#i applied for some things id be perfect for too and no response

[atomra]

no places i applied to ever got back to me, so here we go again! 😔

[hanniiesuckle17]

Ateez Reaction: Going Clubbing with S/o

A/n: so this was requested based off my reaction for SKZ which you can find on my m.list at the bottom of the reaction! i hope you guys enjoy it! <3

Requested by: @sleepyhead00i

Warnings: suggestive, of age drinking, maybe a cuss or two

Hongjoong:

“I’m picking you up in ten mintues right?” Hongjoong asked for the fifth time over the phone. The device was laying on your bathroom counter, your boyfriend talking on speaker phone as you finished applying your makeup up. You smiled at how cute he was, brushing setting powder away from your cheeks.

“Joong, baby...honey..., yes. Come early if you want. Just chill. It’s just a night out!” 

He sighed before agreeing with you and hanging up the phone. Hongjoong wasn’t the only one with a busy schedule. He was busy being the leader, producer, and composer for one of the biggest up-and-coming k-pop groups of the current generation. You were busy with college and a part-time job that was having you work almost thirty to forty hours a week. 

Your boyfriend was a planner. Never before in his life had he been one to schedule things or even make long term plans for his future. Then you came along and all he could think about was making time for you. Any time he spent with you, he wanted to be perfect. Hongjoong wanted to give you only the best. 

By the time the two of you got to the club it was already packed. Your hand was laced with his as he guided you through the lavishly decorated room. “They’ve got amazing bottle service!” Hongjoong shouted over the music. “Do you want to get a table?” He smiled as you nodded and flagged down a waitress. She reserved a VIP booth for the two of you and grinned as you pulled Hongjoong to the dance floor. 

“Do you like the music? I looked up this DJ. He’s really good. He only plays for like the top nightclubs in Seoul-” 

“Joong,”

“What?” 

Sliding your hands up his chest, you felt him shiver. Your fingers played with his dyed hair and you watched his eyes sparkle underneath the flashing colored lights and lasers. The many piercings in his ears glinted, catching the glare of gobos. “Relax, baby.” 

“I just want everything to be perfect. I want you to love tonight.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you continued to move to the beat. His eyes never left yours even as you guided him away from the dance floor and back to the booth. His dark mesmerizing eyes watched as you pushed him down onto the seat, lips curling up into a smile. As you leaned over him, Hongjoong pulled you down onto his lap, smirking as you played with the straps of his suspenders before snapping one of them on his chest lightly. 

Finally, almost when you thought he would stop breathing, you pressed your lips against his, dragging them slowly together. His hands gripped your hips, moving them over his own, lost in the solitude of your own private nook. “Just keep doing this and I’ll love every second of tonight,” You whispered against your boyfriend’s grinning lips. You laughed feeling him flip you over to lie on the plush velvet booth. Even in the dark corner, his smile glowed. 

“You drive me crazy, Y/n.”

Seonghwa:

Clubbing never really appealed to Seonghwa. Dancing and public events were part of his job on a daily basis so he didn’t really see the point of waiting in line just to do that in his free time. But, when he heard how much you wanted to spend the night at an up and coming nightclub, he figured he could put aside his opinions just for you. He also wasn’t complaining when he saw the dress you were wearing out. 

 Arm wrapped tightly around your waist the two of you entered the club, lasers and colorful lights flashing all around the space. Seonghwa nodded his head to the music as you both stood waiting to check your coats. The second an attendant took your jackets you grabbed your boyfriend by the wrist and practically dragged him onto the dance floor. 

“Don’t tear my arm off, babe!” He laughed.

The grin quickly turned to a smirk feeling you pressed up against him, moving to the music. “Still feel like going to the club isn’t fun?” His long hands attached themselves to your waist, tugging your back to be flush to his chest. Seonghwa’s hips moved to the thumping rhythm with yours and his head dropped to your neck, hair tickling your cheek in the most enchanting way. “Well, look at you, Toothless.” 

