her the blonde colorado native which revealed their initials which burned underneath their tattoos.

It also didn't help that this year Rose had to spend Valentine's Day in camp surrounded by couples.

"Who shit in your cereal?" Kelley laughs as she see Rose glare at the Valentine's decorations that littered the meal room. "Shut it" Rose mutters as she stabs at her breakfast with her spoon. "What's up Rosie?" Alex asks as she sits beside her best friend. Sonnett laughs, "Yeah you don't look really in the loving spirit".

Rose just rolls her eyes, "Well excuse me that I don't feel up for celebrating Valentine's Day when I'm the only person on the team who hasn't met their soulmate". Mal gives the girl a small smile, "Sorry Rosie". Alex gives her a sympathetic smile, "I know it sucks but you shouldn't let that get you down. Who knows? Maybe today will be the day you meet them?".

But Rose lets out a sigh as she plays with her food, "I rather not get my hopes up only to be disappointed. Like every year". "Well what are your plans for the day?" Mal asks trying to stir away from the conversation of Love which was clearly upsetting the girl. Rose just shrugs, "Probably the same as every year I'll probably end up just watching TV and drown myself in junk food and wait until the day passes".

Sonnett scoffs, "How are you planning on meeting your soulmate if you don't even leave the hotel?" Rose just gives the blonde a look, "That is rich coming from the pair that thought that having the same tattoo was a coincidence. If it wasn't for Kelley daring you to kiss each other at Truth or Dare you idiots still wouldn't know". Sonnett pouts, "Harsh". Lindsey shrugs, "But true".

Kelley points her fork at the blondes, "I still expect to be godmother of your first child.....or your child be named at me I'm fine with either".

While the two blondes blush furiously, Kelley turns back to Rose, "They are right though". Rose just glares at the defender as she raises her hands in surrender, "Hey how do you expect the love of your life to find you if you don't even give them a chance?"

Rose huffs because as much as she didn't want it admit it, Kelley was right. The chance of her soulmate finding her while she was couped up in her room feeling sorry for herself was very unlikely. "Well what do you want me to do? Walk around wearing a sign saying, "Are you my soulmate?""

Kelley shrugs, "I mean if it works..."

Alex sighs and shakes her head, "And you were doing so well..." Kelley looks at her best friend hurt, "Hey!" Mal turns to Rose, "They're right you should do something tonight". Rose bites her lip she knew her teammates were right but after years of searching she really didn't feel like having another let down. Mal puts her hand on the midfielders shoulder, "Look some of us were planning on going to a club tonight. You should come with us".

Rose frowns, "I don't know Mal". Lindsey jumps in, "C'mon it'll be fun! Worst case scenario you don't meet them and you have a good time with us. Best case scenario you find your soulmate and you thank us forever".

Rose bites her lip as she thinks for a second before sighing running her hand through her hair, "Fine what do I have to lose". The youngsters cheer as Mal wraps her arm around her, "Tonight's gonna be fun!" Rose sighed

She could only hope so

...........

Rose soon realised early on that her friends were wrong. They had barely been in the club and hour and she had already lost her friends. Granted they had lost Lindsey and Sonnett 15 minutes after entering the club. Rose rolled her eyes thinking that they were no doubt making out in the bathroom right now or worst not that Rose wanted to think about the later.

All she knew is that one second she was dancing with Mal and the others and the next she suddenly couldn't see anyone. She felt like she had searched the entire club but couldn't find any of her friends.  Rose pushed her way through the crowd hoping to find someone at the bar hopefully (she knew there was a 50 percent chance Kelley would be there) only to be disappointed when she didn't find anyone.

Rose let out a sigh as she slips her phone out of her to text the girls but before she can even switch on the phone she feels someone sliding up to her. A bit too close for her liking. "Hey there". Rose looks up to see a man smiling at her. Rose had to hold back a wince as he looked her up and down with what could only he described as a predatory look. Rose could only give him a small smile before turning away slightly trying to text one of the girls. But obviously he didn't get the hint as he just leans closer into her, "You here alone?"

Letting out a sigh she turns back to him, "I'm sorry but I have to go". She pushes her way back to the entrance before leading the club. Rose starts to text Mal that she was leaving to go back to the hotel when she bumped into someone.

"Oof" she grunts as she stumbles backwards from the collision. But before she could fall arms wrap around her steading her. "Oh gosh I'm so sorry". Rose shakes it off, "It's fine. I wasn't looking where I was going".

But when Rose looked up she let out a small gasp

As blue met green it had felt like the world had stopped. It was like Rose had temporarily forgot how to breathe as she looked into the stunning green eyes that peered down at her. And they would have no doubt stayed like that if it weren't for the shout behind her.

Rose couldn't help the groan as she turned to see the same guy from the club had followed her out. He gives her a grin, "There you are!" Rose sighs before speaking bluntly, "Look I'm sorry but I'm not interested". The man didn't look a bit deterred though as he just shrugs with a smile, "You sure I can't change your mind?" Before Rose can even think about saying anything she feels someone wrap their arm around her waist, "I think she's okay". I look behind me to see the same person from before that I bumped into her.

The guy looked a little taken back before he shakes it off, "Well if you ever change your mind you know where to find me". He sends the soccer player one last wink because strolling back into the club. Rose scoffs before smiling at her saviour, "Thanks. I don't think he would have left me alone if you hadn't stepped in".

But the stranger just shyly rubs the back of her neck, "No worries. Consider it an apology for barging into your earlier". It was this time that Rose got a good look at her saviour. She was seemed to tower over her. Not as tall as Sam but still tall. She was wearing jeans paired with a tight muscle tee which showed off her biceps. But what drew Rose in was the soft green eyes. They were so gentle and caring.

Rose suddenly realised that she was staring and blushed brightly already feeling the heat pour off her face, "W-well uh t-thank you for the help. I'm sorry for bumping into you". She gives me a smile, "I-its no problem".

Rose bit her lip playing with her phone before smiling at her, "Uh well I better go". Rose was silently hoping she would say something to stop her from leaving but she only nods. The midfielder gives her one last smile before brushing past her. She couldn't deny that the simple contact sent shivers up her spine like a shock of electricity.

But Rose had only made it about 5 steps before she was called back. Rose had to bite her lip to try and stave off the smile before she turned back around. The girl was sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck, "Uh do you mind if I walk you back? Just so I know you get there safely". But she immediately starts to stutter, "Uh unless that's weird. Yeah that's weird I-I'm sorry. Feel free to tell me to get lost".

But the poor girl was cut off by Rose giggling, "Yeah I would like that". She grins as she falls into step with the soccer player as they start the trek back to the hotel. It's quiet for a moment before the girl speaks up again, "I never got your name?" The midfielder smiles up at her, "Rose". She starts to chuckle making Rose tilt her head at her, "What?" She shrugs, "Nothing just that my name is Daisy". Rose couldn't help but snort, "Seriously?" She nods, "Seriously".

After that the conversation just flowed. The two were able to talk about anything and everything. Rose talked about soccer and her love of dogs which sparked off Daisy talking about her job as a vet. She even showed Rose some pictures of the animals she helped even if Rose mainly focused on the dogs.

But sadly it seemed that their time was up as they came up to the hotel. They stopped at the entrance neither knowing what exactly to do and both hoping to find some way of making this run longer. "Well this is me" Rose says quietly. Daisy just rocks on the balls of her feet, "Yeah.."

Rose bites the inside of her cheek hoping that something anything would happen to prevent her from going inside just yet. Rose had never felt more connected to anyone like this. Sure she had met people that she thought could have been her soulmate but none that gave her butterflies like this. But part of her held back scared of yet another failed attempt which she couldn't help after years of false hope.

But before she could even think of anything to say it was Daisy who filled the silence, "I-I know we've only met but c-can I try something?" Rose just silently nods as she watches the girl nervously step towards her. The soccer players breathe hitches as the taller girl cupped her face in her hands. But she couldn't help but lean into the warmth of her hand. Daisy searched her eyes looking for any bit of hesitance or doubt but when she found none she started to lean in. Both of them slowly started to lean until their lips met in a sweet and gentle kiss.

The kiss was unlike anything the girls had ever felt before. It would have gone on longer if no doubt for the burn they both felt on their wrists' making them pull back. Rose smiles down at the D.C now tattooed on her wrist forever more before looking up at her soulmate, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for that". Daisy just chuckles as she pulls out her wallet, "I always carry this in my wallet. It always felt right, I just didn't really know why until now".

Rose scrunches her face until Daisy hands her a  pressed flower....a rose to be exact. Rose smiles brightly before leaning back up to press another kiss to her lips. And that was the start of the story of Rose and Daisy. And their blossom relationship.

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part five

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: alright things escalated VERY QUICKLY but shit had to go down sometime. i hope you enjoy! and sorry for the delay, i really been goin thru it recently. this part is 7k to make up for it lmao i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | my ko-fi

masterlist

It’s a big day. You had held Bucky’s hand as you stood in the doorway to his apartment, playing with his rings so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. You were nervous, not because you didn’t trust Bucky but because with every secret spilled you felt like a layer of your skin was being peeled away. But you’d held his hand and told him to pick you up tonight from your office. You handed him your business card, a physical embodiment of trust you hadn’t given to anyone else. It wasn’t your apartment address, sure, but it was something and Bucky held the card with the biggest, boyish grin on his face that melted your heart.

The real reason you’re so nervous is because if whoever followed you from Bucky’s apartment is following Bucky, then they’ll follow him right to your office door. You’d had a long talk to yourself in the bathroom mirror the other night, however, and decided you weren’t going to let a hypothetical stalker ruin yet another relationship for you. Not that stalkers are common in your life, but using any excuse to distance yourself and cut people out is most definitely your regular MO. Not this time.

That being said, stalkers aren’t common in your life so you are, understandably, fixated by it. You are sure it has something to do with Bucky because you don’t believe in coincidences and the guy literally followed you from Bucky’s apartment. The big question is, was the stalker after Bucky or were they after you? Since you have next to nothing to go on, you aren’t exactly on your way to answering that one yet. But you’ll get there, eventually, and you’ve got some ideas.

In the meantime, you wait for Bucky and attempt to tidy your organised mess. He’s meant to show up at seven on his bike, but seven is going on eight and he’s yet to show. You try not to picture the worst or convince yourself you’re being stood up, even though that’s what it feels like. The one time you give out personal details and he doesn’t show. That would be your luck. You kick a filing drawer closed a bit too harshly, the metal clanging loud in your deafeningly silent office. Whatever. It’s not like anyone is left in the building to judge you because Bucky is over an hour late and every other office in the place is long empty.

You water your desperately dry indoor plants, even the one on top of your bookshelf - a testament to how hard you’re trying to distract yourself from the imminent heartbreak. You stand on tiptoes on your swivel chair to reach the crispy fern, something your dad would yell at you for if he could see you, but he can’t so you just pray the wheels don’t slip out from under you. It’s a very precarious precision for you to be in when someone bangs your office door open and stumbles inside, that’s for sure. You nearly break your entire body falling from the chair, but catch yourself on the bookcase before any real damage can be done.

The invader slams the door shut behind them, making you flinch once again as you spin around to face your would-be attacker. Only it's not someone breaking and entering - it’s Bucky, panting heavily and bleeding from his temple while he turns slowly on his heel and assesses every corner of your tiny office for threats.

“Bucky?” you call out, hesitant to approach and startle him incase it’s not your office that he’s seeing. His dog tags hang out the neck of his t-shirt when they’re usually always carefully tucked under the fabric, and you notice now he’s not just bleeding from his head but somewhere under that shirt as well. He looks over at your voice and it takes a second for him to focus properly on you, shoulders visibly slumping, closing the space in three quick strides.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling you bodily into a crushing hug. You wrap your arms around his waist, carefully holding him in case he’s got even more injuries you can’t see, but he squeezes you so tight you find it hard to breathe. He has one arm around your shoulders, that hand tangled in your hair and he presses your head into his shoulder. You feel him nose into the hair at the crown of your head, breathe in deep, let it out in shudders.

“You’re hurt,” you say into his t-shirt, and he shakes his head while still pressing his face into your scalp.

