#hes SO nice- giving up half his wardrobe to help you build your nest

[mitsuristoleme]

thinking about alpha geto suguru…

[404gendernotfound]

Shy (Katsuki Bakugou x Reader)

Summary: You are an extremely shy person and usually don’t socialize a lot, but when the Bakusquad invited you to one of their sleepovers you couldn’t say no. What you didn’t know was that the others had planned something to get back at Bakugou for teasing and criticizing you on your shyness.

Contains: fluff

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 3,1 K

Enjoy!

This story was inspired by this beautiful drawing of shy Bakugou.

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Being shy was one of the traits I would love to get rid of. Ever since I was a little girl it was extremely hard for me to talk to strangers, especially since I wasn’t really tall and easily felt intimidated. If it just happened around strangers I would still be able to handle it somehow, but even talking to my classmates and friends at UA sometimes really was a challenge for me. Most of them were aware of my situation and considered it whenever they could, but there was one person among them that couldn’t care less about how uncomfortable I sometimes felt. He always complained about me being too shy and told me to just relax a bit. I wish it was as easy as he made it sound.

“Hey dumbass! What are you zoning out for?”, I suddenly heard and was pulled back into reality.

Speaking of the devil. I looked up just to see Bakugou standing in front of my desk with his arms crossed before his chest. Mina, Sero, Denki and Kirishima were also standing around me looking at Bakugou with angry eyes before they looked back at me. I noticed my cheeks turn red from all the attention and hid my face behind my hands.

“Tch. Look at you, blushing like a tomato again, idiot. Can’t you get used to your friends at least?”, Bakugou asked and crouched down so he was on my level.

“S-sorry”, I stuttered and peaked through my fingers just to see Bakugous amused face.

It really bothered me how much he basically bullied me with the fact that I couldn’t keep my calm and turned into mobile heater from blushing, but at the same time I couldn’t really be mad at him. I enjoyed the company of the Bakusquad and especially of him. I must have zoned out again since Mina tapped my shoulder to get my attention.

“Y-yeah?”, I asked embarrassed about the fact that I hadn’t listened to her.

“We asked if you wanted to join us at our sleepover tonight at the boys dorm.”, she repeated slightly laughing.

“Oh. Y-yeah s-sure”, I stuttered and Kirishima ruffled through my hair.

“Great. Remember to bring blankets, snacks and comfy clothes”, Sero said and leaned against the desk next to mine.

“And Mina don’t forget to bring ‘the’ stuff”, Denki said and winked at her.

She started to smile knowingly and leaned down to me.

“We’ll get back at Bakugou for teasing you so much. I’m sure you’ll like it”, she whispered and my cheeks instantly turned a darker shade of pink.

“What did you tell her?”, Bakugou asked in his usual angry tone, but Mina just started to laugh.

“Nothing you need no know”, she smiled and winked at me.

If I wasn’t a blushing mess already, I definitely was now. I really just wanted to disappear right here and now. I was glad that Aizawa had finally entered the room and it was time for the next lesson. Throughout the next hour I noticed how Bakugou would check up on me every now and then from the seat in front of me. It made me feel a little uneasy which he must have noticed since he turned around and slipped a piece of paper onto my desk. “Stop being so tense. Just relax, dumbass” was written on the paper and I had to giggle quietly. Bakugou had a weird way of comforting people but even if it was different, it really made me happy to know that he cared. The rest of the lesson passed by pretty fast and we all made our ways back to the dorms.

Time was flying by like crazy since it was already getting dark when I finished my studies. I looked at the clock. Mina promised me to get me for the sleepover when she was ready so I was waiting for her in my room. I had packed a little bag with some blankets, my favorite pillow and the plushy that I couldn’t sleep without. I knew that Bakugou would probably make fun of me because I still needed a plushy to fall asleep but I didn’t really care about that right now. I was more curious about what the others had planned for tonights sleepover. After about half an hour of me watching random videos to pass time someone knocked on my door.

“You ready, cutie?”, Mina asked as she walked into the room, making me blush again.

“I-I’m ready.”, I answered and grabbed my bag.

Mina took me by the hand and we left the room together. While we were walking over to the boys dorms she kept holding my hand.

“Relax. They’re not gonna eat you alive and if they try I’ll stop them.”, she said smiling and squeezed my hand reassuring.

Mina was right. This was my first sleepover with them but I knew that they wouldn’t judge me. We arrived at Bakugous room and I knocked since Mina had her hands full.

“Come in”, I already heard Kirishima from inside and shyly opened the door.

As the door opened wider I could already see that they had started to build a pillow fort in the middle of the room or at least they tried. It looked more like someone had just dumped blankets and pillows onto a pile on the floor. Mina let my hand go and grabbed my bag from me before she brought them to the other side of the room. She started to unpack and threw the blankets and pillows at me. I started to laugh since she did it on purpose and I fought against falling from the impact of the things she threw at me. The last item that Mina had grabbed from my bag landed straight in Bakugous face who grunted angry.

“What is this?”, he asked and looked at the plushy in his hands.

“Give it back”, I said and tried to grab it from him but he held it over his head so I couldn’t reach it.

“Get it yourself”, he smirked and held it even higher.

I struggled to reach that high and even tried to jump so I could get it but I was nowhere near reaching it myself. I was getting frustrated and didn’t even really notice that my eyes had started to water until I heard Kirishima say something.

“Stop it man! Look at her”, he said before Bakugou looked down at me.

As he saw the tears in my eyes he instantly dropped his arm and gave the plushy back to me.

“You’re such a jerk”, I said and walked over to Kirishima with the plushy pressed against my chest.

He pulled me into his arms and softly pet my head. I didn’t want to cry but the tears just started to flow.

“See what you did”, I heard Mina scold Bakugou behind me and snuggled closer to Kirishima.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would start crying”, Bakugou apologized.

Kirishima looked down at me and softly smiled.

“Are you ok? Bakugou can be an idiot sometimes”

“I’m ok”, I whispered and separated from the hug.

As I turned back around I saw Bakugou look at me with an apologetic look on his face. He really must be sorry. After Sero had joined us, Denki and Kirishima had prepared some snacks and brought them to our little nest on the floor before we all sat down. Mina made me sit between her and Sero so I didn’t have to sit next to Bakugou. We talked a little bit about random things that came to our mind until someone noticed that I was being more quiet than usual.

“If you’re uncomfortable here, I can bring you back to your room”, Mina said but I shook my head.

“If she wouldn’t be this shy and embarrassed it would be way easier”, Bakugou mumbled to himself, but we all heard it.

“That’s enough. I bet you had moments in your life where you were embarrassed too”, Sero said and scooted closer to me.

He looked like he was ready to fight Bakugou if he needed to, just so he could protect me. We all looked at Bakugou who looked like he was about to explode.

“I’ve never been embarrassed and you will never see me like that. Ever!”, he said and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Oh we’ll see about that in a sec”, Mina said, stood up and grabbed her bag before sitting back down.

I looked at her confused while Denki looked amused and helped Mina empty her beg onto the floor. There was a bag of make-up, an orange sweater with a patch saying “Boom” on one of the sleeves, some cute band aids and some other cute accessories. I instantly knew what they had planned. As soon as Bakugou realized what he was about to experience he scooted back and shook his head.

“You’re not gonna turn me into a girly. Don’t even try!”, he protested.

“You said you would never be embarrassed so prove it”, Sero said.

They all looked determined to let Bakugou get a taste of his own medicine and I was ready to help too. Bakugou had no chance to get out of this now.

“Fine! But just this time. And if you do something weird I’m gonna kill you all”

“Deal”, we said in unison and had to laugh.

It took a bit more convincing from Kirishima to let us do out thing. Bakugou changed from his shirt into the sweater and tried to look into the mirror on his wardrobe.

“Nah uh. No looking until you are ready”, Mina said and then looked at me.

“Make sure he doesn’t look”, she said towards me and I nodded.

I got up and sat down on Bakugous bed and put my hands over his eyes so he couldn’t see.

“Is that really necessary?”, he asked annoyed.

I suddenly felt a little more confident than usually. It was kinda nice to have the power over someone. I leaned down and whispered into his ear.

“Yes it is. Now shut your pretty mouth”, I said and looked into 4 shocked faces.

Now that the attention was back on me my confidence quickly vanished and I wanted to hide again. While I tried to get my blushing under control I watched Kirishima make a little ponytail into Bakugous hair with a cute hair tie. Denki placed a colorful necklace around Bakugous neck. We looked at his appearance and he already looked way cuter than before. Mina grabbed an eyeliner, mascara and the cute band aids and looked at me.

“Do you wanna do the last finetuning?”, she asked and I noticed my cheeks turn red again.

“O-ok”, I stuttered and moved my hands away from Bakugous face still making sure he wasn’t looking.

She gave them to me and whispered what I had to do. I nodded and then shyly got on top of Bakugous lap so I could get closer to his face.

“W-What are you guys doing?”, he asked and I watched his hands form into fists.

“I-I just n-needed to get closer to your f-face. Don’t worry. I won’t do a-anything weird”, I reassured him and watched his hands relax again.

“I trust you”, he whispered and my heart suddenly skipped a beat.

I needed to relax. I was sure my face was red like a tomato right now and I was glad that Bakugou had his eyes closed. I grabbed the eyeliner and cupped his face with one of my hands before I started to apply it. I was slightly shaking so I had to be careful to not make the lines crooked. As I was done I had to apply the mascara onto his eyelashes.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”, I asked and watched him open his eyes slowly.

As soon as our eyes met I noticed butterflies in my stomach. God why did I have to get a crush on Bakugou. I tried to keep my calm and moved the mascara to his eyes.

“Hey! What are you doing?”, he asked and moved his face back.

“I need to put mascara on your lashes. D-Don’t worry. I’ll make sure n-not to h-hurt you”, I explained.

“Fine”, he hissed annoyed.

I had to admit that his eyelashes were really long and pretty. I carefully grabbed his face with one hand and applied the mascara with the other. It took some time since he kept flinching and blinking. He closed his eyes again after I was done. I then grabbed one of the band aids and placed it on the bridge of his nose. It was pink with little hearts on it and really looked extremely adorable on him. I grabbed two of the other band aids and put them on one of his hands before I looked at him again. He looked really cute and I was sure that he was definitely going to be embarrassed when he saw himself in the mirror. I looked at the others who gave me a thumbs up.

“You’re done”, I said and Bakugou opened his eyes again.

Of course he looked directly at me first since I was still sitting on his lap.

“Oh. I-I should m-move. Hehe. Sorry”, I laughed awkward and got up from his lap.

We all looked at Bakugou who examined himself before Denki gave him a hand mirror so he could look at himself properly. As soon as he saw himself we watched his cheeks turn pink and he immediately tried hiding his face in his sweater.

“What the hell did you do to me?”, he asked embarrassed.

“We just wanted you to know how she feels”, Mina said.

Bakugou peaked at me from behind his sweater.

“Do you really feel like that all the time?”, he asked and I nodded.

He stood up from the floor and walked over to me. Before I even knew what was going on, he had already put his arms around me and pulled me into a hug.