“Yes, look at me,” He whispered for only you to hear. 

Turning your head your lips met his in a kiss that made you feel drunk. Pulling away, the two of you smiled and danced with each other, savoring the moments when even you were surrounded by so many other bodies it only felt like just you and your boyfriend. 

Hours later you were sitting on the sidewalk, head feeling too heavy for your neck to hold up. You giggled to yourself at how funny your feet looked in the strappy heels you put on for the night. Sitting under the street light you stared at the ground and your silly looking toes. Another pair of shoes came into sigh and the person attached crouched down in front of you. 

A happy smile appeared on your lips seeing Seonghwa looking down at you. His own cheeks were slightly pink for the few drinks he had. “Drink this, muffin.” Your boyfriend handed you some bottle of something he got from the convenience store across the street. After drinking it, he gently lifted you up and maneuvered you onto his back. “Time to go home, Y/n.” You only giggled, pressing a sloppy drunk kiss to his cheek. 

“Onward my valiant steed!” 

Seonghwa, tipsy himself, neighed like a horse and carried you to the nearest bus stop he could find. The two of you giggled and poked each other until the public transport arrived to take you both home. 

Yunho:

Yunho was practically bouncing as the two of you waited in line. He was so excited. This all started when your boyfriend invited over one of the backup dancers he was close to. You had no problem with Yunho bringing friends over to your shared apartment. He could bring whoever he wanted as long as th eplace was clean and he texted you. 

But, the dancer would not stop going on about a new club that opened up in Hongdae. Normally when Yunho got excited about something he would be obsessed with it for about a week and then never thought about it again. 

You had been to this club not once, not twice, not thrice, but five times in the past three weeks. By this time the owner knew you and was saving a booth for you when you came. The bartenders knew you by name and what your usual drink orders. 

Despite the chilly air your boyfriend jumped up and down in excitement as the line moved forward. “Y/n! Y/n! Look! We’re almost inside!” Yunho grabbed your hands, swinging them as he bounced. 

“Bear, are you sure you aren’t tired of going clubbing?” 

He tilted his head in response to your words. “What? No. I love it! Don’t you, baby?” His lips pouted and your tall boyfriend hunched his shoulders. Quickly you shook your head. 

“Of course, bear! I just want to make sure you love it still!” You rubbed your arms feeling a particularly cold wind blow by. Seeing you shiver, Yunho shed his jacket and placed it around your shoulders, pulling up the collar to block the wind.

“Good.” The tall idol leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get inside.” 

Showing the bouncer your IDs, the two of you entered the club immersing yourselves in music that sent vibrations all throughout your body. “Get me a drink?” You asked, dropping off your stuff at a secluded booth. Yunho nodded and disappeared into the crowd towards the bar. 

He was only gone a few moments before you heard, “DRINKS ON ME EVERYBODY!” The familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice floated over the crowd of people cheering at the opporunity of a free drink. Shaking your head you waited for your big loveable bear to return. He appeared with two drinks in hand,  a big smile on his face, and a wiggle in his hips. The vision couldn’t help but make you laugh. “Your beverage, my lady,” He bowed before handing you the martini. 

After finishing your drinks, your boyfriend pulled you onto the dance floor. He held you tight and made sure to show off his moves. By the time you left the dance floor, the both of you were covered in sweat with big grins and definitely a little tipsy. However, it didn’t matter. You loved seeing how happy Yunho was dancing and freestyling to songs that he wouldn't even remember the next morning. As long as it made him happy, you would keep doing it. 

Yeosang:

The second you walked into the club Yeosang made a beeline for the booth and flagged down the nearest waiter. Wooyoung just shrugged and dragged you onto the dance floor. The next time you looked over Yeosang was surrounded by at least two orders of chicken and one burger. Each had bites already taken and your boyfriend was happily chewing on a drumstick. 