“M’fine, s’just blood,” he mumbles, barely coherent, so you let it go for the moment. You let him hold you and you hug him back, splaying your palms flat against his back and pressing him impossibly closer to you.

Eventually, you peel yourself from him in order to give him a once over. He smiles down at you like he’s amused, but you hardly find the situation funny when Bucky’s blood is literally all over you, now. You take his hand and make him sit on your swivel chair, spinning uselessly in the middle of the room from where it slid out from under you and rolled away. There’s a first aid kit in a box near the window, because you can never be too careful, and you take to soaking gauze in alcohol solution instead of speaking. You don’t trust what would come out of your mouth right now, anyway.

Luckily, Bucky fills the silence for you. He bites his lip as he looks over at you, taking in the tense set of your shoulders and jerky movements as you dig around for bandages. Then he says, “I got caught up, I really am sorry.”

You nod, but you still don’t speak. Instead you grab your supplies and move over to Bucky, avoiding his eyes as you assess the one wound you can see. Bucky has a thin cut from the corner of his eye to his hairline, shallow but bleeding profusely due to the thin skin there. You suck in a deep breath and start dabbing the soaked gauze on the wound, outside to inside, watching as the white turns coppery red with every swipe. Your stomach twists at the sight, and to your horror, you find you could almost cry.

“Doll,” Bucky says, eyebrows creasing up as if he’s just as upset as you feel. He hooks one big hand around your thigh, tugging until you let him manhandle you onto his lap. “I mean it, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I don’t care that you were late,” you snap, clenching your jaw until you can get your flash of frustration under control. You drop your hand from his face, curling up further onto Bucky’s lap despite yourself as his arms come round to hug you to his chest. His bloodstained, most likely injured chest. You take a deep breath and ask, “What happened?”

“You wanna know?” Bucky asks. When you finally meet his eyes he doesn’t seem to be shutting down, shutting you out like you expect when it comes to talking about Bucky’s biker lifestyle. He just looks sad, and you let yourself soften just a bit to run your fingers down his jaw.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed when you touch him, and you say, “I already told you - I just wanna know. No secrets.”

“No secrets,” Bucky affirms, smiling as he opens his eyes again. The corners are tight, though, as he starts to explain. “One of the things we do - the gang, y’know - is run protection details. Me and Sam were on it, supposed to be a simple job, but we got shitty intel and ended up having to fight our way out of a crappy spot. We got out, finished the job, but it definitely didn’t go to plan. ”

“Protection for what?” you ask. This is the most open Bucky has ever been when talking about his gang, so you’re not going to pass up this opportunity for a bit more information.

“For who,” Bucky corrects, smiling at you like he knows what you’re doing. He starts stroking up and down your shoulder blades as he talks, soothing the both of you it seems. “Rich businessmen, low-level politicians, mob affiliates - anyone who’s got a target on their back and need to get from point A to point B. They’re easy jobs for us ex-army guys and they pay well.”

“Better pay than fixing cars, I bet,” you say. Your attempt at levity works and Bucky grins. The way it makes his face turn young and open is so at odds with the trickle of blood down his cheek.

“Gotta be able to pay for your drinks somehow,” he says, and you slap his shoulder. He mock-winces and says, “Hey! I’m bleeding, ya gotta be nice to me.”

“Don’t gotta do shit,” you mumble, reminding you to press the gauze you’re still holding back on the wound on his temple to stem some of the bleeding. He hisses for real this time, the sting of the alcohol probably burning a bit, especially so close to his eye. You press a kiss to his cheek and in apology and Bucky hums, tightening his grip around your body to hold you close again.

“M’sorry I ruined our night,” he says, “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again, but I can’t.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, and he meets your eyes, slightly confused. You smile and say, “Not when you’re hurt. I know what I signed up for, I just want you to be ok.”

“What if, one day, I’m not ok?” Bucky asks, serious now, and you take your time before you answer him. His cut is clean of dried blood, and it’s stopped oozing any more. You doubt it’ll get infected so you should bandage it up but you can’t make yourself move from Bucky’s lap. Not just yet.

“I’ll fix you up,” you say. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Taking care of each other.”

Bucky blinks, once, as if allowing your words to download in his brain like a data file. Then he kisses you. He slides a hand up to cradle your head and presses soft, slow kisses to your lips like he’s got all the time in the world. He came storming in like a hurricane but now you’re in the eye, calm and quiet settling over you both as you cup his jaw and kiss into him all the tenderness you're too afraid to say. You mend his bleeding head and adrenaline-addled heart while he soothes your fear. Taking care of each other, and it feels nice to let someone else do that for once.

You know what Bucky is leaving out. The I hurt people admission, the fact he might have killed someone tonight, that the blood on his shirt isn’t just his. You really thought you’d care more - about the not knowing, about the truth of it, about everything. But he’s breathing and alive underneath you, trailing kisses and stubble burn from your mouth to your cheek to your temple, and all of those superfluous details become white noise. You’re surprised to find the simple fact that Bucky is alright is enough to supersede all the gaps you would usually itch to fill.

Bucky spins you both, tucking your legs up closer so you don’t overbalance as he looks around your office in a dizzying circle. A spike of nerves makes you feel sick for a second but Bucky smiles as he looks around, like he’s pleased with this part of your life he’s been able to see, and it makes you feel less afraid.

“This is where the magic happens, huh?” he asks, and you laugh at his teasing. “It’s very normal.”

“What did you expect? Like ‘Sherlock Holmes’ or something?” you ask. Bucky shrugs, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Maybe,” he says, then squints at you like he’s considering something. “So, no violin?”

“No violin, and no Mrs Hudson. I make my own tea,” you say, grinning up at Bucky even though he’s being stupid.

“Yeah, right,” Bucky snorts, “Pour your own wine, you mean.”

“Are you calling me a drunk?” you gasp, reeling back from Bucky and almost sending yourself off his lap and onto the floor. Bucky grips you tighter, laughing at the offence written all over your face, and then extracts an arm to point meaningfully at the half empty bottle of red by the side of your desk.

“The evidence speaks for itself,” he says. You fold your arms in a huff, if only to have him kiss the top of your head in a silent apology.

“You stick to the gang stuff, I’ll stick to the investigating,” you huff, and Bucky kisses you again until you wipe the frown from your face.

“Alright, smart girl,” he says. He stands, holding you up like it’s nothing and you can’t deny how hot that is, even if he is being condescending to you right now. He sets you down on your feet and smooths out your jacket, the warmth of his hands seeping through the leather as they pass over your shoulders and down your arms. He links his fingers into one of your hands, smiling down at you, and says, “Can we rain check dinner? I think I need a shower.”

Bucky stands unnaturally close to you as you lock up your office and head out, scanning the street while you lock the back door and set the alarm system for the building. He takes your hand wordlessly and leads you to his bike, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and just begging for a ticket. He hands you a helmet but is looking over your shoulder, not at you, and both of those things are worrying - you’ve never known Bucky to wear a helmet, let alone offer you one. You didn’t know he owned one. You feel fidgety, your skin crawling like you’re being watched, and Bucky must feel it too because he’s a bit rough in manhandling you onto the bike as quickly as possible.

“Bucky,” you say, and he twists around to give you a clinical once over - much like you’d done to him when he’d come to you bloody and breathless. You feel sick to your stomach, guilt and fear twisting in your gut, as you ask, “Do you think someone followed you here?”

Bucky’s face is impassive, but you’d like to think you know him well enough to read the tick by the corner of his eyes as a silent, muttered, shit. He licks his lips and says, “I can’t know the answer to that for sure.”

“But there’s a chance,” you say, and your heart is hammering so loud you barely hear your own voice. If someone finds your office then they find you, and the carefully constructed bubble of anonymity you’ve created is shattered in the space of a second. But you knew that, that’s what Bucky asked you on his couch - will you stay? Knowing Bucky is the antithesis of your comfort zone, will you stay anyway?

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Bucky says definitively. You scan his eyes for trace of a lie but there is none. Bucky’s jaw is set, and he reaches up to grip your chin and hold your gaze on his, making sure you hear him. “Just like you said - we take care of each other. I’ll always take care of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, one you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and Bucky kisses the trill of fear away. You feel like you’ve dived off a cliff face, Bucky holding your hand all the way down the precipice of trust you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. But Bucky promises he’ll take care of you and god, it’s stupid but you want him to. You want his to be the arms you land in at the end of this free-fall. Even if, given who Bucky is, that’s the most dangerous place to be.

“Speaking of no secrets,” you say, more of mumble into his mouth than anything. Bucky pulls away, adorably puppy-like look of confusion on his face, and your stomach twists with guilt. “Remember the night of the party? At Sam’s bar?”

Bucky nods. He’s twisted uncomfortably on the seat of his bike and the helmet you’ve yet to put on is digging in o your stomach where you’re holding it. This isn’t the best place to be having this conversation but Bucky’s promise has made you brave, and if you don’t go against your own word now you never will. Not once have you ever spilled details of a case before you’d cracked it. This isn’t a case, you have to remind yourself. This is your life.

“That morning, when I left,” you say, omitting the fact it’s the first time you ever used his front door and will most certainly be the last, “someone followed me from your building. I shook them off, but they were waiting for me to leave and I don’t know if they were casing your apartment or if they were there for me, or what. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, I just-“

“You just what?” Bucky doesn’t sound angry. Worse, he sounds cold. Shut down, clinical, and the way his face has pinched off makes your heart break.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you,” you say, looking down at your lap to avoid the way he’s looking at you like a stranger. Saying it out loud makes it sound so much worse, but it’s the truth and Bucky deserves that at least. “To be honest, I’m still not sure. But I want to. If I’m going to trust anyone, I want it to be you.”

It’s several moments before you’re brave enough to meet Bucky’s eyes again. He is coming back to you slowly, the shutters pulling up from his eyes as confusion seeps out. He scans your face and says, “Usually I would tell you that’s a really stupid idea, but I think you already know that.”

“Stupid ideas are kind of my thing,” you say, and that makes Bucky smile. Relief is bone deep, hits so hard you could slump from the bike in a pile of goo. He’s not mad. In fact, he leans forward in what must be a truly uncomfortable twist to press his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, breathes in deep. You follow suit, so ridiculously relieved you still get to do this while simultaneously trying to control the adrenaline rush from handing over what feels like you’re entire life to someone else.

All your life it feels like it’s always been you versus the world. Your dad raised you that way, to rely on no one but yourself so you can never be let down, not even him. It feels wrong on a cellular level to trust Bucky like you are so blindly doing. Every instinct screams at you to run, to figure this out on your own, that Bucky would normally be one of your main suspects in a regular case. But here you are, showing Bucky all your cards, hoping against hope that you won’t live to regret it.

“No more secrets,” Bucky says, and you nod. You feel his eyelashes tangle with yours as you move, pressed so close like this, and you open your eyes to stare at the veiny lids covering his. “Next time someone follows you, you tell me.”

“Yes sir,” you say, grinning at the warning pinch he gives to your hip.

“Let’s go to the shop,” Bucky says, pulling away from you and turning back to gun his bike to life. “The guys can help us figure this stalker shit out.”

“The guys?” you ask, and your chest does something painfully restrictive at the thought of letting more people in. “As in, everyone? Like, your gang?”

Bucky laughs, like the way you say ‘gang’ is so goddamn amusing, and throws you one last look over his shoulder. You tug the helmet on as he revs the bike, suddenly regretting every other time you’ve gotten on this thing without one, as Bucky says, “Yeah, doll, my gang. That’s kinda the whole point - we help each other out.”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that before. Truthfully, your mind had been filled with shady drug deals and bloody fights, turf wars and tattoos and angry men on bikes. Bucky’s friends and the nights you’ve spent with them seem like a different world, the joy and love entirely removed from the illegal life Bucky leads outside of your reach, but you have to remind yourself - they’re one and the same. Your Bucky cannot be removed from the biker you’ve been kept seperate from.

Clinging to Bucky’s waist, you say, “Sounds very after school special for a gang, tough guy.”