“I’m so sorry. I will never joke about you being embarrassed or shy ever again. I promise”, he whispered and hugged me even tighter.

I’ve never been this happy to be embraced by someone like right now. I could hear his heart beat in his chest and was able to take in his sweet scent. I never wanted to part from this embrace anymore, but then I remembered that we weren’t alone and I cautiously pushed him away from me. Bakugou looked down at me and his soft smile made him look even more adorable. We sat back down and spend the rest of the night talking and watching movies. Bakugou and I were leaning against his bed when the current movie came to an end. The others had already fallen asleep on the floor, while I was still wide awake. We turned off the tv and just sat there in silence for some time.

“Looks like they’re fast asleep”, Bakugou said next to me.

“Yeah. Looks like it”

Silence fell over us again until Bakugou began to speak again.

“Do you think I look cute?”

“Do you mean right now or in general?”, I asked back instantly regretting the last part I said.

“Both”

I turned my head towards him and took his appearance in once more. Yes, he definitely looked really cute right now and even though he always looked pretty intimidating to everyone at first, I still saw that cute side of him that was caring for his friends more than for anything else. I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes while taking a deep breath.

“Yes and yes”, I answered.

I was expecting him to get angry at me for calling him cute but instead he grabbed one of my hands and placed it in his, softly caressing it.

“I’m glad”, he whispered and I opened my eyes again to look at him.

Even though the room was barely lit I could see the slight shimmer of pink on his cheeks. My heart skipped a beat again and I almost instinctively leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I really like the embarrassed Bakugou”, I said and smiled at him, my cheeks heating up even more.

“Uhm…we should get some sleep too”, he said and awkwardly scratched his neck before he let go of my hand and stood up.

“Y-yeah. You’re right”, I agreed and looked around the room.

There was still enough space for me to sleep on the floor so I grabbed one of the blankets and searched for my plushy. As I couldn’t spot it anywhere, I looked up to see Bakugou laying on his bed with the plushy in his arm.

“Are you searching for his?”, he asked slightly smiling.

“N-no. I was just…”

He quietly giggled before he pat the space next to him. Did he want me to join him on his bed? My cheeks began to burn again as I stood up and laid down next to him. I didn’t really know what to do with myself so I just laid there quietly looking at him. He smiled at me before he gave me my plushy. I pressed it against my chest and cuddled with it.

“You really are adorable”, he whispered before he slowly put his arm around me and pulled me closer.

The only thing that was separating our bodies right now was the plushy between us.

“Do you really need that plushy to sleep?”, he asked.

“I always need something to cuddle or I can’t fall asleep at all”, I admitted slightly embarrassed.

“Then you could just use me”, he whispered and grabbed the plushy from between us, putting it into the corner of his bed.

My face was now bright red as he pulled me even closer and entangled his legs with mine so I couldn’t run away. Bakugou smiled as I shyly put my arm around him too so I could feel his warmth better. He pulled the blanket over the both of us before he looked at me one last time.

“Goodnight Bakugou”, I mumbled against his chest trying to hide my embarrassed face.

“Goodnight, my little idiot”

[the-melting-world]

Kinktober | Wanna Trade?

Requested by @arcanecadenza

Can’t get enough of Asra in formalwear. This was so fun! Thank you, Sabina 💖💖💖

GN!Asra

CW: Overstimulation

~ 1.7K words

Asra arrives home very late one evening. Kipling sits cross-legged at their coffee table at the base of the couch, wrapping up the books on her clients. She didn’t expect for her work to go on for this long, but it’s over now and all she wants to do is curl up with her journal and write down some nonsensical love poems.

It would appear, however, that Asra has different plans for them that night.

“A date, Asra? The sun has already set.”

Asra draped two collections of rich fabrics over the back of the sofa. He said with a playful roll of his lavender eyes, “Which means that we can have even more fun than we would during the day. Come on, Kip.”

The gardener crossed her arms and huffed, “Can someone please tell me how I fell in love with such a night owl?” But she didn’t argue any further. Asra was right. It had been ages since they’d gone on a date. As much as Kipling couldn’t get enough of curling up and snuggling with her magician, she was also fond of getting dressed up for him and showing each other off. Thankfully, Nadia had done the part that Kipling wasn’t fond of. Selecting and tailoring their wardrobe. 

Asra and Kipling disrobed right there in the living room, lending each other a hand as they put on the expensive formalwear. Asra’s suit fit his slender body like a glove. The texture was velvet and deep magenta in color. The white buttoned shirt underneath was crisp and meant to be worn without a bow or tie. 

After giving him a shameless once over, Kipling stepped up and freed one last button from his collar, revealing his jeweled necklace against his tanned chest. Kip gave the hollow of his throat a kiss before stepping back.

“That’s much better.”

Then she looked down at her own attire and groaned. “How many times have I told Nadia that I cannot do plunging necklines?”

Kipling thought the gown was gorgeous and suited to her tastes if not for the exaggerated cleavage. One wrong move and her breasts would tumble out like two rebel loaves of bread.

Asra hummed his approval, which only aggravated Kipling further. “I don’t really see a problem here.”

Kipling gripped the lapels of Asra’s blazer as he fed a hand inside the v-cut of her dress. She closed her eyes and fought to hold back sounds of satisfaction as Asra brushed his thumb over her pierced nipple.

“See?” she managed to say between shuddered breaths. “When it’s just you and I, it’s perfect. But I can’t wear this outside.”

Asra was already ducking his head, leaving fresh kisses past her neckline. His fluffy white crown tickled the underside of her chin.

 “Do you want to trade?”

The thought of Asra taking her out in this gown while she put on his suit was exciting for several reasons. Kipling bit her lip as she took advantage of Asra’s distraction to gaze at the way the suit cinched and hugged his limbs.

“Uh..Kip?” Asra mumbled between her breasts.

Kipling cleared her throat and blinked. “Yes! Let’s trade.”

She started to shrug out of her dress, but Asra stopped her. “Wait, Kip, not so fast. Let me help you.”

Asra’s idea of this really meant he wanted more time to kiss, lick, and play with her breasts. As delightful as that was, Kipling wanted to make herself useful.

“I should be helping you too,” she murmured against his nest of white curls.

Asra stood up straight and kissed her full on the mouth. Chuckling, he said, “Kip, we both know you’re no good at multitasking.” Swift and efficient, he peeled the rest of her dress off. It fell and gathered around her ankles.

Kip was done with all the teasing. Before Asra could go any further, she took up the lapels of his blazer and gently pushed him over the armrest of the couch. Asra laughed as he scooted backwards and Kipling, now completely bare, crawled on top. She managed to relieve him of the velvety, magenta jacket. It felt so luxurious in her hands that she couldn’t bear to cast it to the floor.

So she put it on instead. The silk lining felt like heaven against her spine. She didn’t miss how Asra’s eyes observed with approval. Like a spell that she had no chance of breaking, his hooded gaze partly shielded by his snowy bangs made something shift inside Kipling. She edged backwards so she could undo his pants.

Asra noted with a smirk, “You’re going out of order.”

Kipling only leaned forward long enough to silence him with a rough kiss. “I know what I’m doing.”

Then she got back to it, freeing Asra’s belt and working his expensive pants just past his knees. Before touching anything else, Kipling made eye contact and said, “How do you want me tonight?”

Asra took in Kipling’s form, straddling him, naked except for his unbuttoned blazer. Knowing that she had worked all day and yet still looked as if she had another important job to do – fucking him senseless, he hoped and prayed.

Asra swallowed. “I want you… on my face.”

Kipling held his gaze, admiring the blush growing just under his lavender eyes. Aware of the tingling between her legs, she whispered, “I think we can arrange that.”

She started to move, but Asra gripped her thighs. “Hold on. I wasn’t finished.”

Kipling paused and tilted her head, waiting for her partner to clarify.

He exhaled, drawing his hands up her strong legs and taking handfuls of her ass.

“Kipling,” he dug his nails into the more sensitive parts of her flesh, “I want you on my face while I’m... inside yours.”

Kipling closed her eyes, savoring the strangely poetic diction of Asra’s request as heat spiked up her neck. But there was no time for her to grab her journal and jot it down. She needed to stop wasting her excitement by dripping all over his shirt and get into position.

Kipling did just that while Asra got more comfortable. He guided her by the hips until she was above his blushing face. Kipling could feel her core blooming for him. Asra, impatient now, began nuzzling her soft, soaking flesh, using his nose to further spread apart her labia. 

Kipling moaned as she sank forward against Asra’s torso. She tucked her knees so she could keep her hips arched enough for him to comfortably eat her pussy. The initial contact of his tongue made Kipling roll her face into his trail of alabaster tufts and moan softly. Eyes still closed, lips parted, she knew it when she found him. The flavor of Asra was impossible to miss. He groaned into her pussy and lost control of his hips for half a second. But his impatience and eagerness only excited her.

It was difficult, trying to concentrate on bringing Asra to his limit without surrendering to the pressure to come herself. Kipling felt her hips twitch in defiance, wanting to squirm and yet deepen her seat. Her lips were swollen with loving Asra, her face shiny from where he had already come for her. 

The sweat between them kept building, worrying Kip that she had ruined his new, expensive blazer. The guilt spread when she saw that she had dampened his shirt from lying on top of him for so long.

Asra gasped from behind, “Kipling, don’t stop.”

She glanced back. “I’m not. Just catching my breath.” The sight of the muscles in his jaw flexing with all his efforts reinvigorated her. When he pulled back, she saw his lips swollen and glistening.

“Please make me come again.”

The plain desperation in Asra’s voice made sparks go off inside of Kip. She didn’t know what it was about the way Asra begged in the bedroom. Most of the time it was unsolicited, which often caught her off guard. 

Asra groaned louder. “Kip, please! Your mouth. Your tongue – I need them now.” He suckled at her labia before planting a tender kiss just shy off her asshole. 

It was enough to send Kipling over the edge. She sucked her magician dry. He did the same for her, but it took her a little longer to come than him. Kipling sat upright when she felt the pressure building too much to stay lying down. 

Kip licked the remnants of Asra second or third cum off her lips as she arched her back, made a fist in the crown of his curls, and properly fucked his face while she reached her apex. 

When she bucked for the last time, she relaxed her thighs and exhaled. Snug and uncomfortable with sweat, Kipling couldn’t wait to get out the blazer. But she gasped at the sharp, sudden fire in her breast. Kipling looked down to see Asra’s hand pinching and twisting her right nipple counter-clockwise.

“Nuh-uh. The blazer stays on.”

Kipling was covered in perspiration and gasping off the flash of pain when Asra started moaning back against her labia. Even though she was swollen and exhausted down there, he gathered her pussy between his teeth and nipped a little harder than expected.

Kipling bucked. “Asra!”

She felt her pussy practically choke on the vibrations as he mumbled into it. “Do you want me to stop?”

Kipling was tired, overwhelmed with sensation, but… she wanted Asra. She always wanted Asra and would never stop craving him.

“Don’t stop,” she sighed, sinking her hips again despite the cry between her legs. But the discomfort only lasted a moment before she was ripe with desire and close to bursting again. 