He saw you looking at him and waved to you before returning his attention to the piece of fried poltry. You sighed but continued dancing with Wooyoung. Maybe you were crazy, but when you suggested going clubbing to Yeosang, you didn’t think you would end up dancing with his dongsaeng while he pigged out on good bar food. You had dressed up for fucks sake! You made sure you looked like a hot ass bitch and Yeosang was more interested in a chicken leg. 

Wooyoung made sure you were happy. He danced with you. Blocked off weird guys from getting to close. Even held your drink when you went to the bathroom. Wooyoung was acting more like your boyfriend than Yeosang was! 

Two hours passed and you finally decided to confront him. Wooyoung trailed behind you like a puppy as you approached the booth that housed your boyfriend. Shockingly, the table was now filled with not only another basket of chicken but also quite the assortment of drinks, none of which had been touched. “Kang Yeosang!” You scolded, hands on your hips. He looked up at you, handsome face looking even better under the purple and blue lights. “Why am I dancing alone?”

He shrugged. “Babe, you aren’t alone. Wooyoung’s here. That’s why I asked him.” He said motioning to his friend. The boy awkwardly waved before sitting down and taking one of the untouched cocktails. 

“Where did all these come from?” You asked, getting frustrated. 

“I don’t know. The bartender keeps sending them.” Yeosang continued to eat chicken until the bone was clean. “Says they are free though, so take one.”

You scoffed, tongue prodding at the inside of your cheek in annoyance. Looking around the venue, you were met with many pairs of eyes belonging to beautiful scantily dressed girls and a few men who were all staring at your boyfriend. Your boyfriend- of course- was staring at the perfectly fried chicken leg in his hands. 

Taking the nearest blue colored drink, you downed it in one go then slammed the glass on the table. Woyoung jumped at the sound. Before Yeosang could take a bite of the new piece between his fingers, you pulled him up by his collar smashing your lips against his. Hearing a slight thunk you assumed he had dropped his precious drumstick. Regardless, he kissed you back with a fiery passion running his fingers threw your hair. 

“You’re dancing with me.”

“Okay.” Eyeing every person staring at your boyfriend you took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, but not before he managed to sneak another piece of chicken with him. “You have what you want now, kitten?” He asked dancing with you, one hand creeping towards your ass and the other holding his fried chicken. 

“I’ll take what I can get,”

San:

“San......SAN!” 

“Yes, what?” 

Your boyfriend was walking down the street with you, excited and bouncing as the both of you made your way to a club a lot of idols went to. This was no time for excitement. Not for you anyway. You and San had only been dating a few months. It wasn’t that you were shy...it was just that San was very territorial. Out of all seven of his bandmates you had only met two. 

Hongjoong you had met unfortunately after he walked in on you and San when your horndog boyfriend thought the dorms were empty for the day. You were still trying to get over the embarassment of looking that man in the eyes and not remembering he had seen you naked already. Wooyoung you had also met, with clothes on (Thank the fucking lord). Him being San’s best friend it didn’t make sense for you not to meet. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You questioned. There was only a block standing between you and the club. “What if they hate me, San?” He stopped and turned to look at you, eyes softening. 

Walking back, San took your hands in his. “Y/n. You’re mine. Therefore, they will love you.” Taking a deep breath you let San pull you the rest of the way and into the nightclub. San was like an anchoring, keeping you tethered and focused as you maneuvered to the back of the venue. As you approached a view of seven extremely handsome men were all seated in a round velvet booth. “Guys, meet Y/n- the most attractive person on the planet besides me.”

All the boys were very kind, getting up and greeting you warmly. Hongjoong hugged you, and Wooyoung tackled you. “You’re pretty.” A willowy man stated matter of factly. 

San nodded, hand on the small of your back. “That Yeosang. Yunho made sure he had a couple drinks before you met so it’d be easier on you.” You nodded in understanding, mouth shaping into an ‘O’. After a few minutes of awkward conversation all seven idols dragged you out onto the dance floor. 