You can practically see Bucky grinning just by looking at the back of his head as takes off, the streets of Brooklyn peeling away as heads for White Wolf Mechanics. Your anxiety and fear sheds off as well, floating away in strips down the tarmac like an outer layer of skin. You feel vulnerable, all new and exposed as you hold Bucky close so you don’t fall. That’s what makes it feel bearable - Bucky’s back against your cheek, the hand he places over yours against his stomach when you pull up at a red light. His promise, echoing under the rumble of the bike beneath you. I’ll always take care of you.

~~~

The shop looks closed from the outside, but you can hear a low bass-line from the street and people laughing somewhere inside. Bucky brings you round the back, the roller doors out front closed this time, and into the back rooms you’d yet to see since that first visit a few weeks ago. To your left you see what must be Bucky’s office, but the room he tugs you to looks more like a bachelor pad living room than a mechanics break room.

Sam and Steve lay sprawled on leather couches, beers open on the coffee table made of old crates stacked together. The Killers pumps through a very, very nice sound system which Natasha is quietly singing along to where she lays on top of the pool table, legs kicking off the edge to the beat. Her beer rests on her stomach, rising and falling with every breath, and she doesn’t even raise her head as she waves at the two of you entering. Sam lifts the icepack from his eye to look at you, grinning wide, and kicks Steve in the shin to get his attention.

“Barnes is back,” he says, rolling his eyes as Steve blearily blinks awake from what was clearly an unplanned nap. Steve focuses on you and Bucky, eyebrows drawn down in confusion, and Sam adds, “and he’s brought his girl.”

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner or something?” Steve asks, then seems to remember himself and smiles all big and perfect at you. “It’s great to see you again, by the way.”

“Quit brown-nosing, it’s embarrassing,” Sam says, and throws his icepack at Steve’s head. He swats it away, squawking at the wetness it leaves behind on his hand and cheek, which makes Sam grin.

“I need a beer for this,” Bucky mutters so only you can hear, which makes you smile. You lead the way to the minibar in the corner, right by the bookshelf full of video games and the cardboard cut-out of Guy Fieri (you don’t want to ask). Bucky follows, grabbing your hand and tugging you back into his chest as you walk - even without the watchful eyes of the other gang affiliates which usually follow you at his parties, Bucky seems hell bent on making sure everyone knows who you’re here with. Even his closest friends.

You can’t say you entirely mind.

“So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Natasha asks. She’s sat up now, twisting on the pool table to face you both as Bucky grabs you some beers. Sam and Steve still continue to argue about nonsense on the couches and are ignored by the three of you for the moment. However, they stop bickering as soon as Bucky speaks again.

“Someone’s been watching my building,” he says. The silence is thick, and you feel almost guilty for ruining their fun night with your stalker woes. Bucky hands you a beer and looks at you pointedly, eyebrows raised. You take a sip before you follow his not-so-subtle direction to start talking.

“I was followed home the morning after Sam’s party at the bar,” you say. You have the full attention of Bucky’s closest friends, and you can’t help but feel a little intimidated. You take a deep breath and decide to look at the situation like you were debriefing a client on a case - remove yourself from the equation. “There was a man smoking against the building next to Bucky’s. He followed me about four blocks before I lost him. He was over six foot, caucasian, brown hair and stubble.”

“Sounds like every white guy,” Sam says. “You could be describing Bucky, for all we know.”

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “If I was putting a tail on someone, I would make them very nondescript. Makes sense, right?”

“And you’re sure he was following you?” Natasha asks. You glance at her, but she doesn’t look like she’s condescending you or anything. Surprisingly, she looks like she believes you far more than the other two men in the room. Maybe your trial by fire proved to her you know what you’re talking about, so you nod.

“Definitely. Either he knew I was there and was waiting for me to leave, or he was watching Bucky’s apartment and would have followed anyone who came out of it. Without more information I can’t be sure if he was there for me or Bucky.”

“You’ve never seem him before?” Steve asks. You shake your head, and he says, “Could you describe him a bit more detailed? I might be able to draw him.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “Or, we can just wait until he shows up at Bucky’s again and follow him.”

Bucky does not like that idea at all. He practically growls, grabbing your elbow and turning you to face him as he glares at you. Roughly, he says, “Are you fucking insane?”

“What?” Mildly annoyed, you tug your arm from Bucky’s grip and say, “If this was a case, that’s what I would do.”

“This isn’t a case. This guy is going to be a hell of a lot more dangerous than some rich businessman cheating on his wife,” Bucky says, voice raised to an almost shout in one of the quickest escalations you’ve ever seen.

A switch flips in your brain, and you see red.

“Thank you for the condescending analysis, Bucky,” you snap. You ignore Sam’s muttered ‘oh shit!’ for your own health and sanity. “But you have no idea the kind of people I’ve dealt with in my life. I can manage a fairly mediocre stalker.”

“A fairly mediocre stalker who works for someone who won’t hesitate to use your hamstrings as handcuffs,” Bucky hisses. He steps towards you, chest brushing yours as he breaths deep and ragged, and oh- there’s the Bucky you’d been missing. The guy who’s still wearing clothes stained with blood, most of it not his, angry in an incandescent kind of way which reminds you he could hurt you in many more ways than just a broken heart. He leans down to say into your face, “This isn’t something you fuck around with, alright? There’s a reason why I’ve kept this world from you.”

“I thought we said no secrets?” you say, raising your eyebrows. You will yourself to hold your ground, even if you are shaking like a leaf and your words come out soft in the face of his anger. Like you’d poked a pin in his chest, Bucky deflates. He backs off of you, face crumbling from anger to guilt as quickly as he built himself up there.

“I won’t let you get hurt because of me,” he says, shaking his head. The switch in your brain flips back, all indignation and pride fading away. He’s still trying to take care of you, just like he promised. Already it’s abundantly clear you’re not going to make that easy for him, and you wonder how long it will take until he gets sick of trying.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me,” you say, gesturing between you. “I let you into my world, now it’s your turn. I know it’s dangerous - I could have left, remember? But I’m here. So let me be here.”

“If someone touches you-“

“I’ll get over it,” you say. Bucky stares at you like you’re crazy, and maybe you are, but it’s true. “You said you were going to take care of me - how’re you gonna do that from all the way over there?”

You don’t mean the other side of the room, the valley of the pool table and the metaphorical arms-length which which he’s keeping between you. There’s only so much Bucky can hide from you before you either dive right in or walk away. This is the turning point.

“Fine,” he says. He looks physically pained as he scrubs a hand over his cropped hair, but at least he’s not angry anymore. “I still think thats a fucking stupid idea.”

“Like I said,” you say, offering him a smile he shakily returns, “stupid ideas are kind of my thing.”

“Uh, can I say something?” Sam asks, breaking the illusion that it was only the two of you in the room for that particular argument. You both turn to look at him, and he almost backs down with the weight of both your gaze. He carries on, however, saying, “I’m glad you guys have had this breakthrough in your relationship, but that doesn’t really help us in figuring out who this guy is. Or who he works for. Or why he followed you. Or how he knows where Bucky lives in the first place.”

“We could go around and ask,” Steve says, shrugging at Natasha’s eyeroll. “What? Baseball bats really jog people’s memories.”

“Why don’t we ask the private investigator for some expert advice,” Natasha says, giving you a look that seems to say men, right? You’re still trying to get your head around the image of Steve threatening someone with a baseball bat when you’ve seen him with his own puke on his jumper singing Sweet Caroline into a toilet bowl.

“Well,” you begin, darting Bucky a look but he seems to be listening and not getting ready to yell at you again, “since apparently following the guy is off the table for now, I would start with me and Bucky. Enemies, bad blood, someone with an axe to grind. Pull at some threads and see what happens.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Sam says, “Bucky’s got more enemies than friends.”

“So do we all, punk,” Bucky grumbles, glaring at Sam. “We’re in a gang.”

“This ain’t about me.” Sam holds his hands up in mock innocence, grinning big like he gets unrivalled joy from making Bucky’s face do the twitchy, dark thing it’s doing right now. The impact is somewhat lessened by the swollen, black eye Sam’s sporting from the mission gone wrong today, you assume, but it doesn’t curb his enthusiasm.

“I can put together a list of the most recent run-in’s you’ve had by tomorrow,” Natasha says to Bucky, ignoring the bickering with practiced ease. “Until then, we should put some protection on your building.”

“You guys have bodyguards?” you ask before your brain can tell you that’s a dumb fucking question. All three of them laugh, Bucky hooking an arm around your shoulder to ruffle your hair as he tugs you into his side. Point taken, you think as you pout under Bucky’s arm.

“I’ll stay in the spare room,” Steve says, swinging himself off the couch to his full, ginormous height. That image of him with the baseball bat starts to take a bit more shape in your mind, and you don’t doubt for a second he could offer some extra protection where the stalker is concerned. To you, he asks, “You don’t mind if I third wheel?”

“It’s not my apartment,” you say, attempting to hide your blush under the weight of Bucky’s arm. You are unsuccessful, if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by.

“We’ll survive one night, punk,” Bucky says, giving you a squeeze. “Or just buy some earplugs.”

“Gross!” Sam cries, flailing an arm around. “Too much information!”

You have a feeling akin to whiplash at how well these people are taking a stalker and potential threat on their lives. Joking around, Steve fake-moaning just to make Sam scream, Natasha laughing until tears form in her eyes at the antics of two grown men chasing each other around the couches like school children. Glancing up at Bucky and the warm look he’s giving them all, you suppose it must be lot less scary to face something like that with friends. Family, you think, as Sam crash-tackles Steve into the couch and smothers his face with a pillow.

“You’ll be alright?” Natasha’s soft voice manages to scare you, jolting under Bucky’s hold as you turn from watching Steve and Sam to find her right by Bucky’s other side. She’s looking up at him, lips pressed into a firm line, and you remember the last time you were here - James is the only family I have. Maybe some are taking this development a bit easier than others.

“Always am,” Bucky says, using his free arm to punch her lightly on the shoulder. She gets him back, much harder, and you feel Bucky wince away from her and into your side. “Serious, Natashenka. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she says. Smirking, she adds, “I’ll kill you if you aren’t.”

You look back to Steve and Sam before they can notice you eavesdropping, a hot, honey-thick feeling melting through your skin. You want to know what that feels like in a way which burns; to have people who have your back like that, and your dad doesn’t count because he literally has to. You understood Bucky’s gang even less than you originally thought - he’s not just a biker, a criminal, a hit man or an ex-army vet turned enforcer, whatever the case may be. He’s a guy doing what he has to do to protect the people he loves, because he’s surrounded by them. You’ve never had to protect anyone but yourself.

You tuck yourself closer into Bucky’s side, letting the warmth and smell of him consume you. That’s gonna change, you think. This feeling in your chest is telling you that change is already happening.

~~~

Steve does not have to get ear plugs to survive the night, and you make both him and Bucky coffee before you head off. Shower, new clothes, work - all that normal people stuff you have to do. Steve, golden in the morning sun with the brightest smile on his face, and Bucky’s moody scowl at the early hour and dark rings under his eyes, wave you goodbye. You kiss Bucky’s pout before you go, letting him grab your ass for a second before you slip away.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, and Steve snorts like there’s some joke you’re missing.

“I’ll go out the laundry window,” you say, as if this is a new development and not your usual routine. “Nobody’s gonna follow me, promise.”

“Hmph,” is all Bucky says and then you’re really gone, racing down the stairs and out the window like you always do.

Sorry Bucky, you silently think towards his apartment as instead of making to cut through the gym parking lot, you wrap back around his building and scan the street from behind the bins. Sure enough, opposite Bucky’s building with a baseball cap on and another cigarette, stands the same dude who followed you the first time. You really weren’t lying - stupid ideas are kind of your thing.

You make sure you’re hidden by a group of pedestrians as you slip out the side alley of Bucky’s apartment building and walk away from your stalker. He doesn’t notice, and you manage to walk a block and cross the road without him any the wiser. Your roles have switched as you hang out at the news-agency a few doors down from where he’s waiting, pretending to flick through a magazine. It’s easy to take a few picture of him over the top of the page with your phone, grainy but useable for when you show Bucky later.

You can deal with Bucky being angry at you, because you know how to do your job and this is the most efficient way to get intel. It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Eventually, you watch your stalker watch Bucky and Steve leave his building. It’s 9AM and they head to their respective bikes, revving off down the street in the general direction of Steve’s tattoo shop. Your man hunches his shoulders and pulls out his phone, taps into it for a bit, before he walks off in the opposite direction to Bucky and Steve. Not following them, then. Your stomach twists as you fall into pace a few people behind him. Just following you.