Bearing down on Asra’s thighs and losing control of her senses, Kipling whimpered, “Asra-asra-asra-uh-mmm—” as he teased and punished her nipples while using his mouth to bring her to another messy climax.

Later, when they were leaving the shop and sporting each other’s outfits, they mused about where the night would take them. To no one’s surprise, Nadia ordered a carriage to ride them around Vesuvia. After they got nice and comfortable inside, Asra leaned and nuzzled against Kipling’s temple. She closed her eyes and sighed against the sweep of his tassels. 

Asra whispered, “In all honesty, I don’t care where we go or what we do as long as you can make me beg like that again before the night is over.”

Kipling’s hand found the slit in Asra’s dress. She kissed him, letting her other hand coast up his uncovered chest. She wondered how many moans she could get out of him before the carriage stopped. How close could they get to the edge of the cloud they were on just moments ago, caught between floating off together and falling fast and hard?

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft. 

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

[brieannakeogh]

Dog Days of Summer- Ch 2

Dog Days of Summer- Chris Evans X plus sized reader. Dog days of summer are usually defined as the hottest of the year, some define it as lazy days. This year ‘hottest’ has nothing to do with the outside temp. You meet Chris and Dodger Evans while taking your own dog to the park.

Previous Chapter / Master List

Warnings: Cursing, tiny bit of angst if you squint

Chapter 2

The clock on the mantel reads 2pm and you were still trying to decide what to wear. Yesterday at your chance meeting with the hunky Chris Evans, you were dressed as a slob. Jeans, baggy tee shirt you had gotten for free from some event or the other, and ratty sneakers, you were just going to go walk your dog after all. Today you knew, well hoped, that he would be there at the given time and you wanted to show a more presentable version of yourself, but your fashion sense just wouldn’t corporate.

The struggle was real. You were also worried that if you dressed up too much that he would see right through you and knew it would be for him. That would make him uncomfortable, right? He seemed to like your company just fine in shitty ass clothes yesterday, so maybe just newish sneakers and a top that didn’t have holes in it. Hey you were supposed to be on vacation and relaxing, who cares about your wardrobe?

At 2:30 you scooped up Popcorn from the little box he tended to nest in, the soft grumble growl from his chest told you he didn’t want to be disturbed from his sleep, but tough. Harness and leash attached, only a minor fight getting it on as he kept trying to lay back down, and you were ready to leave. Popcorn bouncing in your arms as you made your way the little five minute walk down a few blocks, little doggy poop bags stuffed in your pockets.

You didn’t see Chris as you got there but you were still a few minutes early. Going over to the bench you had sat at the day before, you finally put your dog down in the grass where he immediately laid down. It’s a pretty fall day, not too hot and not too cold. The breeze can be chilly but sitting in the sun is nice and warm. You watch the other owners and dogs while you wait.

There’s only one other woman there with a big old mastiff that looks to be as lazy as your dog. The rest are all guy owners with typical dogs, lab, golden retriever, and one other small dog, a cute little corgi, that seemed to be giving its owner a hard time. You giggle as you watch the man try to chase down the short legged dog. The corgi is having a blast and has it’s little butt wiggling, just staying out of reach.

You’re pulled from the show by your name being called by a deep voice. The sight that greets you when you turn your head is spectacular, it make you feel like you’re in a movie. Chris is standing there, with Dodger at his side, in jeans and a thin long sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He kneels down when he’s got your attention to unhook Dodger’s leash and you can faintly hear his instructions to “Go get her.”, which Dodger takes off for you jumping up in your lap on the bench and getting a tongue in your face.

As you struggle with the dog slobber you can hear the laughs from the man that is walking up. “He really missed you.”

“I can see and feel that. He must think I need a bath.” You stutter out as you try to push his head away from your face. “But he’s a good boy.” You say fondly as he finally settles into your lap. Popcorn has now perked up and is watching you from shin level. “Fine, you are too.” You tell your dog, and he puts his paws on your knees asking to be let up too. You comply and shift around so both of them are taking up space on your thighs. You look up at Chris that has been just watching the interaction with a smile. “I’m not exactly sure where you are going to sit, but there is no more room in my lap. Sorry.”

Chris laughs and picks up the back end of his dog to sit down on the bench, placing Dodgers back half in his own lap. He lets out a long relaxing sigh, as he stretches his arms over the back of the bench, tilting his head back to soak in the sun, smile on his face. “It’s nice to not have to worry about something to do and just relax sometimes.”

“Agreed.” You tell him, each hand petting a dog head.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence. You listen to the world around you. The dogs and other owners, the cars on the road passing by, some kids laughter a couple of blocks away echoing around the buildings. It’s a peaceful sort of calm.

“I think I could fall asleep here.” He comments without opening his eyes.

“Sounds like you could use a nap more than Dodger needs a walk.” You look over at him and see his smile grow tight a bit. “Not sleeping well?”

“Sometimes.” He sighs out, sitting his head up and looking around the park. “I stay so busy that when I’ve got a long break it’s hard to get back into a normal sleeping routine.”

“Mmmm.” You hum. “I could see that. If you need any help just let me know. I’m a big old bore and would put you right to sleep.” He snorts at you, unconvinced. “Or chloroform works well. The headache after is a pain though.” You side eye him and smirk, before you both crack up into giggles.

“This was a good idea.” He said when the giggles stopped.

“What was?”

“Coming out here again. I wasn’t sure about it this morning.” He told you honestly.

“What? Do I put off stranger danger vibes or something?”

“Heh, no, nothing like that.” He shakes his head. “It just can be hard….with fans. People see celebrity as a status and can treat you subhuman or like something to worship.” He looked over to you, clearly expecting you to make a comment.

“I’m sorry that’s happened Chris. People are people. Big groups of them can be influential or toxic. The individual however can be influenced or stand on their own.” You shrug. “I admit I’m a fan. A kinda big marvel fangirl to boot, and I’ve seen most of your movies. I saw ‘Not another teen movie’ in theaters. ‘Snowpiercer’ was the last one I watched. I hadn’t even heard of it until I went through your filmography, but the art direction was just beautiful. It’s one of those movies that didn’t get the attention it deserves and you just want to shove it in people’s faces like ‘GO WATCH THIS NOW!’, like ‘But I’m a Cheerleader.’ Not that those movies are similar in story or tone at all but you know what I mean.”

You look over to him and see him sitting back smiling at you. “‘But I’m a Cheerleader’ huh?”

“After all I said to you, that’s your take away?” You sit up and cross your arms.

“What? It’s a good movie.” He smirks at you while you shake your head.

“Look, I can’t tell you what you probably want to hear, because I am a fan, but I don’t think one of those crazy ones. You also don’t seem like someone that likes compliments, so I won’t tell you how amazing you are at your job, or how good you look. I’ll leave that to those rabid fangirls, but I will tell you how nice of a time I had yesterday getting to know you, the person. If that counts for anything?”

His smile goes a little sad. “Yeah, I think that counts, but I think…” He licks his lips. “I’ve said since I took the marvel gig that I didn’t want to mix my professional and personal life. I wanted to keep private as much as possible.”

You nod your head, looking at the dogs in your lap. “I understand. I don’t blame you for wanting that. It just would have been nice having a friend in the city, especially one that had lived here most of his life.” He winces a little at that. “No, no I didn’t mean it like that, not trying to make you feel guilty. It’s really ok. Hey, I’m just grateful I could not tell you how great an actor you are.” You smirk at him. “Lets just sit and enjoy the dogs today. After that we can let luck decide if we see each other at the park again.”

You settle back in, keeping your eyes trained to the dogs you were petting, trying not to look at the man beside you. After a few minutes of silence, you feel him shift beside you and you can see him stand up out of the corner of your eye. Dodger gets up and hops down too, to stand by his master.

“Nah, I don’t like that idea.” He tells you, and you look up at him in confusion. He’s got a grin on his face.

“Chris you’re giving me emotional whiplash here. Can you make up your mind? I thought that was what you wanted?”

He shrugs. “I changed it. I don’t like either of the choices. You’re funny and interesting so I wanna hang out with you, but you’re a fan, a massive one from what it sounds like, so not sure I can trust you. I don’t like either of the options.” He motions for you to stand up.

“I wouldn’t say ‘massive’” You mumble as you comply.

“You started watching films based solely on if I was in them. What would you call that?”

“That’s not exactly what I said. I said I looked at your filmography. What got me to watch Snowpiercer was the youtube video that compared it to willy wonka.” You see the protest coming. “And it was on my recommended feed long before you tweeted about it.” He still gives you a skeptical look. You throw your hands in the air. “Fine, whatever, have it your way.”

“Good, now come along.” He looks smug.

“Where are we going?” You ask, picking up Popcorn.

“You were right, I’m tired so we are going to get coffee.”

You hurry to the gate as he’s already started walking. “Please tell me you know a good place for coffee. I’ve got a Starbucks and a local place in my area that I’ve found and they both suck.” You tell him, falling into step by his side.

He chuckles. “I know the best coffee place.” He wiggles his eyebrows. A happy little squeal is released from you. “You a coffee addict too?” He asks.

“Yes, very much so. Love the stuff. I would say I’m a bit of a coffee snob but really it’s like alcohol, I have standards until you put a free cup of the stuff in front of me, than I’ll drink anything.”

“I may have to test that theory one night.” He tells you with a smirk.

“You may be a big dude, but I’m a big girl. I’m sure I could handle whatever you throw at me.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“I do have a pretty high tolerance.” Smug look on your face, which turns to a pinched up expression. “But no beer. Yuck, can’t stand the stuff.”

“And that’s where you lost me. Frat boy remember?”

“The last time I enjoyed beer was before I was legal and it was the only thing at the party. It was desperate times man.” You sigh.

He continues chuckling as you walk down the sidewalk. It’s been about four blocks from the dog park and you hadn’t really been paying much attention to where you are going, more to the conversation. Chris points out a little shop up the street that looks almost as if it is closed, the windows are tinted so much. The bell rings out as the two of you go in. The smell of roasted coffee and sweet pastries hit your nose and it’s like you stepped into heaven. There is a blackboard on the wall behind the counter that shows the shops specials. Chris goes for regular drip while you get an iced americano, extra shot.

“You don’t play do you? I’m gonna have to restrain you if you start bouncing off the walls.” He says with a smirk, while waiting for the coffee.

“Kinky.” You raise an eyebrow to him. He looks to be speechless for once, but before he can get too shocked you continue. “No, it doesn’t affect me that much. I could drink a cup and be sleepy a few minutes later. Plus this is a new place, I want to try it as straight as possible, no fillers. That way I can determine if its good or not.”

“How is it that you are not affected by caffeine?”

“Told ya, high tolerance. In all things apparently.” You shrug. Your order is called so the two of you go sit at a little table in the back.

He studies your face as you take your first sip. “Well, does it pass?”

“Not bad, not bad.” You nod. “I could see myself coming here a lot to overpay for coffee that I could just make at home.”

He chuckles and continues to sip his coffee. It’s actually really good, so you pull out your phone to GPS where you are and how far from home it is. Looking at the little map you let out bark of laughter.

“What has you so excited over there?” Again giving you a look that puts into question your sanity.