Dancing with seven men who did it professionally was definitely an experience you were not going to get used to. The entire club watched the tree you remembered as Yunho freestyle in the middle of an open circle that had formed at one point. 

Throughout the whole night San stayed by your side. His hands were almost always on your ass, but he was by your side. You got surprisingly close with Seonghwa, dancing and talking with him most of the night. The other boys were very welcoming, pulling you into dance with them, twirling you around and jumping around you when a particularly good song came on. 

San and Wooyoung at one point during the night bribed the DJ to play one of their songs and the boys were shocked to see you doing the choreography along with them. You could see in your boyfriend’s face that this was what he had planned all along. 

He knew that if he kept both him and you sober and brought you to a neutral environment to meet with the boys, you would get along. He probably saw it in a video about introducing a new pet to your other ones knowing San. Around three am you were helping Seonghwa and Hongjoong stuff a drunk Yeosang and Mingi into the group’s van. 

After saying goodbye, San took your hand as you walked to the nearest subway station. “See that wasn’t so bad. They loved you!”

“Next time don’t treat us like cats, babe.” Your boyfriend laughed swinging your hands back and forth. “I’m hungry. You want to get some food?” You asked, seeing a pizza place across the street still open

“Fuck yes. I’m starving.”

Mingi:

Your best friend just got dumped by her boyfriend and you knew only one way to distract her. So, you gathered up you other two best girl friends and Mingi then dragged them to the club with the most attractive guys and strongest alcohol you could find. F/n whipped her hair around as the four of you jumped around on the dance floor. Three shots of tequila and one strong cocktail made you at least think you were the greatest dancer in the entire club.

Deciding you needed a break from a very creepy guy trying to grind on you, you manuevered and wiggled your way off the dance floor. Your eyes landed on the tall glass of water that was your boyfriend, who sat at the bar. With a tipsy gait you walked over and draped yourself over his shoulder. 

“Hi, baby!” You greeted, sloppily kissing his cheek. 

Despite your slightly drunk antics, Mingi smiled holding onto your arms that tightly hugged his shoulders. “You look like you’re having fun.” He laughed as you hiccuped in response. “Wow...you’re cute.”

Blushing from both the drinks and your boyfriend’s words, you held onto his large hands. “Thank you for being our driver tonight, Mingi.” He smiled and handed you the glass of water he was drinking from. His long fingers pushed the bottom of the cup to tilt towards your lips. 

“Of course. In fact the only reason I got my driver’s license was so I could watch creepy horny guys hit on my girlfriend and then drive her and her friends home.” As if the universe wanted to make a joke, the bar tender approached with a cosmopolitan in hand. 

“For the lady, from the guy at the end of the bar.” 

Mingi’s sarcastic grin quickly turned into a scowl as the both of you turned to look at the sleezy but semi attractive man who was waving at you. Your boyfriend wasn’t one to get angry, but when he did he was scary. Mingi’s eyes darkened and his long arms wrapped around your waist protectively as if to claim you as his own. 

Smirking, you picked the vessel up by the rim and took a sip of the drink before grabbing your boyfriend by the jaw and smashing your lips on his, still holding the gifted cocktail. Standing between Mingi’s long legs you dragged your teeth over his bottom lip. “I think he knows you’re mine.” 

“Just cause you’re driving doesn’t mean you can’t dance with me.” Mingi laughed as you pulled him from his seat. 

“I thought this was a ‘Girls-Hate-All-Guys-Except-For-The-Random-One-F/n-Goes-Home-With-Night’?” 

You shrugged, lacing your fingers with his. Surpringly, your friends greeted him excitedly. Mingi started dancing with you, enjoying the knowledge that every guy who looked at you that night was jealous you chose him to grind on. At the end of the night Mingi drove you and your friends back safely and put you to bed in your shared apartment. He kissed your forehead before climbing into bed next you. You were so thankful to have a kind and patient boyfriend willing to put up with not only drunk you, but also your drunk, sad, crazy friends.