He gets on the subway, which makes  it very difficult for you to remain unnoticed but you manage to sit at the internal doors in the next carriage and watch him through those. He gets on his phone again, talking to someone with evident frustration if his clenched jaw and balled fist is anything to go by. He gets off in Manhattan, walks a few blocks, before ducking into a darkly lit bar called the Lerna. You decide it’s probably best not to follow him there, but you snap a few photos on your phone of the bar before doubling back out to Brooklyn.

You call Bucky as you go, a bit jittery at the incoming argument you know you’ve created, but you can’t help but feel it will be worth it. Now you have something to actually go off - a face, a name, some concrete facts. Much better than stabbing around in the dark. A few rings go by before Bucky picks up, saying, “Miss me already?”

“Get over yourself, tough guy,” you say, but you’re smiling. Maybe you do miss him already, just a bit. You were so focused on getting your information you didn’t get to fully savour Bucky this morning, all tanned muscles and tattoos, all yours. You force yourself to ruin the moment by saying, “I’ve got some information for you.”

“Me too,” he says, which surprises you. “Nat’s gotten together some potential candidates for your stalker. Have you got time to come to Steve’s tattoo place?”

“Sure,” you say, beginning to pick at your nails as the nerves set in.

There’s a beat of silence before Bucky must realise what you’d said before, and he doesn’t sound nearly as light and playful anymore “You said you had information? On what?”

“I’ll just show you when I get there,” you rush out, closing your eyes at the way Bucky sucks in a breath like he already knows what you’ve done. “Don’t be mad.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” he says, as if through gritted teeth. “I’m fucking livid. Please tell me you didn’t follow that guy this morning.”

“Ok, I won’t tell you,” you say. “See you in twenty.”

“You’re dead meat,” he says before you hang up.

It could’ve gone worse, you muse as you round the corner to the subway station. Sure, Bucky threatened you with lethal violence and sounded even angrier than he’d gotten at the shop yesterday, but you can still imagine him smiling at his phone as you hung up the same way you’re smiling at yours now.

You text him the photos with a quick, Don’t say I never do anything for you xx

A minute after the photos deliver, Bucky is calling you again. You frown down at his caller ID, confused - you were on your way, why is he calling you back already? But before you answer that question, someone grabs your arm and tugs you away from the subway steps and into an alley instead. His grip is bruising, unbreakable, even as you scream and kick before he shoves a gun into your neck and you fall deathly silent.

“Scream and you’re dead,” the man says, hot on your ear. You can’t shudder away, his vice grip too tight and the cold steel on your jugular paralysing. You twist a bit to look behind you despite yourself, your stomach bottoming out at the familiar face which grins back at you. Baseball cap, brown hair, stubble - just like any other white guy. He sneers at you and says, “Not so clever now, huh?”

All you can hear, as your stalker marches you down the alley and into a waiting SUV with a gun to your back, is Bucky’s voice yelling this isn’t something you fuck around with. You’d let him say ‘I told you’ so a thousand times if it meant you got out of this alive. Hopefully, the phone tucked into your back pocket will be enough to save you. You hope Bucky is listening, the call you just managed to answer still catching the grunted conversation your kidnappers are having. You’ve never needed someone before, but god, do you hope Bucky’s got you now.  

Part 6

[4stars-uswnt]

This is the End [Tobin Heath x Reader]

requested by anon: honestly anything tobin or christen would be great (angst!!?)

A/N: i wrote this at like midnight bc that’s just when inspiration hit. also this was my first time writing angst so lemme know how it is

warnings: angst, hints at/mention of cheating

sequel

You groan, as you hang up the phone, tossing it across your bed. You had just gotten off the phone with your girlfriend of one year, Tobin Heath. Usually, you loved talking to your girlfriend, as you’d share the events of your days with each other. But lately, it seemed like all you two were doing was fighting and bickering over the smallest of things. The latest topic of discussion was Tobin’s best friend, Christen Press.

—————

Although you trusted your girlfriend, you couldn’t help feel insecure about and jealous of their relationship. It certainly didn’t help that you were currently stuck quarantining in Seattle for training with the Reign, and that Christen was currently living with Tobin in Portland.

When you found out the curly haired forward would be staying with your girlfriend, you were livid, starting one of your many fights.

“What do you mean she’s gonna be living with you?!” You yell, exasperatedly.

“(Y/N/N), it’s not like she can go anywhere. The whole country is basically shut down, and they cancelled all the flights.” Tobin tries to calm you.

“Well, why was she even visiting you?” The jealousy in your voice was now evident.

“She was dropping off some stuff for re-inc and the new launch.” She explains.

“How long do you think she’ll be staying?” You sigh.

“I’m sure it won’t be for that long, babe. I promise she won’t stay any longer than she has to.” She tries to reassure you, knowing you weren’t the most comfortable with the situation.

You rolled your eyes, thinking back to that conversation. ‘Not that long’ had turned into almost four months.

You had always been a little weary of Tobin and Christen’s relationship, or ‘preath’ as the fandom had coined them. It was obvious to any person that Christen had heart-eyes for the other woman, and that Tobin absolutely adored the speedy forward, whether that be as more than a friend, you didn’t know.

While you were confident in your relationship, there was always a small part of you that couldn’t help but second guess yourself and question if those ‘preath’ shippers had a point. Your current situation only increased your deprecating thoughts.

—————

Reaching for your phone again, you open the Twitter app, hoping to take your mind off the fight you had just had with your girlfriend. After going through a couple of posts, you passed one from a few minutes ago, mentioning both Tobin and Christen. Scrolling back up, you scanned the tweet. Your eyes widen, and you drop your phone.

“Hearing Tobin Heath and Christen Press are close to signing deals to play with Manchester United.”

Your heart stopped. Though there was more to the post, you didn’t bother continuing, as you had all the information you needed.

Normally, you would wait a couple of hours after an argument to call your girlfriend back, giving you both some time to cool off, but after seeing what you just saw, you furiously FaceTimed her.

After a couple of rings, you hear her voice.

“Hi.” You can hear the hesitancy in your girlfriend’s voice.

“Hey. Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, and I trust you, I do, and I’m sorry I get insecure sometimes.” You truly did mean your apology, but at the same time, you just wanted to ask Tobin about the rumors floating around.

“I’m sorry, too, (Y/N/N). I shouldn’t have yelled either, and I know you trust me. This whole situation just sucks, doesn’t it?”

You huff out a ‘yes’, and Tobin chuckles a little.

“So, we good?” You sheepishly ask.

Tobin practically smiles through the phone. “Yeah, we’re good.”

The two of you make small talk for a while, discussing the weather and what you have planned for the rest of the evening, until you decide you can’t wait any longer to hint at the tweet that’s been plaguing your mind.

“Anyways, when do the Thorns start training again?”

“Ummm. I dunno. In like the next week or so.” Tobin says it so nonchalantly that you can’t tell if she’s purposely avoiding the topic or she’s just chill about it, like everything else in her life.

“Well, have you been taking with Mark?” You try again, hoping she’ll tell you about the Man United loan.

“Yeah, a little.” She hums. “Why? When do you start? You meet your new coach yet?”

You let out a small sigh of defeat, before answering her and continuing the conversation. Not receiving any information from your girlfriend, you decide to drive down to Portland the next morning, not only to surprise Tobin, but hopefully to get some answers.    

—————

After about three hours of driving, and a stop for coffee, you reach the doorstep of Tobin’s apartment at around noon. Knocking on the door, you hear Christen’s voice.

“Oh! That must be our Sweetgreen order.”

You roll your eyes. Of course they would order Sweetgreen for lunch.

The door opens, and you stumble back at the sight in front of you. There, in the door frame stands Christen, wearing only one of Tobin’s oversized Jordan t-shirts. The two of you are just staring at each other, her with a look of guilt and shame written across her face, and you, you’re trying to conceal the pain and heartbreak you are currently feeling.

As if to confirm it all, you hear Tobin’s voice approaching from within the apartment.

“Chris! What’s the hold up? Who’s at the door?” Your girlfriend comes up behind Christen, dressed only in a sports bra and a pair of sweat paints. Her eyes widen upon seeing you standing outside her apartment.  

By now, tears are streaming down your face, as you’ve put the pieces together.

You take off running, down the hallway and out of the building, trying to go anywhere, as far away from your girlfri—— ex-girlfriend as possible.

You hear Tobin chasing after you. “Wait! (Y/N)! Let me explain.”

Catching up to you, she grabs your wrist. You turn around, pulling yourself out of her grasp.

“What?! What could you possibly say?” Your voice cracks. Tobin looks down at her feet, obviously ashamed.

“Babe—" She tries.

“NO!” You hold up your hand. “You do not get to call me that.” You sob.

“I’m sorry.” Tears begin to pool in her eyes.

You shut your eyes, willing your own tears away. “I thought you’d at least have the decency to break up with me before jumping into bed with someone else!” You yell frustratedly, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “I know we’ve been going through a rough patch recently, but I thought we’d be able to work it out. I thought we were worth fighting for. I thought I was worth fighting for.” You whisper the last part, sounding defeated.

Tobin’s heart breaks at the sound of your words. Running her hands through her hair, she inwardly curses, frustrated with herself. Falling in love with two women was never easy, especially when it was with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Christen Press, two of the purest people on the planet.

“I never meant for this to happen, (Y/N).” Tobin sighs.

You scoff under your breath at the woman’s cliché and weak defense.

“How long? How long has this been going on?” You hold your breath, not really wanting to hear the answer, knowing it’ll only shatter your heart even more.

“I knew I started to have feelings for her after last year’s SheBelieves Cup. But we only started…ya know… about two months ago.” She reveals.

You feel like you’re gonna throw up. You want to cry, scream, laugh, yell, all at the same time. Instead, you distance yourself from the other woman, asking her one final question.

“So I guess it’s true?”

Tobin continues to blankly stare at you.

“You’re gonna move to England with her? Play for Manchester United?”

She gives you a look, and you can’t tell if it’s one of sympathy or of guilt, and honestly, at this point, you don’t even care.  

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” She mutters.

“Well,” You clear your throat, pushing down the impending breakdown. “This is it then. This is the end.”

Tobin nods, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

A new wave of tears gather in your eyes, realizing she won’t even fight for your relationship, or fight for you.

“Goodbye, Tobin.” You turn around and rush back to your car, not giving her the chance to respond.

Shutting the door, you rest your forehead against the steering wheel and let out a sob, now letting the tears fall freely. After a couple of minutes of bawling, you go to drive away, but as you’re leaving, you see Tobin still standing outside the building, staring at you with tear tracks down her cheeks.

Ignoring your broken heart, you glance at the woman one final time and press your foot on the gas, leaving her and your relationship behind.

This truly was the end.

[chaoticallysapphic]

the great trial part one

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: So remember when I said I wouldn’t post anything until the sequel was done? Well it turns out I need validation to thrive and would love peoples feedback on the series so I’ve decided that I am going to slowly release what I currently have while trying to finally finish what’s left. Thank you to @medeliadracon​ for beta reading this and @ladyxffandoms​ for being such a big help! This wouldn’t nearly be as good without the two of you. 

This is the sequel to the great divide series.

word count: 4k

That first month in your new apartment is probably the worst. You guys were able to find a small one on the bottom floor of a complex. It had a small side garden with a lemon tree and vines growing up the side of the building and your dad was already talking to about all the flowers you could plant together. 

Suyin put you on house arrest as well which caused an uproar with not only Kuvira, who offered to take your year for herself, but also your parents. You would be stuck inside for a year whilst she would have to stick it out for three. Kuvira hated how you were paying for her actions, she didn’t see how wrong it was for you to turn a blind eye for three years. No one knew the pressure she put you under.

Your parents offered to pay the bills. They were comfortable enough with your mom's Lieutenant salary and with your father's popular flower shop. They even bought you guys furniture and upon your request paint to personalize your first home. 

Somehow once that front door shuts, leaving you both inside with furniture randomly stacked around in the living for the both of you to organize along with paint cans and boxes of your belongings, the room feels like the air has been sucked out of it. You’ve dreamed of this day for years and it isn’t going at all how you planned. 