“It’s a block away from my house!” Picking up the phone and shoving the GPS in his face. “I must have passed by it before, I just didn’t notice it with the tinted windows.” He smiles over his cup. “Is that why you like it?” He shrugs. You look out the window and notice landmarks that you recognize but didn’t see on the way in. “I know exactly where we are.” Sitting back in your chair, slumping. “How did I miss this? It’s so good!” You whine.

“Maybe you should be a bit more observant.” He says pointedly. The glare you send his way, just makes him shrug again.

“I’m gonna have to rethink this whole month off thing. If I come here for coffee, and possibly one of those yummy looking pastries every morning, I’m only going to have enough to last another week. Tops.”

He snorts. “That would be a shame.”

“I’m still surprised they let us bring the dogs in here.” Looking at Popcorn, still in your arms and Dodger laying at Chris’s feet.

Chris does that little high pitched thing with his voice. “Well technically....” His head shakes back and forth. “They know me and Dodger, so they put up with us. And you are holding your rat so he can’t get in trouble.”

“What is this I hear? Chris Evans using his fame card to get his dog in places he shouldn’t be?” Your hand over your heart and a mocking shocked tone in your voice.

“Hey it’s the only good use of the fame card I could find.” He defends, which makes you giggle.

Finishing up your coffee you exit the shop.

“So you feeling better? Not wanting an afternoon nap anymore?”

“It definitely helped, but I need to get back home. Dinner plans tonight.”

Looking at the time on your phone, you are surprised it shows 5pm. It didn’t feel like two hours had passed. “Oooo hot date tonight?” You tease as you slide your phone back into your pocket.

“My sister and her kids.”

“Kinky?” You joke and his eyes roll. “Hope you have fun.” For the first time today, it gets awkward in his company. He told you, he didn’t want to be friends with a fan, but then changed his mind, but you still had no idea where you stood. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and he shuffled his feet and absentmindedly watched the few cars pass by. “Sooooo, I’m this way.” You point down the street, not able to take just standing there.

“Really?” He looked relieved. “Me too. Walk you?”

“Sure!” And the uncomfortable silence was back. Each trying to come up with something to say. You didn’t want to push, but you also didn’t want to get to your apartment and never have the luck to see him again.

The steps to your apartment building are in front of you before you know it, and not a word had been said. “This is you?” He breaks the silence with an obvious question.

“Yep.” More awkward standing. Popcorn is squirming in your arms since he knows where he is, so you put him down, pulling on his leash a bit to go up the stairs. “Ok fine!” You let out a little too loudly.

“What?” The outburst surprises him.

“I just can’t take this anymore. We’re both being weird and awkward and both of us are thinking the same thing, and I don’t want it to be weird. I want the last of my time with you to be joking and fun, not…” You move your hand between you. “This.” Huffing out the last of it.

His snort turns into a giggle, that turns into a loud middle-of-the-chest barrel laugh. “Ok…” He says as he starts to calm down. “Ok, no more weird. Although, I always thought that was the best part.” He smirked.

“You know what I mean. Weird weird, not just normal weird.” You tell him pointedly.

“So there are levels of weird now?” He teases.

“Chris…” You whine exasperated, stomping your foot a little.

“Oh my god, do that again!” He laughs at you, enjoying watching you get irritated at him.

Hanging your head, you sigh out a breath. “That’s it. I give up.” Throwing your hands up, you turn to go up the steps to the entrance.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” He reaches out and tugs on the sleeve of your shirt which halts you in your tracks, turning back to him. Cocking an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. He lets go of your sleeve and drops his hand limply at his side. “I don’t know, what do you want me to say?”

“Just tell me the truth. Do you actually want to make a plan to see me on purpose and be friends or not?” You watch as he bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “Ok, it’s fine. I understand, I really and truly do. No jokes, no games, I’m not mad. Fan forever I promise. Chris, you’re a really good guy and I’ve had a lot of fun getting to know you, and Dodger,” You reach down to ruffle his head. “these last couple days. Plus, I now have a great coffee shop I know about really close to my place.” You amp up the excitement in your voice for that. “Acquaintances?” You hold out your hand to him to shake. He takes yours and it’s warm, big and softer than you would think. His grip firm and sure, you squeeze a bit tighter before you pull away and walk up the steps. Stopping at the doorway you turn. “I’ll see ya around and if not, good luck with the next project. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

He watches you without a word as you walk into the building. A small wave, before you shut the door, that he can’t bring himself to return. Walking down the road to his own place, he reassures himself he did the right thing. That he put these rules into place a long time ago for a reason, it was a good reason. He had been burnt before and he just wasn’t going to do it again.

You throw the keys onto the side table, bending down to take the leash and harness off Popcorn. “Well buddy, that didn’t turn out like I hoped.” You sigh and go to the couch to sit. Popcorn uses the little step stool beside the couch to jump up into your lap for an ear scratch. “It was still nice. Who would have thought I would hang out with Captain America, huh?” The smile is a bit sad that you sport, scooping up your dog and cuddling him up to your face. He protests a little and jumps down completely, going into the bedroom for a nap. “Fine, leave me too.” You grumble.

Just as you were about to get up to start figuring out what you would have for dinner, the buzzer goes off. There isn’t anyone that you are expecting, and you didn’t order anything yet, unless they start employing mind readers. Hitting the intercom button. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” You would recognize that voice anywhere. “Can I come up?”

“Uh...yeah..sure.” You buzz him through and pace nervously in front of the door, but you’re still startled when he knocks.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

The two of you stand in the doorway. “Can I come in?” He points into the apartment. You nod and open the door further.

“What’s up? Forget something?”

“Yeah...” He’s looking around wildly. “Hey, you got a pen and paper?” Your brows furrow but go hunting up what he asks for. Handing it off he scribbles down a number and hands it back to you.

“Is this…?”

“If that ends up on the internet I’ll know who leaked it.” He teases, but you take it seriously.

“Of course not! You don’t think I would do that, do you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

The smile you give him has his heart jump and stutter. He is so glad he turned around and made his way back to your door. “Did you want to have a seat?” You ask him, noticing Dodger already took up residence on your couch.

“Love to, but I really have to get going.” He pats his leg and Dodger gets up off the couch and goes to his side.

“Ah yes. Almost forgot about the dinner date.”

“With my sister and her kids.” He emphasizes.

You lift your hands in the air. “Hey whatever floats your boat, I don’t judge.”

He scoffs and as he walks past he pats and rubs your head, sort of like what you do to Dodger when you pet him.

“Text me in the morning?” He asks you at the door.

“Sure, I can do that, but I’ll warn you, what I call morning most people call lunch.”

“Lazy.” He chides.

“It’s my vacation and I’ll do what I want to, do what I want to…” You sing out in the tune of ‘It’s my party’

“Night crazy lady.”

“Night Dorito man.”

“You know it, baby!” He says over his shoulder, walking down the hall with Dodger following him obediently.

Next Chapter

I’m posting this now and will be posting the angsty Bucky chapter later tonight. This one is fun to write but the other I think is actually a good read lol. 

Anyway tags are open if you want and let me know what you think. 

@spidey-babe-parker, @ultrasilentwhispers, @stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @paintballkid711, @katykyll, @avengersrulez1536, @ultrafreespirit, @wantingtobekorra,   @i-had-a-life-once,  @boyfriendsarebetterinbooks, @ghostssss​, @babybeluuga​, @bodhi-black​,  @kanupps06​, @hatterripper31, @grandloser, @reniescarlett, @kjidhzyx, @normanreedus5150, @ilovethings-somuch, @spiderman-2013, @bloodyvalentine93, @xx-raven, @passionghost, @r-avenclaws, @prettybubblesintheair, @averyrogers83,  @ria132love, @patzammit, @whom-the-fack, @pooslie, @3dsaunt, @kristiedwyer, @janeyboo, @theonelittleone

[beaniegara]

trying to save you (from all of the things that I'll probably say or do)

ship: eugene/zach (zagene) rating: pg-13 warnings: alcohol mention and consumption, self-worth issues. tags: friends to lovers, angst, angst with a happy ending, sorta sickfic at first, introspection on eugene's part, eugene's pov show: the try guys. partner: @lilnyckyj​   prompt: allergies, for @thebuzzfeedchallenge​! 

summary: zach is sick so eugene makes sure he has everything he needs at home, including food. and that's when he realizes.

a/n: I’m super late and I’m so sorry! :c but here, have some zagene ♥

[ao3 link]

“Zach?”

Eugene closes the door behind him and toes out of his shoes. He’s not wearing socks. The cold under his feet is more than welcome after the frankly outrageous hot weather he experienced outside. The foam container he’s holding isn’t helping, warm to the touch. He knows that it smells good when Bowie comes out of Zach’s room, pawing happily towards Eugene.

“Hey, buddy,” Eugene says, crouching down to give him a good rub behind his ears and a kiss to his head. It’s almost a bad decision: Bowie tries to reach for the package and nearly topples Eugene over. “Hey, hey,” he laughs, standing up and keeping the food out of Bowie’s reach. “This is for your dad. Be nice.”

“Bowie, stop hogging my friend!” Zach’s whine comes down the hallway. Eugene laughs.

After laying the food carefully on top of the fridge, he goes to Zach’s room. He’s not surprised to find Zach in a nest of sorts. His friend lies amidst sheets, pillows, and what looks like half of his wardrobe. He looks small, sad, and quite honestly—

“Pathetic,” Eugene says, stopping for a second at the door, then walking inside to feel Zach’s forehead. “You can’t be that bad .”

“Oh yeah, and how can you know? Do you have a stuffy nose that won’t stop running like the goddamn Niagara Falls?”

It all comes out in a rush, very much through his red nose. He sounds a lot like Donald Duck.

“Stop acting like a baby and get up, I brought you food.”

“Food?” Zach looks hopeful, but that immediately turns into a scowl. “Food? I don’t know if I can eat today.”

“Too bad, because you will. Come on.”

Eugene offers a hand that Zach takes, letting Eugene help him out of bed.

“And what I mean by that is that it can’t be that bad that you need to cocoon yourself like this,” he motions to Zach’s mess of a bed as they head to the kitchen. “It’s not even, what, 80º outside?”

“It’s comfy, though,” Zach says, and Eugene can’t contain a smile – even a slightly amused one.

Bowie follows them happily into the kitchen, wagging his tail. Zach starts to pull out plates, but Eugene stops him, takes the plates from his hand, and indicates the table with his head, “Sit.”

“You know, I really am not that bad. I’m just being dramatic because I hate this.”

“I know. But you’re taking too many meds at once and I don’t like that,” Eugene says simply. “Your tiny body can only take so much.”

“Wow, thanks, man.”

“That was a compliment,” Eugene says as he finishes setting up the table and reaches for the food on top of the fridge. “You need carbs, but you also need meat to keep functioning like a human being, so I brought two dishes, actually.”

He makes sure to set everything nicely on the table, opening container after container until Zach can see all that he has brought with him.

“Oh my god, this looks so good.”

“It smells pretty nice, too.”

Zach just gestures dismissively at his stuffed nose, “I’ll have to take your word for it. How much was it? I can transfer what I owe you.”