Wooyoung:

Sweat dripped off your forehead. Between Wooyoung’s hands on your body and the music thumping and vibrating through the floor and up into your bones you couldn’t help but feel like you were floating. Not only was your boyfriend one hell of a dancer on stage, but moving with him on the floor of this club that you couldn’t even remember the name of was a thrill you wouldn’t trade for anything. 

“I'm thirsty,” You whispered into his ear, lips brushing his skin.

“Oh are you?” A smirk played at his lips, fingers holding tighter onto your hips. 

You rolled your eyes, still presssing against your boyfriend. “Liquid thirsty. Not you thirsty.” Lauging, Woouyoung took your hand in his and brought you to the bar for yet another drink. It had only been an hour and the both of you were a little more than tipsy. “Sidecar please, babe.” He nodded, flagging down a bartender all the while his hand stayed firmly gripping onto your ass.

“One sidecar and four tequila shots please.”

“Four?” You asked, pulling on his shirt sleeve. Wooyoung nodded like it was the most clear and obvious knowledge in the world. “I have a feeling I’m going to be carrying you home.” He just laughed and turned back to the bar. 

Two hours later and your feeling was turning out to be correct. There was nothing you could do but stare as your boyfriend danced like a stripper ontop of the bar. At first it was funny. Then you stopped laughing when Wooyoung started unbuttoning his shirt. “Babe, get down!” You shouted over the cheers and music. He couldn’t hear you. He was way too drunk and having way too much fun. 

“I am Jung Wooyoung! I am a sex machine! And that person,” He pointed to you, eyes clearly not focusing well. “THAT ASS IS MINE!” 

Before you could respond, two very big men in black shirts lumbered through the crowd. Now it was your turn to laugh as the two buff bouncers grabbed Wooyoung by the arms, one struggling to get your boyfriend’s shirt back on, and lifted him off the bar. “Who does this hooligan belong to?”

You raised your hand, squeezing through the pack of young people. “Me. He belongs to me! I’ll take the hooligan.” Despite claiming your overly intoxicated boyfriend, the bouncers carried him outside, you trailing behind. 

Wooyoung’s feet wobbly reached the ground and he stumbled onto the street. “Y/n? Y/n where are youuuu?” He said giggling. “Love of my liiiiiifffeeeee!” The bouncers shook their heads before turning to you with serious faces. 

“Yeah, he’s not allowed back here.”

“Noted.”

“Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNN! BAAABBBYYYY!”

Turning, you saw the idol once again free of his shirt and hugging a street sign. “Babe, babe- that’s not me. I’m over here.” Taking his arm and pulling it over your shoulder you started walking away from the club. “Wow, you are way heavier than I thought.”

“DON’T FAT SHAME ME!”

“Woo- please don’t yell.” No response came from the man you were carrying. Turning you saw him completely pass out on your shoulder. “There’s never a middle ground with him is there?” You mumbled, dragging your unconscious and heavy boyfriend to the nearest bus stop.

“Stop calling me fat, you jerk.”

“I- I didn’t- Just go back to fucking sleep.”

Jongho:

Jongho was not excited. This was the last place he wanted to be. He watched you happily walk in front of him with Mingi and Yunho. Jongho wasn’t the jealous type and he knew you loved his friends. Mingi was already a little drunk so your boyfriend watched as the other tall man and you attempted to keep him from stumbling, laughing the entire way. 

Your group was currently walking from the first club to the second. The boys had gotten an entire weekend off and Yunho had proposed the amazing idea- only to you and Mingi- of going club crawling. Even though he would rather being doing practically anything else, Jongho tagged along because you were so excited. 

As you entered the second venue you were greeted by what Jongho sweared was the exact same song the first club was playing when you left. You squealed, hugging onto your boyfriend as he and your friends squeezed your way to the bar. While your boyfriend was never one for PDA, he kept a hand on you at all times, gently letting everyone in the building know that you were off limits. 