She doesn’t get what the big deal is, she’s just happy she’s not stuck in a prison cell. That frustrated look on your face is new and with a sharp reply at some snappy comment you made, she realizes she doesn’t like it.

Kuvira gets pissed that the couch is too heavy, the paint isn’t the right shade, and even though she claims she doesn’t care it’s what you’ve dreamt, and dammit you deserve for it to come true. A plate cracks, silverware is dropped, the bookcase is too small for all your childhood books and one of you (Kuvira) already managed to scuff up the floors. 

This, the after, is meant to be the easy part. There aren't any more battles or secrets, train rides, or negotiations. It’s the two of you in your first apartment and this day is supposed to be a happy one. This is meant to be a peaceful and happy day with stolen kisses as you lazily unpack. You’re meant to be starting over and it’s not supposed to be so difficult.

The sun has gone down and the lights dimly illuminate your disaster of a living space. Nothing has been accomplished. You grip the roots of your hair as the paint issue is once more brought up “why does it matter? It’s a decent color!” 

“Because it’s not what I envisioned!” 

“Well, we can’t always get what we want! What, are we going to have your parents return it?” Spirits! She doesn’t get it, your vision of the future was sacred, something you held tight for all those years. It has to be at least slightly like you imagined it, and this isn’t right. 

To Kuvira, your behavior is starting to remind her of a spoiled child upset about not getting the last piece of candy.

“You don’t get it! It matters to me, we’re gonna be living here for the next three years. I think we should at least like what we put on the walls!” You storm away, slamming the bedroom shut behind you. There aren’t many places to hide here, all the main living space is combined along with a very small bathroom, one wall is completely windows that show the small garden and by the kitchen is the door to the bedroom. 

Kuvira stands frozen in the living room, slightly flinching as the door slams shut. She understands that there will be a rocky adjustment period. She admitted that day in the tent that she needs to work on the way she treats you. 

But she didn’t expect it to go south so fast. While you have your version of how today is meant to go, so does she. Kuvira hoped today would go along smoothly, she didn’t care about the furniture or walls, she simply wanted to peacefully start off your new life together on a good note.

You aggressively rub at your eyes as you feel tears of frustration well up before sitting down on the edge of your bed. That’s at least one thing that seems to be working out, all the beds you shared in the past were rather small (besides the one in the Beifong estate) so it was a relief to see them carry in a queen-sized bed for both of you. You lay down over the covers and sighed. Tomorrow will be better, you tell yourself. 

You don’t mean to fall asleep, you just planned to lay there and stew in your emotions a bit before getting up and trying to talk it out. So when you awake with a start, your hand immediately goes to search for that familiar body. You choke out a sob as you find the other side empty. Momentarily forgetting where you are, you begin to cry as you wrap your arms around yourself. The words “what did I do?” leave your lips. 

You bring a hand to try and stifle the sound as your lungs squeeze out all the air it can. The room feels so small and the darkness of the night so terrifying. 

There’s the sound of shuffling from the other side of the door before someone opens it up, Kuvira looks at you, her hair a curly mess from sleep. She squints, still half asleep before hearing you let out a whimper. She walks over, crawling onto the bed until she’s in front of you, her hands come up to move your wrists as you continue to try and muffle the sound. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” 

Your eyes shoot up to hers and you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “You weren’t here,” you cry. Kuvira’s eyebrows shoot up at your words before wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you closer to try and offer you some kind of comfort. “I thought…” you sniffle, “I thought we were back on the train.” 

Oh

Suddenly Kuvira feels anger flame within herself but it’s not directed at you but her because she’s the reason you're crying. “I was just sleeping on the couch, no one else is here.” Baatar isn’t here. You grip her shirt for reassurance, the fear within you stays and it makes your joints ache with anxiety as you remember all those nights alone. “I thought you wanted to be alone.” 

This side of you is brand new to her and so heartbreaking. She can feel the pounding of your heart and a part of her is worried it’ll break out of your chest. She’s done this to you, she’s made it so you're sobbing so hard you can barely breathe. As you shake in her arms, she realizes this can’t be avoided tomorrow.

You shake your head, not being able to say anything as you continue to cry. She moves her arms, an act that has you holding her tighter, and moves them to your hips so she can scoot you over so that the both of you can sleep. You seem to understand as your grip loosens just a smidgen as she slowly lays down and, due to your clinging, you follow.

Once on your sides, you wrap yourself around her, needing her to be as close as possible, and tuck your face into her neck. It’s not all that comfortable but it helps slow your heart rate down a bit. 

In the morning you seem to not want to talk about your episode, you act as if nothing happened. She always tried to ignore the way you looked after those nights on the train, honestly, she was too busy trying to scrub away the events of the night before to have noticed how truly upset you looked. 

But now in the light of day as your unpacking more dishes she notices the bags under your eyes and the unusual quiet in your demeanor. Your movements are stiff as you place the baking dishes into a bottom cabinet. 

It’s like you're a shell of yourself, like last night that bright, loving person was poured out of you along with your tears. It terrifies her to see how quickly it can all shift.

“Y/n?” You look up, quirking a brow. “Can we talk about last night?” 

You tense up a bit, brushing your hands over your sweatpants. “What about it?” 

“About…” Kuvira furrows her brows in confusion, “Y/n I thought you were hurt when I woke up.” You bite your lip, fiddling with the ties of your pants. You don't talk about this, never in the past three years have you talked about things like this with her. It always upset her when you tried to talk about how her actions hurt you. 

“Well I wasn't, just startled is all. Can you pass me that box?” 

“You were shaking,” Kuvira places her hand on the box to keep it in place when she sees you walk over to grab it yourself. “Is that… Is that what happened every time I…?” She can’t seem to bring herself to say it, so you do. 

“Every time you cheated on me?” You place your hands on your hips and sigh. “Just drop it Kuvira.” You rip the box out from under her grasp and walk away. Bile rises in your throat as those pesky images you’d dream up every time she was gone appear in your mind. 

You set the box down harder than you mean to and the sound of something breaking has you cursing under your breath. Bolin isn’t here to spar with, to help calm you down with uppercuts and swift kicks to the shins. 

Kuvira is stunned, left standing at the other side of the kitchen counter as she tries to make sense of her raging thoughts. Cheated. You're not wrong, but hearing you say it hurts. She never called it that, knowing if she did she’d have to admit what she was doing was wrong. And she could never be wrong, at least not then. 

So she called it punishments because then she could justify what she was doing. It’s not like she liked doing it because she didn’t but it seemed to be the best way to control you at the time. It won’t matter if she says that though, she knows it’s wrong and if anything it’ll make this situation worse. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she says softly, saying it makes her internally cringe, but she does mean it. You let out a huff, ignoring her as you open up the box. All the adrenaline of trying to save the day has left you, honestly, it left you around the time they slapped that stupid tracker onto your ankle but the lack of sleep and her trying to confront something you’d rather stay buried is getting to you. 

When you go to pick up the broken dish the sharp edge cuts across your hand, you hiss out in pain and jerk your hand towards your chest, it’s not a deep cut but it still hurts like a bitch. Blood begins to seep out and the sight of that sickening deep red liquid coating your palm has Kuvira panicking. 

Suddenly she’s back in the trunk with her heart in your hands as she watched you bleed out. Her hands feel warm and coated in the thickness of your blood once more. Her heart begins to race, deep in the back of her mind she knows it’s just a small cut but it’s only been a few weeks since you were so close to death.

Ignoring the fight at hand she rushes over to gently cradle your hand and pull it close, you yank your hand out of her grasp, her eyes shoot up to look at you with pinched brows. “I need to clean it, just let me clean it.” Her voice shakes as she desperately tries to take your hand back.

“I can’t…” This furious look settles on your features as you glare into her eyes before storming away towards the bathroom. She turns to follow you, her heart is pounding at the memories pouring out from the box she’s tried to shove them in. “I can’t look at you right now!” 

The slam of the door effectively ends any chance of her chasing after you. 

A couple of weeks goes by, the walls have now been painted the green you wanted and your dad brought over a second bookcase, then helped move the couch with Kuvira. He stops by often with baked goods and a fresh bouquet to replace the last. After that first day of moving in your mother doesn’t stop by though, he says she’ll come around, that she just needs time. 

But Kuvira sees the crestfallen look that takes over your features every time you open the door, and she’s not there. It’s a Friday night, and he’s come over to help cook.

Things have been tense between you and Kuvira, you can’t seem to look her in the eyes. She’s tried multiple times to get you to look at her, but each time you keep your gaze trained on something behind her or her forehead. 

What she doesn’t know is every time you do accidentally look at her, betrayal seeps through you as you remember all those nights alone. You don’t want to be filled with anger and hurt every time you look at her, but you don’t know what to do. Saying that word out loud, cheated, has opened a door you kept locked tight, spirits you had built a wall in front of it after that first time. 

But now it’s blown off the hinges and fills you up, threatening to spill at any moment. You're sure your dad notices, but he thankfully doesn’t comment. He’s commandeered Kuvira to fill the dumplings, saying “these are her favorite, anytime she got sick or upset I’d make these for her and everything would be okay again.” 

You ignore him as he tries to converse with Kuvira, her replies are short and awkward as she doesn’t know how to conduct herself around him yet. Opening up a bottle of wine for yourself you try to work on the broth for the soup, desperately trying to tune her out. You love your father so much and you're happy to be near him again, but you wish he’d just go home.

Meanwhile, Kuvira is loving his company, not only does it force you to be civil, but she gets a chance to get on his good side. She knows how much your parents mean to you and whilst it will probably take a village to get your mother to like her again, she thinks she has a shot with your dad. 

“And then! Oh, I think she was five when she realized what her mark meant, it was so adorable she-” Your dad laughs, suddenly you're filled with embarrassment as he continues. “She asked if they would be pretty.” 

You know he has good intentions but spirits now is not the time to bring up stupid soulmates. Does he not feel the tension between the two of you? You know that if he does, it’s probably slipped his mind that it’s not over something small. Your parents never had to worry about what to do if the other cheats on you multiple times whilst watching you suffer.

You fill up a glass for yourself, pouring it past the socially acceptable amount, and take a big sip before filling up two glasses for them. Part of you wants to be petty and not fill one up for her but your dad will point it out if you do. That bitter voice in your head reminds you of how Kuvira once shamed you for drinking. Fuck that.

“Between you and me I think she thinks you're pretty so five-year-old her would be very happy.” Kuvira coughs, letting out a chuckle as she shakes her head, not that you see since your back is turned. “I don’t know about that,” is her modest reply. 

To hear stories about your childhood feels like a perfectly wrapped present to Kuvira. It makes her feel close to you despite your current circumstances and to hear about how obsessed you were with soulmates makes her want to wrap you up and shower you with love.

But the problem with this story is it makes Kuvira think about all the shitty things she did to you. To hear about all the excitement and joy you showed over one day meeting her has made her feel ashamed of the person you got stuck with. Do you wish someone else was her? Have you ever thought about the what-ifs?

You hear your dad let out a chuckle and say “No, don’t be so negative.” If she replies you don’t hear it, soon after the topic is dropped as they focus back on the task at hand. Your grip on the wooden spoon is so tight you wonder if you can snap it in half. It hurts your fingers and that slight pain offers some kind of relief.

“So you pinch it like thi-” 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, leaving the broth to boil as you hastily walk over to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Kuvira watches you go with a frown, everyday it seems you have to lock yourself away from her. Like her presence is just so unbearable that you’d rather hide in a bathroom and miss out on time with your dad.

You catch the sight of yourself in the mirror and glare back at the unrecognizable person staring back at you. Your face is flushed from embarrassment and there’s this hint of rage lingering in your gaze that wasn’t always there. 

You’ve never been this kind of angry person before, you were raised around flowers and cupcakes, books filled with great adventures and laughter echoing through your home. People who’d go to the moon and back for you. 

Your mom could get a bit angry at times and when she did she’d go take it out on one of those training dummies at her work. There was hardly ever any yelling in your home and never once did you sense animosity between your parents growing up. This new environment was stress-inducing and it made you want to throw all the glass plates against the wall.

You bring your hands up to your cheeks and sigh. When you were younger you were badly bullied at school for being so quiet, if anything the teasing words and tugs on your hair just made you cave inward on yourself instead of lashing out. 