“Shut up,” Eugene says, dropping a generous portion on Zach’s plate first before getting some himself. “I told you, this is on me. You owe me nothing more than a couple of nights babysitting my babies.”

“Eugene, that is hardly payment, I enjoy doing that. Besides, this is like the third time this week you’ve brought me food.”

It is. Eugene hesitates only for a second, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he has been here on Monday, Tuesday and today, Thursday, making it the third time that week alone. Zach has the week off, fighting an allergy-turned-mild-cold that comes and goes around this time of the year. And it’s not like Eugene has been the only one over – Keith has been keeping tabs on him, too, and even if Ned is trying to avoid Zach, not wanting to risk getting Ariel sick, he personally rearranged Zach’s schedule so that Zach wouldn’t have to miss anything important that week. Really, Eugene is not doing more than his part here.

Or so he tells himself.

“I don’t want your money,” he says. “Just, you know, get better so I don’t have to babysit you. And so I can go back to babysitting your dog.”

Speaking of which, Bowie is sat between them, eyeing one and then the other with the cutest eyes Eugene has ever seen. Zach laughs, “You’re just using me to get to Bowie.” He takes his first bite and closes his eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, Eugene, I love you. This is amazing.”

Eugene’s heart skips a beat. He does something with his hands that makes the piece of broccoli he had on his fork go flying through the room.

He’s not sure what just happened, but he can’t meet Zach’s eyes. He doesn’t have an answer either, so he stuffs his mouth with food instead. Something’s not right. He’s overwhelmed, surprised, and speechless, all at the same time.

It doesn’t make any sense; his mind is just a swirl of what the fuck’s and fuck me’ s. He doesn’t know to react, so he focus on gulping down mouthful after mouthful. Zach doesn’t seem to notice anything’s out of the ordinary. “I can barely taste anything but what I can taste is tasty as fuck and it made me realize I was starving, so thank you,” he says.

“Sure, no problem,” Eugene answers, risking a glance. Zach’s not looking at him, busy with his food. Eugene looks down again.

This. All of this. It feels too... intimate? Maybe. They are alone, having lunch together. Lunch Eugene has brought Zach, for the third time that week. It all feels too fucking cozy, too—

Too domestic.

Eugene loses his appetite all of a sudden. He manages a couple more bites, but he starts to feel anxious - his palms start to sweat, and he has the urge to get out of there. This is not a full-blown anxiety attack but it's close enough to make him stand up, cleaning out his plate and giving Zach some lame excuse about needing to be back early for a shot. He’s gone before Zach can say anything.

It’s not until he’s in his car, driving back to work, that he starts to put his thoughts together. First things first: the thing about coming over several times, well... It's not likes it's something new. He isn’t just worried now because Zach is sick – although, yeah, he has been extra worried this week –, he is always worried about him. Not in an overprotective way, just... Thinking about him. Wondering if he’s alright. If he needs anything. If he’s as happy as he should be.

That’s something a friend would do, of course, Eugene reasons with himself, but the panic building inside of him tells him otherwise. He is kinda, sorta, ridiculously attached to Zach. Everything he abhors, from spending the night watching films on a couch that’s too small for the both of them, to missing Zach’s texts when he doesn’t text him in the morning... That’s not something he does with everyone else.

That’s not something he does, period.

“Hey,” Kelsey puts a hand on his arm as Eugene walks into the office half an hour later, too dazzled to have even seen her. “You alright there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know,” she gives him a once-over, as if trying to find out what is wrong. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

You could say that, he thinks to himself.

“Too much in my head,” he says, giving her a smile that he knows will convince her. It does. “Gotta go, but we’re still on Friday, right?”

“Of course!”

They part with a flying kiss from her, and Eugene goes to his desk. It’s still early for most people to have come back from lunch break, so he has at least an hour until the desks around him are busy again. Except for Zach’s, which has been empty all week; a post-it on his screen says, in Ned’s handwriting, “GONE TO HONOLULU! BYE BITCHESSS”.

The thing is, Eugene thinks as his login screen loads, he likes Zach. That much he can admit to himself. But where does friendly affection end and romantic interest begin? He hasn’t been in many relationships, always avoided them when he could. It just doesn’t work for him – that’s how he’s wired, and he doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to fight it.

But then he thinks back to Zach’s kitchen, about how he can easily find his way in his apartment. He thinks about Zach’s laugh, the dorkiest and yet most adorable thing Eugene can think of, especially when it's early in the morning and Zach can barely open his eyes. He thinks about all the times one of them was out of town, and about how it has become second nature to him to text Zach all day when that happens. He thinks about the times he’s entertained the idea of kissing Zach and blaming it on the alcohol – and the two times he actually went through with it.

Hiding his face behind his hands, Eugene sighs. This doesn’t sound good. At all. He wonders briefly if he should drop by Zach’s after work to check on him, to make sure he hasn’t left Zach with the wrong impression, but of course he hasn’t. Why is he so worried about what Zach is thinking? Why should he worry about that?

He tries the opposite of what he usually does. Instead of shutting himself off and ignoring whatever it is he is feeling, he lets his mind wander. He thinks about being with Zach – being here meaning more than just hanging out together. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss him, completely sober now, with no excuses. He wonders what it’d be like to be the one Zach texts first, and realizes with a jolt that he might as well already be. Suddenly the idea of maybe cozying up together on that tiny couch at Zach’s isn’t all that weird, which is weird in itself, because since when does Eugene think about cuddling?

Soon his coworkers start to come back from the break, and Eugene has to pretend he is incredibly focused on whatever is open on his screen. That forces him to actually pay attention to the work at hand, putting a stop to the storm inside his head.

Eugene doesn’t want to think.

Better yet: he doesn’t want to think about that. He needs to think. He needs to put his mind on work, because that’s where he should be putting his mind on, anyway. This is a crucial time, and they have a lot on their hands – Eugene has a lot on his hands already, without the added anxiety of having to think about his friend who he may or may not harbor feelings for.

It’s kinda ridiculous, he chides himself once, when he’s at the break room, getting a cup of coffee. His mind wanders to that Thursday, again, the nth time it has done so that week. He thinks about how easy it is to be around Zach; how comfortable he feels to open up cabinets in his kitchen and in his bathroom; how safe he feels when it’s just the two of them, no cameras, no nothing. He thinks about being around himon camera, and how much more fun and much more at ease he feels when Zach's there filming wih him, no matter how stupid the video they’re doing is.

Coffee spills over his cup and onto his hand. It burns - he hisses and dabs a bunch of napkins on his hand, cursing under his breath. This is not who he is. He’s not one to be getting distracted at work thinking about soft hands and easy smiles. This is not who Eugene has worked so hard to become.

So he starts avoiding Zach.

It’s for the best, he tells himself. And it’s nothing too on the nose, either. He makes sure that Zach still has everything he needs while he’s at home - and even when he’s back at work the next week - but he avoids being alone with him. Avoids being too close, or too intimate. Strict business, his demeanor says, and Zach starts to look at him a little odd, but doesn’t push it. He’s too nice for that. Besides, he has always respected Eugene’s space.

No one tries to ask if anything’s different, even though Eugene catches Keith watching him when the four of them are in a room together. No one ever does because Eugene has mastered the art of concealing his emotions, and so it doesn’t show that he feels, well, like crap. Inside and out, he feels like he’s trying too hard to just be. He pulls a muscle at the gym on a Monday, two weeks into this new Avoiding Zach routine. His skin is all sorts of wrong, and his products aren't helping. He keeps forgetting things, from his keys to the time of meetings, which is new to him.

Everything sucks, but no one notices it.

Maybe it’s for the best, he reasons with himself.

That’s until he’s had more than his fair share of cocktails at one of Buzzfeed's parties. It feels like the entire office is there, more so than in past years. It’s one master event, and the place is so big that people are spread out in clusters, a lot of them already occupying most couches and benches. He has been talking to Kelsey – Impicciche, not Darragh –, Annie, and two other people he’s sure he’s learned the name of, but can’t remember anymore, when someone touches his elbow.

He turns to find Zach, no glasses, holding a cup of something reddish in color.

“Eugene, can we talk?”

“Mmmmm,” Eugene pretends to think about it, then, “Nope.”

He pops the ‘p’, and Zach snickers, “Please? I know—I know this isn’t the best place but I can’t stop thinking that you’re mad at me and this has been eating me from inside out forever now, and I really, really wish you’d just talk to me—”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Eugene says, slurring a bit. He has had a lot to drink. A lot. He realizes that when he considers just walking away, both from Zach and from the group he has been standing with, and his legs take quite longer than usual to understand the command. “I don’t have anything to say,” he adds, raising both hands. He fails to notice he has spilled some of his own drink.

“Ok!” Zach says, rather defensively. His face is flushed, and if Eugene were a little less drunk off his ass, he’d see Zach’s had plenty to drink, too. “But I do have something to say. Or actually, to ask. I have things to ask. And I don’t know, man, I can’t just corner you at work, that would be a dick move, even if this is technically work but not really, because we’re not being paid to be here tonight... Sorry, I’m getting carried away, but seriously, can we—?”

He touches Eugene’s elbow again, using his head to indicate that they can step aside, closer to the bushes, away from the group. He is looking so good tonight, Eugene thinks – he almost looks like he’s glowing under the artificial lighting, the pale of his eyes more clear than ever, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. Eugene looks down at his lips, and his stomach does something weird, like somersaults. Zach doesn't look nice, he looks gorgeous. His hand has left Eugene’s elbow, because he doesn’t force contact if Eugene doesn’t let him, he never does, and fuck, why does he need to be so nice all the time?

“Fine,” Eugene says, walking away with him. If only to hear more of his voice, which he hasn't been hearing a lot of lately – avoiding Zach comes at a great cost, he concludes.

Zach just walks them a little to the back of the crowd, so they can hear each other better, and maybe not be heard by anyone else. They’re outside, and it’s quiet beyond the perimeters of the party – they can’t hear anything else in the neighborhood, and it feels almost otherworldly to be there that night. It certainly feels weird to want to touch Zach’s arms, and his face, when Eugene is standing this close to him.

“So,” Zach starts, clearing his throat. “I just—I just, you know, I wanna know if I’ve done something wrong? If I’ve hurt you, or—I don’t know, if, if—You’ve been distant, Eugene” he says, looking up at Eugene.

And fuck, man. Fuck. Eugene can’t deal with Zach’s big, beautiful eyes, looking up at him like that – nervous, sad, hurt. It makes Eugene feel like the biggest jerk ever, and all he wants is to make Zach understand that nothing is his fault. Nothing about this is on him, it’s all on Eugene, and he shouldn’t be the one looking at him like that.

“It’s for the best,” Eugene says, repeating the words he has been saying to himself a lot lately.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s for the best’? Whose best? Why is that the best for anyone?”

“Because it is! You don’t want me fucking up your life, do you?”

“Eugene, what the fuck?” Zach looks confused. “Why would you fuck up my life? What’s going on?”

Eugene looks away, shaking his head. He feels embarrassed. He understands, deep in his core, that this is all his fault. For letting himself feel any of this, feel this way towards one of his closest friends. Just how dumb is he, really? It’s not like he doesn’t know what would happen. What is happening.