“LET’S SHAKE OUR BUTTS!” Mingi shouted, throwing you over his tall shoulder and running off with you to the dance floor. You waved to your boyfriend who stayed seated at the bar. “WOOOOOOO!” Your friend cheered, putting you down and immeditaley spinning you around.

Yunho tapped Jongho’s shoulder. The younger turned before being handed a beer. “If you aren’t going to dance you should at least loosen up. Tonight is supposed to be fun. For everybody.” Yunho tried to coax him onto the dance floor but failed, leaving Jongho at the bar taking tiny baby sips of the drink.

Everytime you looked to the bar, you were met with your boyfriend’s eyes staring back at you. He would give you a small smile, one that made you feel like a total bitch for leaving him by himself. Having enough, you walked away from your dancing bafoons and towards the handsome man waiting for you at the bar. 

“You want a drink?” He asked, hand finding your waist once more. Nodding, you rested your head on his firm chest, breathing in his smell. You were drunk enough to get away with being clingy but sober enough to remember that the only reason your boyfriend was here was for you. “One manhatten for the lady please,” Jongho said to the bartender. 

You were quickly passed your drink, pecking your boyfriend’s lips as a thank you. The drink left a pleasurable burn as it slid down your throat. “Darling, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. Hold my drink?”

“Of course.” He kissed your cheek and covered your glass with his hand when you set it on the bartop. 

When you returned he was still protecting the glass like it was his singular purpose in life. He practically looked like a dragon, ready to bite off the head of anyone who even came near it. He even glared at you when your hand touched his shoulder, but his gaze quickly softened eyes turning into that of a puppy.

The two of you talked and finished your drinks. Yunho and Mingi were still in full control of the dance floor when you checked. Suddenly you got an idea. Leaning over so only Jongho could hear, you whispered a large incentive he might receive when the two of you got home. 

“Well come on, Y/n! Let’s dance!” He cheered, pulling you with him towards his friends, dancing along the way.

Masterlist

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!

[youngerdrgrey]

[excerpt from] I know you (even if you don't want me to) - chapter seven

since I'm hearing how hungry y'all are (cough @aliyahtheghost + @breeleroux especially), here's the start of chapter seven of I know you (even if you don't want me to) -- Ryan's recovery period is nearly up, so Batwoman is (almost) back bbs. Read on for some roommate talk into some WildMoore texting goodness. This chapter is a true fav.

(includes some talk of police brutality / Crow brutality + violence)

Ryan hops from one foot to the other. She keeps the pressure mostly on the pads of her feet. Light and nimble. Finally back at full form with only one day left in her two week recovery period. She’d do a flip if it wouldn’t make Mary’s head explode. Or disrupt the perfect tuck of her Center Volunteer shirt. Then again, Mary does anxiously hover in the doorway of Ryan’s bathroom. Maybe she’ll explode on her own.

“Mary, seriously?” Ryan reaches for her favorite purple lipstick. “I’m making mocktails and guarding the punch bowl. I’m not even dancing. Doctor’s orders.”

The doctor in question stabs a finger out at Ryan. Mary manages to look menacing even in her little scrubs. “If you so much as think about doing the Wobble—” She stomps into the bathroom.

It’s truly one of the greatest dances of all mankind. Ryan crosses her lipstick tube across her heart.

Mary continues, “I’m leaving you to climb up the stairs on your own. No ice pack, or pain meds, or anything.” Mary takes a deep breath. “Fortunately for you….” She walks over to Ryan to adjust the hair on Ryan’s shoulder. “I know someone who might help you out. Depending on how well your side mission is going.”

If they can call Ryan talking to Sophie a side mission. Ryan applies her lipstick and rubs her lips together.

Mary bats expectant eyes towards the mirror. “You’ve been getting along. Can I draft up the offer letter?”

Ryan smacks her lips. “She’s still a Crow, Mary.”