You’d cry into your parent's arms as you asked them why no one wanted to be friends with you and your father helped you find solace in the solitary kind of activities to help bring you happiness.

When you signed up for the dance troupe that was a big step for you, which sounds ridiculous since you were nineteen, but that was something that required being around others and communicating with them. Both of your parents were thrilled at you finally branching out and had taken you to a celebratory dinner after your first practice. 

They were your best friends, you looked up to them and admired the love they still evidently held for one another, soulmates or not love seemed to dwindle over the years for most couples. And now you're here, in your bathroom of the apartment you share with your soulmate which should fill you with joy but instead you're on the verge of tears as you try to push down that burning flame within. 

If your dad ever cheated on your mom she’d slap him across the face and leave. If your mom cheated on your dad he’d cry so hard, but he’d leave as well. They always told you things like that were unacceptable when you’d tell them about all the school drama (not that you were ever involved in it) and now here you are. Feeling ashamed of all those years when she walked all over you, you wonder what would your parents think? You pull at the roots of your hair, no longer able to stomach the sight of yourself. 

You hate all of this and you can’t look her in the eyes but if given the chance you know you won’t leave, and it’s not because of that soulmate bullshit. It’s because of those quiet moments spent in each other's arms when it seemed like the world ceased to exist, where you’d giggle as she’d rub her nose against yours. Where you felt safe and seen and loved. 

You want those moments back, you want to not hate the sight of her but it seems anytime you so much as hear her voice you're on edge. You’re shaking due to the wave of anger and sadness that washes over you as you seem to get trapped in your thoughts. 

It’s happening more and more, you zone out most days and seem to think of every little bad thing she’s done. It feels like molten hot lava is poured over you every time it happens. The knock on the door makes you jump up in shock, so lost in your thoughts you tuned the rest of the world out. 

“The dumplings are ready,” you hear your dad say. You look up in the mirror and internally groan, you’ve made a mess of your hair and your eyes are bloodshot from crying. 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, we’ll be setting up the table.” You nod, not realizing he can’t see you as you try to fix your appearance which is a task in itself. 

The dinner is awkward, it consists of spoons gently tapping against glass bowls and your father desperately trying to fill in the silence, he eyes you the whole time, probably expecting a smile to appear because dumplings fix everything, except this time they don’t. She feels bad for your dad, he really is trying to make you happy. Should she tell him it’s no use? That the only thing that will make you happy is probably her disappearance?

Anytime she looks your way you take a sip of your wine, you have to refill it thrice and it seems to drag on for hours despite the alcohol in your system. Kuvira does try to chime in as she tries to get on your father's good side but you are only able to let out nods of acknowledgment or forced chuckles at little anecdotes. 

He leaves after helping you clean the dishes, much to Kuvira’s chagrin. With him around, he was a nice buffer for the two of you, a pleasant way to fill the uncomfortable silence that filled your home. 

You’ve just finished wiping down the counters when she tries. “Y/n…” 

“No.” You immediately reply, heading to your shared room to get in bed before her, like you always do. 

A day later your mom finally shows up. She knows this is a private moment and to be honest she fears your mother's wrath. The way she glared at her when she opened the door had her wanting to hide away. She had said something about needing to talk to you, how the dumplings didn’t work which had Kuvira severely confused. But she didn’t question it.

So she lets your mom make tea while she tried to coax you out of the room. By the time you finally leave Kuvira sees that your mother is in the garden, patiently waiting. When you walk out of your bedroom you find her in the garden, sitting at the little iron table they got for you.

You watch Kuvira lock herself in your bedroom as you sit down across from your mom. There're two teacups filled with piping hot jasmine tea and a plate of cookies your father probably baked. 

Neither of you speaks the first few moments, you both spend the time sipping from your cups and watching the bustling of the streets, it must be lunchtime. 

“Why haven’t you stopped by?” 

Your mom sighs as she sets the teacup down, “honestly I just… I have a hard time with all of this. With her and with your arrest.” 

“Well, I did stand by while a bunch of horrible things happened mom. I understand why she arrested me,” you pick up one of the sugar cookies and bite into it. That all too familiar anger is bubbling within you once more. 

“Yes, but as a Lieutenant of the guard it’s made people deem me unworthy of my job.” You tense at her words, you didn’t know people were giving her grief about your actions. It’s not like she encouraged you to leave. “And… I am just having a hard time getting used to her and everything she’s done.” 

“She knows what she did was wrong, she was being cornered in Ba Sing S-” 

“I don’t mean what she did to the earth kingdom, I mean what she did to you.” Looking down at the dark amber color of your tea, you slump your shoulders as you think of her words. 

“I mean I’ll support whatever you decide but it’s hard for me to look at her knowing she kept you a secret, so she could keep up some charade with that Junior-” you tuck your hands under your lap at his name, trying to keep from clenching them, “and I’ve seen photos of him holding her and even kissing her, none of it is right.” 

Biting your lip to keep from crying you look away from her, at the streets that have since calmed down a bit. You focus on a child holding his mother's hand as he kicks up water at the fountain. He’s laughing, his grin so wide it takes up the majority of his features. He looks so happy and carefree. You want that kind of life, wishing you could trade his with yours.

“It was only kissing, right?” When you don’t immediately reply, she continues “y/n what happened in those three years?” 

“I…” you snap your mouth shut as you suddenly feel like you're about to cry. You can’t look at her, you’ll know she’ll be disappointed in you. “It was a couple of times to placate him, he’d been getting suspicious due to her lack of affection.” 

And I’d angered her in some way, it was usually that.

You don’t say that though, deciding to keep it to yourself. You hear the sound of glass breaking and whip your head around to see the handle of your mother's teacup broken into tiny pieces, the cup slips from her hand and falls onto the table, causing it to shatter. Hot tea splatters onto the table and seeps through the holes within it, some liquid gets on your shirt and you jump back in surprise. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry honey,” she says, going to grab one of the napkins to wipe up the excess tea. Her voice shakes with rage and you can see her jaw clenching so tight it looks like it’s about to snap. While she cleans no one talks, what do you even say? So instead you busy yourself by picking up a cookie and snapping it in half, when she leaves you’ll pick up the glass shards off the ground. 

“You know…” Your mother clenches the wet cloth in her hand, trying to control her tone. “You know that’s wrong, right?” 

“Yes, I do but what am I meant to do?” She opens her mouth to reply but stops herself when she sees the telltale sign of you being on the verge of tears. “I can’t look at her without imagining it but fuck mom I still love her.” 

It’s silent for a few beats, you can see the cogs turning in her mind. You don’t know if you want to know what’s going through her head, probably disappointment at your unwillingness to leave Kuvira. She sighs and gently sets the dirty napkin onto the table, her eyes lowered to stare at a shard that has half a panda lily painted on it, the other half had broken off during the fall. The incompleteness of it is sort of beautiful. 

“If you want to stay with her, you both need to seek professional help because this relationship is unhealthy and can’t continue this way.” She runs her hands through her hair, smoothing it back as she stares at you, “I can have a friend of mine come over to talk with the both of you, she specializes in things like this.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes but it’s not something that’ll be fixed right away. From the sounds of it, it’ll take years before the two of you can get to a healthy place.” Your shoulders slump at that, why is nothing easy anymore? Why can’t it go back to cinnamon-scented afternoons while helping your dad at his shop where the most difficult task at hand was tying a perfect bow. 

“I’ll do it.”

[tchallasbabymama]

who you are (T’Challa x Black!OC)

6,281 words

A/N: Damn I wrote a lot. So I want this to turn into a series based around music, but I haven’t figured out the series title yet. It’ll come to me.

As soon as the sun peeked out over the horizon Ashanti’s eyes blinked open. It was going to be a normal sweltering January day in Wakanda, so the merchant tribe girl took advantage of the cool morning air. She threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts before putting on her running shoes and heading out into the world. She stood on her porch to stretch her muscles while she watched the sun begin to peek between the trees. Once she limbered up, she took off for her daily run around the streets of Birnin Zana. Her mind cleared as she processed her dream from the night before.

In her dream, a faceless man walked into her store and browsed for a long time before turning to face her. Ashanti was drawn to him. Her arms found their way around his neck and her lips met his. She felt a buzzing all throughout her body and her lips heated up like she had eaten hot peppers. Their breathing synched up and his hands roamed from her neck all the way down to her ass, cupping her cheeks and getting dangerously close to her dripping pussy. He introduced his tongue to her mouth and her knees buckled as she let out a desperate moan. Just as his right hand slipped under her skirt the sun rose and woke her from her utopia with her mystery man.

Ashanti kept a dream journal, and this one was one she wanted to have on record to come back to later. It felt like more than a dream, it felt too real for it to just be a dream.

Ashanti pushed through her run and made it back to her house in record time. When she walked in the door she could hear the sounds of her roommates finally rising for the day. Ashanti loved living with Kwame and Binta, and there was never a dull day around the house living with the two rambunctious fraternal twins. Both of their parents had died by the time they graduated high school, and the big empty house had been left to them. When the twins met Ashanti they had been looking for another roommate to make it feel like a home again, and it was friendship at first sight. They knew they had found a good match.

“Good morning Titi!”

“Ayy look who it is! How was the run today?”

“You wouldn't have to ask that if you’d join me,” Ashanti teased knowing damn well Kwame wasn’t one for non-sexual physical activity. Kwame rolled his eyes and shoveled more plantains onto his plate.

“Girl you know I don't do all that running mess. For what?!”

Ashanti and Binta giggled as they shared a knowing look and the older twin  handed her a plate full of food that she had just whipped up while Ashanti was on her run.

The three of them had lived together since college and fell into their morning routine years ago. Ashanti would rise at the crack of dawn and go for her run, then Binta would get up and make breakfast which was somehow always ready by whatever time Ashanti got back and Kwame finally decided to join the land of the living. Ashanti asked her once how she had perfect timing every morning, and the twins responded in perfect unison.

“Magic.” “Magic.”

Ashanti never asked again, mostly because she couldn’t tell if they were serious or not. She wouldn’t be surprised either way.

Per their routine, Ashanti shoveled her food down and made her way to the bathroom for a shower. She turned on the water to let it warm up, and in the meantime she stripped down to her birthday suit and admired her body in the mirror. She had a love-hate relationship with her body for most of her life, but she found that the more she saw herself naked the more she loved what she saw. Ashanti wasn’t vain though, it was a self-esteem thing.

Once she tore her eyes away from her naked form she stepped into the falling water and just stood there for a moment letting it all wash over her. She grabbed her lemongrass and black soap bar and her loofa and went to town washing her body from head to toe.

Since she was a little girl Ashanti had a fear of singing in public, but when she was in the shower she never held back. Thankful for the soundproof vibranium-laced walls, she belted her heart out to her favorites. She even had a playlist just of songs to sing in the shower. Sometimes she would build a queue, but other times she would let the shuffle button have it’s way. This was one of those times.

This perception's got me restless I ain't dreamin' 'less you're there I supply what you require I need you like I need air You give me life with all the light you're shinin' Oh, there's no question It's evident that you would compliment the love you're not havin'

So how would you feel If I gave you somethin' real? If I told you I was serious I'm not spinnin' your wheels If I open up my heart Took a chance with you and maybe you can show me who you are

She carefully swayed her hips and sang along with Luke James, feeling every bit of the emotion in his words. The song made her feel warm inside like a first crush. That nervous yet adorable energy swirled around her as she reveled in the feeling of puppy love, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Ashanti had discovered western music when Wakanda opened itself to the world, and she wanted to personally thank King T’Challa for allowing the joys of R&B and other genres from across the diaspora into her life. The melodies and the beats were reminiscent of music from her home country in many ways, and she gravitated towards the love songs, songs about heartbreak, and ass-shaking music. She needed to feel it either emotionally or physically.

She could’ve stayed in that shower for hours if she had the time, but Ashanti had errands to run and work to do.

After getting dressed for the day, she grabbed her bag and flung it over her shoulder before heading back downstairs. Binta was lying across the couch staring at their newly installed hologram tv in contempt. Ashanti noticed it was playing some American reality show about rich colonizers that try to look like Black women.