“Forget it,” Eugene says, but Zach is adamant.

“I can’t forget it, not when you’re trying to keep me away from you.”

“It’s—Jesus Christ, Zach, it’s the other way around. You got it all wrong.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did I get it wrong, Eugene?”

“I’m trying to keep myself away from you so I can stop feeling the way I feel about you.”

A pause. Zach stares at him.

“Which is...?”

“This,” Eugene gestures to himself, which in his mind makes perfect sense. He’s showing Zach the walking mistake, the man that can’t get attached, the man that’s bound to make a mess and hurt him and just— “I can’t hurt you. I just can’t. I don’t want to and I don’t think I can fucking handle it.”

“Well, that’s good,” Zach starts, but Eugene isn’t finished; he feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he has processed them.

“Because that’s what would happen if I let myself have feelings for you, or if I let myself get too attached to the idea of being with you, because that’s who I am. I—I fuck up, I make messes, and I don’t—I don’t know how to be with anyone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he laughs, incredulous. “Fuck me, I’m in my thirties, it’s way too late to learn this shit. I just can’t.”

Zach doesn’t say anything at first, staring at him, wide-eyed. Eugene is trying to stop laughing, but he’s now giggling uncontrollably, looking at Zach.

“This is ridiculous. Isn't it? How a person can fall for a friend and ruin one of the best friendships, relat—work relationships he’s ever had? Of course I’d do that,” Eugene opens his arms wide, takes a couple steps back. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He says even louder this time, “Eugene Lee Yang, a fucking moron!”

“Stop that,” Zach says.

“I don’t care if they listen.”

“I don’t mean that,” Zach gets close again, tries to take the drink away from Eugene’s hand. “I mean, don’t call yourself that, don’t—You’re not a moron.”

Eugene bats away Zach’s hand, keeping the drink close to his chest. He doesn’t remember what’s in his glass, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows it’s alcohol. Just what he needs, and will always need. At least drunk he doesn’t need to worry about a thing, he doesn’t need to hide or calculate his words. Zach looks weird, now – his smile has dropped, and his eyes look shiny, and he’s not looking Eugene in the eye.

And that’s when Eugene understands what he has just done.

“No,” he says, heart starting to beat faster. “No, fuck, forget I said anything.”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did. Please, Zach—”

“You know, I think we should have this conversation some other time,” Zach looks at him, immediately winces, and looks away. “I—I should go.”

“Zach—” Eugene tries, but Zach steps around him and then away, not looking back.

Eugene’s heart tightens as he watches Zach’s hunched figure dart between the crowd before he vanishes from sight. It’s a stupid muscle, Eugene gathers, and he must’ve pulled it too because it hurts, now. Not something he has ever felt, but like his heart is a tiny bird flapping its wings very fast, trying to fly out of a cage that’s a size too small for him. It keeps throwing itself against the bars, hurting, hurting, hurting, and it never stops, it won’t stop. Eugene feels sick. He chugs the rest of his drink, trying to quell the awful feeling in his chest; the liquid burnshis throat on the way down.

It hurts, and it doesn’t stop hurting the next day. His head is exploding when he wakes up just after lunch, mouth dry and stomach lurching. He hasn’t thrown up in a long time, but if it continues like this, he might be bending over his toilet later. After he has taken care of his most basic needs – water, peeing, a toast to keep his blood pressure where it should be – he checks his phone.

One name stands out in his notifications, and it all comes back to him. His heart clenches again, thinking about the night before.

Zach.

Eugene regrets opening his mouth, but he doesn’t blame the alcohol. If anything, he blames himself. He should’ve known better – he does know better, and fuck, since when does he let any kind of feeling dictate how he should behave? Since when does he let his heart, hurt as it is, dumb as it is, take the reins?

The message simply says “can we meet?”. It was sent around 10 a.m., because of course. Zach probably has a headache, too. He always has when he drinks too much, even if his too much is miles away from Eugene’s too much. Eugene groans just thinking about it. He knows Zach so well, and he knows himself so well – why did he need to say anything?

He texts back with a “Sure”. He’s far from sure, but he owes Zach this. If he can at least explain it, explain why he didn’t say anything before and why he was such a jackass, then maybe... Maybe Zach will just leave it all behind.

Maybe.

After some more awkward, emoji-less texts, they settle for 4 p.m. at Eugene’s place. It gives him enough time to shower, order in some lunch, get onto some important emails. He calls his mom, too, when he’s sure she’s not at church. It’s a weird conversation; he doesn’t know how to explain why he sounds so tired, or why he’s giving one-word answers. He wants to tell her, even if just to let it out of his chest, but this is not something they talk about. They never have, and they’re not starting now. She wouldn’t be comfortable with the topic, and he probably wouldn’t either.

His apartment starts to feel very suffocating.

He does his best to clean up after he hangs up, opening the blinds, changing the towels in his bathroom, taking out the trash. It helps him keep focused, even if his head is still sore, and his thirst never ending. 

Zach is there at 4 p.m. sharp.

It’s a weird thing to have him there, in front of him. Eugene is scared when he opens the door, which is something he isn’t expecting to feel at that moment. Zach, wearing a cap, hands hidden inside the pockets of his hoodie, smiles.

Eugene tries to smile back, but his heart is doing that stupid thing again.

He doesn’t want to lose Zach. He doesn’t want to see that smile any less. He doesn’t want to walk on eggshells around him because he doesn’t know how to keep his emotions in check.

“Hey,” Zach says, walking inside. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, which is good, but he does hesitate, standing in Eugene’s living room before he crouches down to rub Pesto's belly. “Should we, uh… Should I sit down? Can we sit down?”

“Of course,” Eugene follows, but doesn’t sit next to him on the couch. He perches himself on the only armchair there is. Emma is taking the seat, so he opts for the arm.

They are in silence for a couple of seconds before Eugene says, “I think I have—No, nevermind, I don’t. Water?”

Zach chuckles, “No, thanks. I’m guessing all you have to offer is alcohol?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

They laugh; Eugene feels his shoulders tense and tries to relax, but it’s hard. He’s hugging himself, almost, arms crossed in front of him. Zach looks small on his couch, like he’s trying not to take too much space.

“About yesterday, I think I should—"

“Wait, Zach, no,” Eugene interrupts him, sighing. He lets his head hang low for a brief moment before he’s looking Zach in the eye again. “I need to apologize. That’s the first thing that’s happening here. I was… Well, I was a dick yesterday. And I…” He tries to find the right words for this, but nothing sounds right in his head. “I don’t know, I think I had some kind of breakdown. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Zach watches him, patiently. When he’s done, Zach looks down at his hands and nods.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t—You were drunk, we were bothreally drunk.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still no excuse,” Eugene says, mumbling the words. Zach smiles at him.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

There’s a moment of silence in which their eyes meet.

“Did you mean it?”

Zach’s voice is so low and soft, it’s barely a whisper. Eugene hesitates, mouth hanging open as he tries to think of a way to answer that at the same time that it dawns on him that Zach was most probably holding back tears the night before. The glasses he's wearing now catch his attention, reminding him of how at the party Zach's eyes were clear, shining with tears. He doesn't know how he missed that.

“I—” He stops, wets his lips. “Yeah. I did mean every word of it.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

Eugene nods. He’s proud of himself for not avoiding Zach’s eyes when he does.

“But you don’t… like anyone.”

A beat. “I don’t. Usually.”

“Wow,” Zach blinks, looking down at his fingers again. “A lot to process there.”

Eugene can’t help but chuckle a little, because yeah.

“Why did you act like that was a bad thing, though?”

“Because—” The words die on his throat. Because maybe this isn’t real and I’d only hurt you, he thinks. I’d ruin our friendship by starting something that’s not gonna last. He doesn’t have the courage to say any of this, not right now. Something inside of him is screaming for him to not say it. The part of him that thinks that this is different. That this is not just a fling that may be worth keeping around. He and Zach have known each other for so long now, they know each other so intimately well, it’s absurd. They have talked about everything under the sun, except maybe the things Eugene tends to keep for himself. But he realizes in that split second that he wouldn’t mind maybe - who knows - sharing those with Zach, too. Slowly, someday. The idea of sharing some of the things hidden in the corners of his mind with him isn’t so bad. Zach means all the good things Eugene can think of, including...

Home.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Eugene finally says. His voice cracks a bit.

Zach’s eyes on him are soft, understanding. “Neither do I. No one does, I think.”

“Ned does,” Eugene argues. “Keith does, too. Shane and Sara—”

“Well, maybe some people do,” Zach stops him right there, shifting forward so he’s on the edge of the couch. “But not everyone. I certainly don’t, you know I haven’t had a relationship in forever.”

Eugene shakes his head, both negating what he just said and also to shake off any tears or uncertainty from his voice. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re—” Eugene gesticulates, trying to find the right way to say what he has only felt so far. “You’re open. You wear your feelings on your sleeve and you’re fine with it. That’s how people should be in a relationship. I—I’m guarded, closed off, I—I don’t know—Fuck,” he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, refusing to let himself get teary-eyed. “I’m not a good partner, ok? I just know that. And you don’t deserve it. Not that I know what you deserve, all I know is that you deserve someone better than me.”

There’s the rustling of fabric before Eugene sees Zach has walked over and is now kneeling in front of him, one hand on Eugene's knee. He’s looking up at him, the corners of his mouth curving up; he looks lovely. He islovely, and this is too much. Eugene wants to touch him, wants to caress his cheek, wants to just know how his skin feels like in a touch that lasts longer than a mere second.

“I disagree with everything you just said, and that’s fine, because you’re wrong,” Zach says, making Eugene laugh. “You’re so worried about not being good enough that you haven’t even asked me how I feel about this.”

Eugene doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks at him.

“I like you, Eugene. Like, as fuck. As in, I want to hug the hell out of you and also maybe have some crazy, hardcore sex, all in one. Or maybe we don’t hug all that much because I know you’re not crazy about hugs, and I completely understand that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I must say, though, that I’ve been pretty vanilla all my life so I pictured more of a slow buildup for our sex live. If we were to have one, of course. Not that I’ve been fantasizing about you but we’ve talked so much about sex, it just comes out like this, sorry.”

“You like me?”

Zach gives him the softest smile Eugene has ever seen, and yeah, Eugene’s heart has stopped throwing itself against its cage; it flies free now, everywhere, giving him the sensation of… fucking hell, butterflies in his stomach.

“Yes, I do. Very much so.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Look who’s talking!” Zach shoots back, laughing. “But nah, I didn’t think you’d reciprocate, you know? Like, even if you somehow looked at me that way despite all the gorgeous people you’re usually making out with, I figured you’d worry about making it weird between us.”

“Well, yeah. We work together.”

“All the better. Office sex,” Zach jokes, and Eugene almost chokes on his own spit, bursting into laughter. “No but seriously, we’re grownass men, we can handle a possible breakup. Although I don’t think we will have to.”

“We don’t even have anything to break—”

Eugene doesn’t get a chance to finish. Zach stands up to reach his face and kisses him, just a press of lips that shuts Eugene up instantly. It’s surreal. It’s what Eugene has been dreaming about doing for what? months now. It’s all Zach - Zach’s soft lips, Zach’s aftershave, Zach’s entire being and existence just in reach...