“A Crow you spent, like, all of yesterday on the phone with.”

Ryan didn’t spend all of yesterday on the phone with Sophie. In the morning, they texted about how awful the playlist for the dance might be. Then they swapped bad songs in the afternoon. Ryan’s personal favorite was a religious remix of ‘The Thong Song’ that truly had to be a parody. (“That God, Go-God, God, God.”) Then they told their personal dance horror stories after Sophie was off work. There were breaks.

Before Ryan can defend herself, her phone lights up from beside the sink. Sophie’s name flashes, and Ryan’s got her phone in her hands in seconds. Mary snorts.

Crowphie to Ryan Have fun making Shirley Temples all night. Here’s hoping someone will forget their school ID so there’s some action at the ticket table

Ryan leans her hip into the sink as she types.

Ryan to Crowphie 👀 You’re looking for action at a school dance?

Crowphie to Ryan Oh yeah, fingers crossed my crush saves me a slow one.

It’s a joke. It has to be, but Ryan thinks back to each near moment between them and feels hope and heat in her cheeks.

Ryan to Crowphie Too bad Batwoman doesn’t do dances

Crowphie to Ryan That’s probably for the best. We’re not on the best terms right now.

Not since the night Sophie rejected Batwoman. The night of “Figure that out, and get back to me. Until you do, I’m done.” Did she really mean that?

Ryan to Crowphie What happened there? She miss a signal flip this week?

Crowphie to Ryan haven’t used it. I doubt she’d want me to. I think I hurt her feelings.

That’s an understatement.

Mary clears her throat behind Ryan. Ryan glances up into the mirror to see Mary’s reflection. The teasing grin matches the tilt in Mary’s voice as she says, “You were saying? About not texting Sophie all day?”

Ryan narrows her eyes as dramatically as she can. “Don’t you have lives to save?”

Mary backs away. “Fine, go back to texting, just think about how much fun you could have talking to Sophie on the comms if she were part of the team.”

Ryan can’t help the sarcasm. “Because me and Luke have so much fun?”

“Obviously it’d be a different kind of fun. Less brother-sister fighting and more….” Mary pauses to think and cringes at whatever she thinks of. Ryan turns around to gently push Mary out of her bathroom.

“Good night, Mary!” she says before closing the door behind her roommate. She probably should’ve stepped out there too, come to think of it. Her phone buzzes again though.

Crowphie to Ryan I do miss going up to the roof. You know, feeling like I’m a part of something, even if I never will be

Ryan drops down onto the stool in the bathroom. It’s an accessibility aid that’s kind of perfect for moments like this. She can take her time. Process without having to actually move around in here. Close her eyes and remember what the wind of the rooftop felt like against her cheeks. With the suit tight to her body and all of Gotham below them. Sophie looks amazing up there.

Ryan to Crowphie You could go flip the signal. Send out that city-wide ‘you up?’ Or an actual you up since you have her number.

Sophie hasn’t texted Batwoman once in the last two weeks.

Crowphie to Ryan You don’t understand.

Ryan chuckles. She’s the only other person that could.

Ryan to Crowphie No, I get it. You could text her if you wanted to talk. Going up there would mean that you want to see her. You want to be with her.

Want to touch her the way Ryan did that night on the roof. The pads of her fingers over Sophie’s waist, their faces so close that it’s a wonder Sophie hasn’t recognized her yet. It goes to show that Sophie’s not that into Ryan as Ryan. Hasn’t memorized the way her jaw sits, or the shade of her eyes.

Crowphie to Ryan yeah

Yeah what? Yeah which? Because Sophie didn’t say it back.

Ryan to Crowphie So you admit it? You want Batwoman?

The typing dots come and go, then come again. Maybe it’s not about Batwoman at all. Maybe Sophie just wants to make out on the roof and be a part of the team. She wants to be Batwoman’s friend with benefits and can’t bring herself to admit it. Fine. Don’t admit anything.