Binta sucked her teeth.

“Can you believe this? Why do they look like that?!” Binta half yelled at Ashanti and half yelled at the screen.

“Because, girl look at us,” Ashanti gestured at her and her roommate’s beautiful assets and they both fell out laughing.

“You heading into work already? It’s barely 8”

“Yeah, I need to get some shopping done before I open up. Be good!” Ashanti pecked Binta on the cheek before sliding her shoes on and heading out the door for the second time that morning.

Ashanti walked through the bazaar and took in the sights and smells. She made quick work of her shopping list and even with being stopped to say hello to every other person she encountered on the way, she made it to her store in record time. She loved the energy of the marketplace as a little girl growing up in the Merchant tribe. When she was seven years old her parents, Chidi and Bisa Mostafa, opened up a restaurant, Zana Cafe, smack dab in the middle of the Birnin Zana Bazaar that’s been going strong for twenty years. When the shop owner from across the street grew too old to run her art supply store she sold it to the Mostafas for a low low price. There wasn’t another shop like it in the market, so Chidi and Bisa tasked Ashanti with keeping it running.

Ashanti eventually saved enough money to buy the shop next door and she transformed the space into a combination art gallery, supply store, and amateur marketplace. She wanted it to be a space where artists of all skill levels could come together, create, and even sell their work.  She sold her own handmade crystal jewelry and had a children’s section full of finger paints and fun craft projects. The kids loved when she displayed their art along the shop walls. There was even a classroom towards that back of the multi-use space she used for community art lessons.

Ashanti had named the space after the first person to encourage her art, her umakhulu Taj. She missed her grandaddy more than anything in this world, and she dedicated her creative space to his memory. People from all over Wakanda knew of Taj’s, it being the only shop of it’s kind in all of Birnin Zana.

Chidi waved at Ashanti from across the street while he prepared the restaurant for the morning rush, and she blew him a kiss before stepping into her shop, her happy place.

She closed her eyes and smiled a warm smile before drawing the curtains and letting the light in. She turned on her music and danced around the shop, straightening up as she went. She still had that same Luke James song on repeat from earlier.

Did I mention, I love tension? No more stressin' when we touch My salvation, my temptation I felt safety in your clutch (clutch) Come save me now, just stick around No, you ain't gotta stay long How you make minutes pass like seconds I feel like I gotta hold on (hmm) So how would you feel If I gave you somethin' real? If I told you I was serious I'm not spinnin' your wheels If I open up my heart Took a chance with you and maybe you can show me who you are

A chill went down Ashanti’s spine as that warm fuzzy feeling filled her once more. Her face felt flushed and she kept grinning wider and wider as she shuffled around Taj’s, sweeping all the dirt out the back door. She went to sweep her stoop when the sight of the Dora Milaje caught her off guard. It wasn’t often that royalty made their way to the market, but she knew every shop owner would be clamoring to gain whoever’s attention. She kept sweeping then opened her shop doors wide before heading back inside.

Before she could make it halfway back to her spot at the front counter, she heard the chime that alerts her when new customers enter.

“Hi, welcome to Taj’s, what can I-”, her voice caught in her throat when she turned around and saw the king flanked by two of his Dora Milaje. She noticed two more stationed at the door and looked past them to see her nosy parent across the street staring into Taj’s to get a glimpse of what's going on.

“Kumkani wam.”

Ashanti saluted King T’Challa and a deep rumbling erupted from his chest before he cracked the most adorable crooked smile.

“Please, none of that.”

____________

Mornings in Birnin Zana were always calm and quiet until about 10am when the whole city woke up and went on about their day. This wasn’t the case for King T’Challa who preferred to start his day at 6. It was the only time he could really have to himself without interruption. He would always go for a run around the palace grounds or out into the lush Wakandan forest right as the sun poked out above the trees.

Another thing people didn’t know about the King of Wakanda is that he loved to cook. As a boy he spent so much of his time hanging around the kitchen staff they jokingly put him to work one day and he took right to it. Not only did T’Challa love mornings because of the solitude, he loved mornings because of breakfast. It was his favorite meal of the day. When he was a teenager he often cooked breakfast for his family, but as an adult it’s something he only had time for sparingly. He always had a meeting or a mission or something important and unavoidable in the way.

However, today he had the time because he had taken the day off. As king he answers to nobody but Bast and the people of Wakanda...but there are a lot of people and a lot of problems to solve so sometimes the king needed a day to himself. T’Challa trusted his sister and his cousin to keep things running smoothly in his absence,and he made them swear to only contact him if the country was about to collapse.

These would be a beautiful 24 hours.

After making his way back to the palace he quickly showered and threw on some clothes for the day. T’Challa felt relaxed being dressed-down and thought about maybe doing it more often. The royal robes were so stiff.

The king slid into the kitchen with a smile on his face, humming to some American song he couldn’t get out of his head but didn’t know the words to. He scooped up some mandazi the kitchen staff had left for him and took a bite while he rummaged through the refrigerator looking for whatever called to him. T’Challa found what he was looking for and got to work dicing and mixing and grating his ingredients. He had just thrown a pinch more of cardamom in the pancake batter when his mother strolled in.

“Mholo, unyana wam!”

“Good morning to you too mother,” T’Challa chuckled at the Queen Mother’s jovial mood.

He kissed her cheek and flipped the pancakes on the griddle. He turned around just in time to catch Ramonda taking a swipe of the batter.

“Mama you should know better. What kind of role model are you for your young impressionable daughter?”

“Hush, child”

The two smiled and settled into a comfortable silence while T’Challa sautéed up fragrant vegetables, making Ramonda even more impatient. Just as she was about to ask T’Challa how much longer until they could eat, her young impressionable daughter rounded the corner looking like she had been caught in a tornado. That was the normal for Shuri, a notoriously wild sleeper.

“Good morning mother, Gap Tooth,” Shuri yawned. “ Where’s Braille?”

T’Challa rolled his eyes at his little sister’s nicknames and cracked eggs into the pan.

“You know that boy only shows up right when the food is do-“

Ramonda was cut off by the doors opening and Prince N’Jadaka strolled in with sunglasses on and the same clothes they saw him wearing when he left last night.

He noticed all three sets of eyes were glued to his hungover form. He was surprised when instead of admonishing him for his obviously very unroyal behavior they all broke out into laughter. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Long night?”

“Man you already know, we’ll talk later when there aren’t sensitive ears around.”

The two male cousins dapped each other up before N’Jadaka kissed his Auntie and little cousin on their foreheads.

“Mornin’ Auntie, Rugrat.”

“Mholo Daka.”

“Topographic map.”

Even T’Challa had to give her that one.

The family of four sat down and enjoyed the home-cooked meal of spiced plantain pancakes drizzled with honey, an egg and vegetable scramble, cheese grits, spicy sausage, and fresh fruit.

T’Challa loved seeing the look of satisfaction on people’s faces when they eat his food almost as much as his family loved eating whatever he put in front of them. It was the perfect symbiotic relationship.

After breakfast, T’Challa hung around and chatted with his family while they cleaned the kitchen. They never let him do this part, and since none of the Udakus were big on relying on the palace staff for every little thing, the prince, princess, and Queen Mother of Wakanda rolled up their sleeves to do some quick manual labor. Shuri and Ramonda washed and dried the dishes while N’Jadaka wiped down the table and countertops. He finished and the two male cousins went to take a walk around the gardens.

The second they stepped outside the palace T’Challa pulled out a blunt of the finest Wakanda kush and lit the tip. He pulled the smoke into his mouth and let it float up to his nose. He inhaled and then exhaled the smoke as he felt it take effect. He passed it to N’Jadaka and started talking.

“Last night…?”

N’Jadaka took a hit.

“My nigga...so you remember that hot lil river tribe thang I told you about?” T’Challa nodded as N’Jadaka handed him the blunt.

“So I take her out, right? Tell me why, we get to the restaurant she starts acting brand new? Turns out, this whole time we been smashing she’s trying to lock this down. So I paid for dinner and had Aneka take her home-“

“So where did you end up staying all night?”

“With the waitress.”

T’Challa stopped walking and glanced at his cousin before they both broke out into a fit of giggles.

They continued to walk and talk and pass the blunt back and forth. As they neared the palace doors the blunt had burned down to the roach. The two “went for a walk” so much they had it timed perfectly.

“So what you got planned for your day off?”

“Absolutely nothing,” T’Challa said, grinning from ear to ear. “And it better-“

“Stay that way, yeah yeah nigga I know. The Brain and I got this, go enjoy your day. Do some shit you haven’t done in a while. Be lazy. Make something. Get some pussy.”

T’Challa cut his eyes at his slightly younger cousin but couldn’t deny the truth in his statement. It had been a while for all of those things and damn did he miss them.

He clapped N’Jadaka on the back and turned to walk in the other direction.

“Good idea, umzala.”

“Which one?...Aye I know you heard me witcho supersonic hearing ass…”

T’Challa just chuckled and flipped off his cousin as he rounded the corner.

“Don’t ruin my country while I’m gone!”

“I should burn it down again just for that.”

T’Challa roamed the Birnin Zana Bazaar with his Dora Milaje for the first time in at least two years. Yes, he was a busy man with very little leisure time, but the Bazaar also held a lot of memories that the king would rather not revisit. As he passed the winding staircase he sighed, thinking of his former lover Nakia. She was off living a happy life in America with her girlfriend Janelle and their two goofy looking dogs, and he was genuinely happy for her. He and Nakia had love for each other, but they eventually realized they weren’t in love and decided to split. The memories were bittersweet.

The king decided he would pay an old friend a visit. Growing up, T’Challa only had his father. His biological mother died in childbirth, and since his father didn’t meet Ramonda until he was 12, the only mother he knew as a young child had been his nanny Ada.

She was a firecracker of a woman who never let him get away with anything, and he loved her with his whole heart. She was still an unofficial member of the Udaku family with an open invitation to visit the palace whenever she wanted. T’Chaka and Ramonda had tried to offer her a room in the palace but she refused, saying, “It’s too quiet here.” After she hung up her nanny hat, Ada became an entrepreneur. She had always loved arts and crafts so she opened up an art supply shop in the middle of the Bazaar, thanks to a hefty check from the Udakus. T’Challa used to love visiting Ada’s shop, but when she grew too old to care for it anymore she sold it and he hadn’t yet seen what became of it. He decided he’d stop by the shop before visiting Ada.

People were everywhere, but T’Challa loved the hustle and bustle of the city. Many of the past monarchs avoided mingling with the public more than necessary, but T’Chaka had taught his son the value in spending time among the people. In fact, T’Challa’s favorite part of being king is when he makes his rounds to visit all the tribes.

The king and his Doras strolled through the market, periodically stopping to converse with excited children.

They rounded the corner of the main streetway and he noticed a woman sweeping the stoop in front of what was Ada’s shop. He watched the sway of her hips and tried to read her lips to figure out what song she was singing. As he got closer he could just make out her angelic voice singing over the acoustic guitar in the unfamiliar song.  She had a dreamy smile on her face that made her deep dimples come out of hiding, and when she turned around to head inside the shop he noticed the thickness of her ass and thighs.

“Bast have mercy.”

His feet automatically carried him into Taj’s, and when she turned around to face him his knees nearly buckled. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

——————————-

Ashanti felt her cheeks heat up. She couldn’t believe the king was in her shop of all places.

“My apologies, your highness,” she stammered and the broom fell out of her sweaty hand.

Before she could even reach for it, the king had already lifted the old broom from the floor. He passed it to her and when their fingers brushed against each other they both felt static in their fingertips, though neither of them broke their poker faces.

“Truly, it is not a problem.”

T’Challa tore his eyes from hers and looked around the multi-use space. His eyes and eventually his body gravitated towards the childrens’ artwork along the walls, taking it all in with an adorably crooked smile.

“How long has this shop been open?”

“Coming up on two years now...your highness.”

“No need for all the formalities miss…”

“Ashanti Mostafa, my kin- I mean, um, sir,” Ashanti stumbled over her words, unsure of how to address the royal.

“I took the day off so just call me T’Challa, Miss Ashanti,” he winked and continued around the space.

“Is Taj in today?”