“Now we do,” Zach says as he parts, smile so big Eugene can’t help but open one of his own. “Please don’t breakup with me, though.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Because as much as Eugene wants this, and oh god, he wants it so much… As much as he wants this, he still fears what the future holds for them. He’s still unsure about his ability to give Zach all that he needs, all that he deserves, and he’s terrified that he’ll eventually hurt him. But Zach kisses him again, this time closer, harder, and Eugene finds himself holding him by the waist as Zach’s arms sneak around his neck.

“I’m sure,” Zach says against his lips. His voice is an octave lower, and Eugene is so terribly, ridiculously in love. “We’ll talk about this, but for now can you do me a favor and just kiss me until I can’t feel my lips? Thank you.”

Eugene grins, and kisses him again.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ned says, smirking. "I got this. The gift from Eugene was... a collar."

The room explodes in laughter as Ariel slaps his arm. 

"What? It's possible! They're two consenting adults..."

"That would be hilarious," offers Keith, red-faced from laughing too hard and from the wine he has been nursing.

"Jesus Christ, can we not talk about our sex lives this early in the evening?" Zach says, but he's laughing. Eugene has an arm around his waist, so he feels Zach shaking with laughter under his touch. "I'm gonna need way more beer for that."

"Good idea!" Eugene kisses his temple and walks out of the room, towards the kitchen. He runs into Becky coming back and asks her about the drinks; she directs him to the right fridge.

It's when he's bent down, piling beers on his arms, that he hears whistling. He turns around just as Zach says, "Damn, I'd so tap that."

Eugene laughs so hard he nearly drops a bottle. They manage to get six of them on the counter, and Zach uses the opportunity to say, "You think we should tell them?"

"Only if you want to. I mean, I think we'll enjoy Venice a lot more if Ned isn't texting us every ten minutes. But if you want to tell them, I don't mind. It's your present, so it's your call."

"Nah," Zach rests his chin on his hand, leaning on the counter. "They're having too much fun to trying to figure it out. But if we get stranded on a desert island on our way there and need them to find us we're so fucked."

"We're fucked either way if that ever happens, but I promise not to eat you."

Zach smiles, "Aw, baby! Thank you! I promise not to eat you too."

They laugh, and Zach leans forward to give Eugene a peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he says. 

It's been a year, but Zach's voice still sounds like music to Eugene's ears. He can't contain his smile when he replies, "Happy anniversary, Zach."

[thedreaminus]

What If

ff.net | A03

Summary: Small events can change a whole life, or the course of a story. An AU story which mainly revolves around M-21 and Muzaka

Time and space are so flexible. A single change, a single action, can cause reality to spiral in a new direction. A sad ending can become happy, a victory can become defeat. All can be altered by the tiniest events. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

M-21 opened and closed his fists. His heart beat erratically, his hands felt clammy. 'Calm down', quietly he thought, calm down. His time in Union had taught him that those who showed weakness were the easiest prey, but it was still taking all his willpower to not fidget.

Fortunately, no one was paying him any attention. Frankenstein's Master and Muzaka were fixated on each other, and Frankenstein and Garda in turn were fixated on their respective partners. M-21 regarded them cautiously, why was no one speaking? Perhaps they communicated telepathically?

Before M-21 could muse further, Frankenstein cleared his throat loudly breaking the silence, and startling his Master and Muzaka out of their reverie. 

Muzaka was the first one to regain his composure and shot Frankenstein an annoyed look, "When were you planning to inform me about this, you crazy bastard?" Although his anger was not directed at M-21, the deep rumble in his voice made M-21 flinch. Muzaka's displeasure seemed to be affecting him physically.

"Oh? The snappy mutt's complaining has already started?" Frankenstein smirked, almost daring Muzaka to reply.

"Frankenstein," promptly came the gentle chide of his Master. 

Frankenstein's smile froze for a second and he bowed slightly in apology "Forgive me Master, I got ahead of myself."

"Heh, now that's a sight I missed" Muzaka couldn't help his grin, his mood shifting "To see the lid put on your outrageous temper with my own eyes." 

"Muzaka" sighed Master this time at him. He just looked like he wanted some answers and was getting tired of Muzaka and Frankenstein's back and forth banter.

"What is it?" Muzaka crossed his arm in front of him defiantly. "Ahem" It was Garda turn to sigh "We have a lot to talk about," she said politely but her message was clear 'stop this nonsense'. Scolded from all sides, Muzaka looked embarrassed.

M-21 attentively listened to each word in the conversation, not that he understood much of this private conversation, where half the things were being conveyed through gestures, but everything that could help him survive was important. To him, Garda seemed much more relaxed than her companion, less exhilarated. 

"Where is your mobile phone?" Frankenstein resumed the conversation. Right, Frankenstein has asked Muzaka about his mobile earlier as well.

"My mobile phone …" Muzaka scratched his head. Next to him, Garda coughed into her fist. M-21 looked at her surprised… did she just laugh?

"Yes, the square small box I gave you" Frankenstein repeated impatiently.

"Uh … yes. There's a little problem." Muzaka was still scratching his head.

"What kind of problem? Did you forget to charge the battery?"

Muzaka did not answer, but reached into his pocket and pulled out what used to be a cell phone. As he lifted it, M-21 could see the moon shining through the small hole right in the middle of the device. Well, a charger would not be much help anymore.

"Muzaka!"

"Hey, not my fault," Muzaka defended himself, "Some fellow attempted to shoot me."

"Exactly where your mobile phone was at that time?" questioned Frankenstein "and I hope it was painful!"

Muzaka looked on with an uncaring face; Frankenstein's Master was next to him was frowning in confusion.

"Very well then" Frankenstein continued rubbing his chin, a malicious smile on his face. "Your next mobile's pay will be deducted from your salary."

Now that ruffled Muzaka and he made a strangled noise which involuntarily reminded M-21 of a kicked dog. Garda patted his back, as if to cheer him up.

M-21 was starting to feel like he was in a bad stand-up comedy, the only difference was that either of these people would kill him, should he dare to laugh.

"Master" Frankenstein gently diverted his attention to Garda "May I introduce you to Miss Garda? She is an old acquaintance of Muzaka. Miss Garda this is Cadis Etrama di Raizel. I would guess that Muzaka have told you a lot about him."

"Yes, more or less" Garda smiled and bowed her head "It is an honour to meet you." Beside her Muzaka grinned "Garda and I live and work with Frankenstein."

What? M-21 stared at the ground. Sure, Frankenstein had said they were old acquaintances, but now they lived in the house, since when? And what did he mean by work together? He felt a bit shaken by this news and clenched his hands, which were already in his pockets, so that no one could see the incessant trembling.

"Who is he?"

M-21 lifted his head instinctively to meet Muzaka's piercing gaze. His breath stopped and he could feel the same paralysis which he had experienced when he met Muzaka the first time.

"Because of certain circumstances he lives with us," he heard Frankenstein from afar. "M-21?"

M-21 did not pull his gaze from Muzaka but turned his head slightly to show that he was listening to Frankenstein. He didn't want to lose sight of Muzaka or Garda. Muzaka had looked at him strangely at the mention of his codename, but then he shook his head, and went to Frankenstein's master. Now it was only Garda who was watching him, curious.

"We should go now", Frankenstein reminded him and to the rest of the group. 

"I'll come later," interjected M-21.

"…As you wish" Frankenstein turned away with a last scrutinizing look and the group disappeared together over the roofs.

M-21 waited until the group could no longer be seen, then leapt a few rooftops until he was standing on a low building. There he slumped against a wall, sank to the ground, grinding his teeth at his weakness and waited until the shuddering in his body has subsided.

Shit…

~.~.~

"Your shoes are in the closet," Frankenstein told him and Garda as he opened the door. He snorted to himself. He hated these slippers, but said nothing. Complaining will only lead to Frankenstein snaking him out, no need to give him opportunities on a platter.

Muzaka stripped himself off his snickers and slipped into comfortable pink slippers. He could feel Raizel's gaze on his back. Hmm … this should not surprise him, nevertheless, Muzaka felt his throat tighten uncomfortably. The small clashes with Frankenstein had distracted him before, but he could not postpone this forever.

"Do not wait for me", he muttered to Garda. This would be a long conversation. Garda understood and hummed softly before disappearing with Frankenstein. This left him alone with Raizel.

"My room, or yours?" he asked Raizel, who just looked at him but Muzaka knew the answer immediately. Well, it hardly mattered anyway.

Raizel followed him quietly as he made his way to his room. He glanced at Raizel over his shoulders and opened the door to let him in before he entered and closed the door behind him.

Immediately, he kicked his slippers off his feet. His room, his rules. He would not wear these ugly pink shoes any longer than necessary. When he looked up, Raizel stood somewhat disoriented in the room next to one of the two armchairs where he and Garda usually sit. 

"Take a seat," he muttered casually, a deliberate attempt at shaking off the awkwardness he was feeling. It had been centuries since he was last alone with Raizel. "I will undress in a moment", stripping off his T-shirt, he walked past Raizel, listening to the elegant ruffle of his friend’s clothes as he sat down, whilst he himself threw the T-shirt sloppily on the bed. 

The room was small and nested. At the entrance stood a table with two armchairs and a desk. Two wide bookcases separated the back room with bed and wardrobe. It looked like a small cave. The back room, both the bed and the walls, were covered with heavy carpets and furs.

Muzaka grabbed the nearest T-shirt and returned to Raizel who was sitting in the armchair, his armchair, his eyes fixated on the wall. Muzaka’s heart contracted painfully, and he clenched the fabric in his hand. He knew what Raizel was looking at.

"Nice picture, right?" His voice sounded as hard as his heart felt. He followed Raizel's gaze at the portrait on the wall. It showed a young girl with long brown hair. Her grey eyes smiling back at him. 

Muzaka slipped his shirt over his head, leaned his back against the shelf, and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Tell me what happened, Muzaka"

"Oh, you mean after we both tried to kill each other?" he got a strange look from Raizel. Crap! Why was it so hard to keep his mouth shut? He bit his lower lip…

Difficult conversations were not his specialty, he had proved in the past.

"All right," he growled, half-breathing deeply. "Not long after our fight, Garda has appeared. She wanted to warn me" he gritted his teeth in rage as he spoke. 

"The struggle between us, Ashleen's death, everything was planned from the beginning, by a few of my and your people!" 

Raizel was silent and although Muzaka was sure that his friend had probably suspected something of the like, he could still feel a slight tension from the Noblesse.

"Garda found out about it. She came to the battlefield to look for me but could not find me" he dug his claws in his forearm as he thought about what had happened. "A group of the Union had captured me and dragged me away in one of their labs even before Garda or Frankenstein had arrived at the scene." His tone was becoming more and more urgent with every word he was speaking as he barely caught his growl.

"Garda spoke to the traitors before many of our warriors. Bit by bit the plans came to light. First of all, Maduke was the mastermind behind everything. He had made a contract with the Union!" He could feel Raizel's startled eyes on him at this piece of information. 

"This scum sacrificed his own people, my people for experiments like the humans did and he thought he was right in doing this. That was enough to wake Garda up. She demanded that the traitors leave the Island. She was alone in the beginning but more and more people joined her with time" he gave Raizel a forced smile. "Garda can deal in words much better than myself, and can reach our people's mind far beyond I ever did, far enough to convince my people that Maduke's goals would require many sacrifices to satisfy his own greed. One might say that Maduke lost his word-fighting against her."

He finished, bitter at his own lack of sensitivity to his people thoughts before it was too late. He had often wanted to turn back the time to correct his mistakes. He had been the lord of the werewolves thanks to his strength, but Garda … Garda could have done this better. He closed his eyes. 

Thereupon neither of them said anything. Muzaka was lost in thought staring listlessly at the portrait of his daughter and Raizel did not disturb him.

"Ashleen was still alive," 

That startled Raizel and he looked on surprised.

"Frankenstein later thought it was probable that the shock by the crossbow caused her body to get into a kind of rest state to deal better with the injury …" Muzaka's voice stilled and he had to breathe deeply.

"In search of me, it was Garda that who finally found Ashleen. She hid her from Maduke and raised her instead of me. My daughter was alive all the time and I was too stupid to notice it…" He put up a hand before Raizel could interrupt him and raised his gaze at him. "We both know it is true."

It had been so long since he had seen Raizel, and now he was sitting in his chair, his eyes wide open, everything seemed surreal. There was no blood, no torn clothing, and Raizel's eyes showed no trace of the crushing accusations he had always imagined towards himself. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the bookshelf.

"Garda and Frankenstein did not meet for long afterwards. I'm still not quite sure how it came about that they understood each other so well, but they often met and looked for us both together. When Garda finally found me in this Union laboratory, over 500 years had already passed."

"I had a lot of time to think about the moment when Garda and Frankenstein freed me from that hell hole and woke me up. At first I was furious with anger, shit I think Frankenstein could send half Lukedonia asleep with the sedative he gave me" he snorted weakly. "During my recovery, I thought a lot….and my hatred against the humanity became self-hatred."

"I had to think about what I had almost done, dreaming of how my people were chasing, enslaving, and murdering humans. I saw their arrogance, their faith to have the right to rule like gods … and then I saw myself as I first killed Ashleen's mother and then killed her." Muzaka looked at Raizel and saw sheer pain in his eyes "I had to recognize that I was not better than my people, maybe even worse because I tried to convince myself the opposite." 

"I was blind when my people changed, for I did not know how and why. I was blind when I got to know Ashleen's mother, because I did not think about possible consequences, and later he did not catch up with Ashleen" he took a deep breath "And when I attacked you later …" he shook his head and could not finish the sentence. 

Raizel did not answer him and Muzaka felt unable to look him in the eye.

"In hindsight, I imagined what would have happened if you had not come. How long would it take Lukedonia or my own people? How many humans would I have extinguished before then? How many Nobles and Werewolves would have had to leave their lives until I was stopped? In the end … in the end, I'm glad you were the one who stopped me before I could do something" he finally finished, anguished. 

"It was not all your fault Muzaka" 

"Not everything," Muzaka whispered softly "But my own cowardice in front of reality has deprived me of my ability to think …" 

"Muzaka!"

His voice sounded as penetrating as he had never heard of Raizel. This made Muzaka look up in surprise.

"I'm glad you're alive"

Muzaka's eyes widened. He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if stirred by the thunder, but he could do nothing but look at Raizel. To his surprise, Raizel was the one who avoided his gaze.

"I've never felt anger Muzaka, just sadness because I could not help you" 

Raizel's eyes shone unusually bright and Muzaka knew it was due to the strong emotions that raged within Raizel.

"We both hoped for something we did not have" 

Muzaka felt his tension loosen, his shoulders sagging.

"Ah, I'm also glad you're alive, Raizel" he smiled and the with jerk pushed himself off of the shelf and slid into the chair opposite Raizel.

"But you're sitting in my chair, you know that, do you?"

"…"

Yeah, second chapter is here! Thanks to @pandora-twists​ the translation is perfekt und Muzak charakter + the chapter is longer than I planned it xD

The conversation between Muzaka and Raizel is based on this discussion here.

[pllsetskyonice]

this is your wake up call

Otayuri Week Day 4: Domesticity/Intimacy or Long Distance

Words: 1.3K

Featuring: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, the rapidly depleting wardrobe of Otabek Altin, and an important discussion.

AO3 link

Otabek’s clothes keep disappearing, and he’s not entirely sure why.

They’ve been living together for three months when Otabek first notices it. He hasn’t seen his Kazakhstan team jacket for a week now, and although he first thought he must have put it in the wash or something, it hasn’t turned up in the clean laundry, so he’s counting it as missing. Maybe he misplaced it at the rink, or left it at someone’s house. There’s probably a perfectly logical explanation for this.

Except.

Except his wardrobe seems to be significantly depleted every time he opens the door. Clothes he puts in the laundry basket don’t come back. The blanket on his and Yuri’s bed disappeared two weeks ago and he has no idea where it’s gone. Every time he puts a clean towel out in the bathroom, it’ll be gone as soon as he’s next showered. His things keep disappearing, and he has no idea where they’re going.

He blames the cat at first. Looks at her bed suspiciously, turns it upside down and shakes it, but to no avail. It only gains him a unimpressed yowl and a scratch across his forearm. Not her, then.

It doesn’t help that Yuri’s spent the past few weeks being sort of distant with him. Sometimes, Otabek won’t see him for hours on end, and he has no idea where Yuri goes or what he does in that time.

It’s a complete mystery, one that only continues as the days tick by.

-

Yuri’s closet isn’t ever a place Otabek ventures, but it’s day twenty two and he doesn’t have any underwear left. It’s ridiculous, the rate at which half his possessions seem to be disappearing to god knows where, so he supposes he’ll just have to borrow some of Yuri’s stuff for now until his clothing turns up.

He opens the door to Yuri’s closet, and his eyes widen in surprise. He looks around the space, and it seems like – yes, it’s all here. His Kazakhstan jacket sits neatly folded on top of a pile of his clothes, the blanket from the bed is spread across the floor, cushions and pillows giving the small room a homey feel. He’s heard about omegas nesting before, but in all the time he’s spent with Yuri and all the heats they’ve spent together, Yuri’s never really shown nesting tendencies. There was that one time he stole the t-shirt out of the bottom of Otabek’s gym bag, and Otabek never saw his scarf again after he gave it to Yuri at the airport when they were saying their goodbyes, but he never thought he’d witness this.

“What the fuck are you doing?” an angry voice asks from the bedroom door. Yuri is standing there, arms crossed and with a frown on his face. Otabek can smell the distress coming from him, and then he starts to worry, because he’s clearly done something wrong. He vaguely remembers something from high school biology about omegas not liking it when their alpha disturbs their nest, something about wanting to feel safe, and he gets it. He probably shouldn’t have gone in Yuri’s closet without asking first.

“Sorry,” Otabek says, stepping away. “I didn’t realise that was here.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Yuri mutters as he goes to close the closet door. “You’re not meant to see it until I go into heat.”

“You’ve never… done that before,” Otabek says, waving a hand at the closed door. “Why start now?”

“I think it’s a side effect of the suppressants I’ve just come off,” Yuri explains, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Otabek sits down next to him and gently puts an arm around his omega, letting Yuri lean into his touch at his own pace. “I mean, it is a natural thing to do, but I’ve never felt a particular desire to do it before. Papa always told stories about the nests Dad used to build as well, so maybe that’s something to do with it. I don’t know. It feels nice in there, though. Safe.”

“I understand.” Otabek presses a kiss to the top of Yuri’s head and smiles as he smells Yuri’s scent fade from being distressed to being happy and content. “You’ve taken all my underwear, though. I don’t have any left.”

Yuri laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realise I’d taken so much. You won’t need it for the next few days anyway.”

“You’re going into heat?”

Yuri nods. “I think it’ll have hit by tonight,” he replies. “I can already feel it starting to build.”

“Alright,” Otabek says. “You want breakfast?”

“Please.”

-

Otabek makes pancakes, soft and delicious and drowned in syrup because they’re both going to need their energy for the next few days. He calls Yuuri and Victor to let them know that he and Yuri won’t be in training for the rest of the week.

He also asks Yuuri about his son’s sudden nesting habit.

“It’s probably just hormones,” Yuuri explains. “Some omegas feel the desire to nest more than others, some never nest, some only do it when they’re pregnant. The suppressants Yuri was on were hormonal, so it might be his body responding to the change. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Um.” Otabek can practically hear how uncomfortable Yuuri is on the other end of the line. “Some omegas… they only nest when they want to become pregnant, or they’re thinking of trying for a baby. Have you talked about having kids at all?”

“Never really in great deal. I mean – we’ll have children one day, I guess – but Yuri’s only eighteen! If I knock him up know his skating career will never be the same again! Can he really want kids now?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says with a resigned sigh. “I wanted kids when I was his age, and that was before I met Victor. I didn’t have Yuri until I was twenty six and although that’s about the age most omegas have kids, it still felt like I’d waited far too long for it to actually happen. So yes, it’s entirely possible that he wants kids now. You need to talk to him.”

“I know. Thanks, Yuuri.”

“Anytime. And Otabek?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever… whatever happens, know that you’ll always have my full support. Okay?”

“Okay.”

-

They’re sitting on the couch, Otabek feeding Yuri strawberries dipped in chocolate whilst the sweet smell of Yuri’s preheat fills the air around them, when Otabek decides to bring up the subject of children.

“I was talking to your dad earlier,” he says casually as he feeds Yuri another strawberry, “and he was talking about all the different reasons why omegas nest. Apparently, some only do it when they’re thinking about getting pregnant. I didn’t know that.”

A blush spreads across Yuri’s cheeks, one that Otabek knows isn’t related to his heat. He’s silent for a few moments before he eventually speaks. “Don’t you want kids?” he asks in a small voice.

“Well, yes,” Otabek admits. “Of course I do. I just thought you’d want to wait a few more years and win a few more medals before we become parents.”

Yuri shifts around in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “I guess,” he murmurs, taking another strawberry off the plate and picking at the chocolate on it.

“You want kids now.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, one which Yuri nods at, looking down at his lap. “Hey,” Otabek says, turning his mate to face him, “it’s okay. If you really want this, then we’ll do it.”

“Really?” Yuri asks, his eyes shining with hope and excitement. “I still want to skate, I do, I always will, and I’ll go back to skating competitively afterwards, I know I will, but I just feel like I need to… do this right now.”

“Alright, then let’s do this.” Otabek stands up from the couch before leaning back down to pick his mate up bridal style. “Is there anything missing from this nest of yours?”

“Just you,” Yuri mumbles, staring up at Otabek with wide, doting eyes. “I love you, Beka.”

“I love you too, Yura.”

-

“So, Dad, Papa, are you listening? I’ve got something important to ask you.”

“We’re listening,” Victor assures him.

“How do you feel about becoming grandparents?”

“I think,” Yuuri says after a moment of silence, “that sounds like wonderful fun.”

rest of otayuri week on AO3 / tumblr

(this is part of the in the name of love series)