“No, Taj was my umakhulu. He died five years ago, so when I got this place I named it after him because he’s the one who taught me how to draw and paint and mold clay...he shared his love of art with me, so I’m paying it forward with all this,” Ashanti gestured outwardly.

T’Challa was in awe of her. He listened to her story and walked towards the artist marketplace section of the shop. His eyes gravitated towards a golden vibranium filigree choker with an intricately wrapped garnet pendant.

“These pieces are beautiful, I would love to get one for my mother and my sister. Does the artist take custom orders?”

“They will for the king.”

“Well sometimes being royalty has its privileges. Ayo, will you get the artist’s information from Miss Ashanti here?”

Ashanti couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was almost stunned to silence. The king liked her pieces.

“Actually your hi-,” she was stopped by a playful warning look from the king.

“T’Challa, I’m the artist.”

T’Challa became more and more enamoured with the shop owner every time she spoke. She was beautiful, talented, and her aura seemed to cover everything in its reach with her warm glow. He would definitely be visiting the Bazaar more often.

Ashanti rounded the counter and fiddled with her rose gold kimoyo beads before her other designs were projected in the air in front of the king.

“I thought you said you painted and molded clay. This is certainly not that,” he leaned on the counter as his Doras shared a knowing glance.

“That’s just how I started,” Ashanti explained. “I still paint sometimes when the mood hits, but nowadays I mostly craft jewelry. Oh I just got into beading, and you wouldn’t believe how sore my fingertips are.”

In that moment it took all of T’Challa’s willpower to keep from reaching out and kissing her calloused but delicate fingers.

Ashanti unconsciously leaned in closer to the king.

“So what brought you to my humble shop, T’Challa? Bast, it feels so weird to call you that.”

T’Challa chuckled, and Ashanti nearly blushed again from the deep rumbling.

“You’ll get used to it eventually. As I mentioned before, these pieces are beautiful. I would like to commission two. What is your price?”

“Two hundred a piece.”

“I’ll give you one thousand.”

Ashanti’s eyes blinked and her smile gradually crept up her chubby cheeks. The two went back and forth for over an hour over the details of the necklaces before the king bid the shop owner adieu with the promise to return in two weeks. Before he reached the door he turned around, almost catching her staring at him.

“I forgot to ask. Miss Ashanti, do you normally play the same song on repeat in the store?”

Ashanti hadn’t even noticed Luke James’ “Who You Are” had been playing ever since she opened her doors. Her mind had been clouded by the king’s powerful aura and kind eyes, and the only sound that mattered in that moment was the smoky melody of his voice. She blushed yet again.

“I don’t normally, but something had me a little distracted today,” she winked at the king. “The artist is Luke James, one of my favorites from America. You should check him out if you like what you hear.”

Her eyes locked onto his and he smirked.

“I’ll do just that.”

---------------------------------- A week passed and both Ashanti and T’Challa had listened to that same song on repeat more times than they could count. Neither one could understand how they had become so smitten with the other in a 90 minute time span.

Even the people around them had begun to notice the changes in their behavior. Unsurprisingly, the first two to say something were N’Jadaka and Kwame.

N’Jadaka slipped into T’Challa’s office after the council meeting wrapped up. His cousin had spent the last hour settling land disputes and was in desperate need of a break. They were too busy to take a walk, so T’Challa poured two generous glasses of the strongest palm wine in Wakanda. It wasn’t enough to make them drunk since the heart shaped herb running through their veins burned off alcohol too quickly for one glass to cause any damage. They’d have to drink a bottle a piece to even start to have a good time. However, they felt the effects of cannabis and psychedelics just like anyone else.

“What’s got you smiling so much? It’s starting to get creepy, you looked way too happy during that land dispute and I know you hate doing that shit.”

“I don’t know what-”

“You're really gonna lie to me? Your favorite cousin? I’m hurt.”

T’Challa rolled his eyes at his least favorite cousin’s dramatics.

“You are my only cousin, N’Jadaka. And besides, I really do not know what you mean, I have just been in good spirits lately.”

“Mmmhm. You got some pussy, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because you're acting like you got some pussy.”

On the other side of Birnin Zana, Kwame watched Ashanti glide around the living room with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Girl I know you’re not that happy about dusting. Spill.”

“What?” Ashanti giggled. “I’m just in a good mood today, it’s been a good week at the shop.”

Kwame cut his eyes at her and pursed his lips. He didn’t believe a damn thing she said. Binta told him she had seen Ashanti humming and slow dancing in the kitchen the other day, so he knew something had to be up.

“Did you get some dick? Or some pus- nah that’s a dick face right there.”

“Who’s a dick face?” Binta came in and grabbed some coconut water from the fridge.

“Apparently I have ‘just got some dick’ face,” Ashanti responded with an eye roll.

“Yeah you’ve had it for about a week now. Spill.”

“That’s what I said, twin!”

They did their annoying twin handshake and turned back to Ashanti.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s just been a good week at the shop.”

Ashanti tried to get back to her dusting, but they wouldn’t let her.

“Nuh uh girl, get to talking.”

“B…”

“We’re waiting…”

Ashanti rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck, or so her mom would say had she seen it.

“Ok, fine! This man came into the shop the other day and had me blushing like a sixth grader with her first crush. He was just so...fine, and smooth, and sweet…”

Ashanti drifted off into a daydream while the twins sat there taking it all in. Kwame was the first to speak.

“Titi, your nose is wide the fuck open. Did you get his name, tap beads, something?!”

Ashanti couldn’t admit she had a crush on the king. For one, she was a little embarrassed because she knew how foolish she looked pining after a royal who could never return the sentiments. Secondly, if she told them she would never hear the end of it.

“Uh, his name is...Amare.”

Binta’s eyes went soft.

“Amare, I’ve always loved that name. What’s he look like?”

“Like Bast carved him out of vibranium.”

Kwame and Binta look at each other again.

“Like I said...wide open. So when are you opening those legs too?”

Ashanti tried to look busy.

“I’m uh, not sure if he’ll be back. His accent sounded American.”

She knew that would get them off her case. Ever since T’Challa announced Wakanda’s riches to the world they had opened up their doors to the Lost Tribe. For the last two years, Black people from all over the globe had travelled to Wakanda, so it would be an easy cop out for Ashanti.

“Well damn girl, you finally get a man and this is how it goes...maybe one day the king will allow outsiders to move here permanently and you can get your Prince Charming.”

“Heh, maybe. So what’s for dinner?”

——————-

Another week passed and the day had come for Ashanti and T’Challa to see each other again.

Both of them were nervous beyond belief, but only one of them had someone to confide in.

“I’m telling you, T, just be cool. Plus, you’re the king, she’d have to be an idiot to say no.”

T’Challa had planned to ask Ashanti out on a date. He couldn’t get her out of his head the whole two weeks they were apart, and he took it as a sign from Bast that she was something special.

He was nervous to see her again and he hoped it didn’t show on his face.

Right in the center of the Birnin Zana Bazaar, Ashanti fiddled with the custom necklaces she made at the king’s request. She hoped they were good enough for royalty and her nerves started to get the best of her. Her hands shook and her breathing sped up. She took a deep breath then walked out her shop and across the street to her parents’ restaurant. Her mom was the first to greet her.

“Hi honey, what brings you over to our side of the street?”

“Bisa you know the girl wants something!” Chidi yelled from the supply closet.

“Hush!”

“Hello to you too baba!” Ashanti laughed at her father’s antics.

“I’m just nervous. The king is coming back today...what if he hates them? What if Queen Mother or Princess Shuri hate them?!”

Ashanti started to get worked up again and Bisa rubbed her back in slow circles. Chidi brought her a cup of tea and the three of them sat outside the cafe in silence while she calmed down.

“Sweetie, it’ll be ok. He wouldn’t have commissioned the pieces if he thought they wouldn’t like them. And he’s seen your work, how could he not like it?! If so he’s a fool.”

“Baba! This is the king we’re talking about.”

“I don’t care! Anyone who can’t see my baby’s talent isn’t worth my respect.” He kissed her on her forehead and when he opened his eyes he noticed the women in red coming around the corner.

“Someone’s early…”

Ashanti looked confused for a moment before her mother gestured for her to turn around.

There stood the king and his Dora Milaje.

Bisa and Chidi quickly stood and saluted the king, Ashanti giggled and they looked at her in disbelief.

“That is unnecessary, please.”

“We are sorry, my king. Welcome to our restaurant, we are Ashanti’s parents. I am Chidi Mostafa and this is my wife Bisa.”

“We are so honored to have you.”

T’Challa reached out and shook their hands, shocking the older Mostafas.

Ashanti wondered if she looked this starstruck last time...she concluded she probably did.

However, this time when she stared at him she made sure to take in all his features. The faint crinkle around his eyes and his frown lines reminded her of their slight age difference and the stress of his job. His big bright eyes made him look like a puppy and his gap-toothed smile leaned perfectly to the left.

“Unfortunately I cannot stay long, I have other business to attend to that I cannot  get out of. I do hope to see the two of you again, but I believe Miss Ashanti here has something for me.”

“I sure do. Mama, Baba, I’ll swing by later.”

She kissed their cheeks and walked shoulder to shoulder with the king to her shop across the street.

“I have had your parents’ food before, in my opinion it is the best in all of the Bazaar. You are very talented people, Miss Ashanti.”

She was getting really tired of blushing, but it happened again.

“Thanks T’Challa. So, um, let’s get to it so you can get to your important kingly duties.”

They shared a smile.

She pulled out two large velvet boxes and opened them. Sitting among the silk were two necklaces that were more beautiful than T’Challa had imagined.

Shuri’s necklace featured a rough sapphire gem wrapped in wire hanging from a structured v-shaped vibranium collar. The stones set in the vibranium gave the necklace an ombre look as the stones grew lighter and lighter all the way down to the sapphire. The necklace would land about mid-chest on the princess, and T’Challa just knew she’d love it.

Queen Mother’s necklace was even more intricate and more like the necklace he had seen his first time in the shop. The gold filigree collar necklace was dripping with small gems hanging from every loop, with one large ruby set in the middle.

“Miss Ashanti…” T’Challa barely breathed out.

“Oh no, You hate them.”

“No, no! Quite the opposite actually. They’re beautiful, I-I’m speechless.”

Ashanti breathed a sigh of relief.

“As I mentioned before, you Mostafa’s are very talented…and beautiful.”

Ashanti gasped. There was no way…

“My king?”

“What? It is true. You are a very beautiful woman Ashanti, among many other things.”

That damn song started playing in her head and her smile pushed her dimples deeper the larger it grew.

“Thank you, T’Challa. You’re...alright looking.”

They both had to have a laugh at that one.

“Just alright?” He leaned in closer to her across the counter.

“Hm, maybe”

“Will you let me change your mind?”

“How would you do that?” She asked, leaning closer and getting a whiff of the cocoa butter on his skin.

“If you’d accompany me for a night out tomorrow evening I could show you.”

Ashanti froze and backed up. For a minute there she almost forgot who he was, but she had to remind herself that he wasn’t just a cute customer. He was the king, and he had to have been out of his Bast-given mind.

Unless this was something he did often.

“My k-, T’Challa...If you are looking for someone to play with and discard, I suggest looking elsewhere. I’m sure there are plenty of your subjects lined up in waiting for the bachelor king to swoop them up.”

Ashanti immediately regretted her words, but they just seemed to tickle T’Challa.

“Miss Ashanti, I am not that kind of man. I believe you have me confused with Prince N’Jadaka.”

Ashanti snorted. She had heard many stories about the prince and sort of assumed all royals behaved in such a manner.

“Besides I am much too busy to play the field since becoming king. Had you known me 5-10 years ago it would’ve been a different story.” T’Challa winked and noticed her look away to hide her smile. She remained silent.

“Please, it would bring me great joy to see you again. If not I will leave you alone. Just think about it.”

He tapped his black and purple kimoyo beads to her rose gold ones.

“There, now you have my contact information. It’s my direct line, please feel free to use it.”

With that he turned and left the shop. Ashanti had to pinch herself to make sure she was awake. After a minute it started to sink in that the king of Wakanda had asked her on a date.

“That really just happened.”

She stood there in a daze and was only pulled out of it when a customer walked into the shop.

“Welcome to Taj’s!”

—————

Chapter 2