Ryan to Crowphie Can’t blame you. She looks good in the suit 😏 — probably looks good out of it too lol

A perfect cop out for the cop.

Crowphie to Ryan If I wanted to see her without the mask, I could have. We flew together, remember?

Ryan tenses. A painful chill zips down her spine. Does Sophie know? Has she known all this time?

Crowphie to Ryan I didn’t look then because it’s not about her looks or who’s behind the mask. She makes me think. Both Batwomen have. 1.0 got me suspended. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to leaving the Crows. But it wasn’t about everyone then, you know? Jacob Kane hated Batwoman, and I really liked her. Those couldn’t exist at the same time. Meanwhile, 2.0 will not remove her boots from my neck. She’s like you in that way. She takes every opportunity to question my loyalty to the Crows and the people of Gotham. I just wish I knew if I was doing the same. If I was more than just another compromise for her

Fuck, it’s a good thing that they’re texting. Ryan’s whole face burns with that message. Since when is Sophie questioning anything? She never wavers.

Ryan to Crowphie Your Crow-workers beat the shit out of Batwoman 1.0, and you stayed.

Crowphie to Ryan Where else was I supposed to go? The GCPD? I *HATE* what they did, but that will NEVER happen again.

Ryan to Sophie And if it does?

She’s being generous by not saying “when it does.”

Crowphie to Ryan Then I slap my resume on the Bat-signal and hope she doesn’t throw it in the shredder.

Ryan to Crowphie Much more fun to use it for target practice.

Crowphie to Ryan Throw a bunch of Batarangs at it?

Ryan to Crowphie See, you get it 😉

Crowphie to Ryan It’s important to me that little Black girls can see women like us in law enforcement and positions of powers. I want them to know that they can save the world if they want to. It’s not their responsibility, but if it’s their purpose? If protecting people makes them happy, then I want them to know that they are not alone out there. They can make a difference.

There are so many other ways to make a difference. Ryan might have to let Sophie have this for now though. Her heart’s in the right place at least.

Ryan to Crowphie And if that doesn’t work out, there’s always being a ticket taker for a community dance. Shine that flashlight. Ruin somebody’s night!

Crowphie to Ryan Wowww. Spoken like a trouble maker.

Ryan to Crowphie Trouble finds me, okay? No need to worry about me, Agent Moore.

Crowphie to Ryan You sure about that? Your kids might try to fight you, just to see if you’ve still got it.

Ryan to Crowphie Oh I’ve got it. They’ll be too busy following you around to even notice me. Ol’ “Miss Sophie, Miss Sophie” punk asses

Crowphie to Ryan LOL. Ten bucks says they ask me where Batwoman’s been hiding.

Ryan to Crowphie Twenty says they don’t.

Crowphie to Ryan Easy money. You can drop it off at the lobby on your way in 😉

.

.

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more to come when I drop the rest of the chapter! reply and let me know if you're still with me. try and guess what happens at the dance?

[formenis]

From knight to detective

Anon asked: “ Can you do a scenario of L having a relationship with reader and she doesn't know that he is L and she is part of the Task Force that show up to meet L and she is unprepared for finding out he is L and when he talks to her privately he tells her everything“.

A/N: sure thing, dear. Gosh, I’m not capable of sum up...I always write too much eheh. I have to remind you English is not my first language so I apologise for the mistakes you’ll find for sure.

pairing: L x FBI agent!fem!reader

warnings: nope

requested: yes

F/P = favourite painter

S/C = skin colour

It all started during the "Wara Ningyo Murders" or -as police knew it- the "Los Angeles BB Serial Murder Cases". Y/N and Naomi Misora were friends back in the States, both of them were skilful and quite cherished in the FBI headquarters. The resulting capture of the murderer of this case helped launch Naomi's reputation within the FBI.

«So how was working with the best detective alive?» Y/N and her friend Naomi were drinking a coffee together in one of their rare spare moments far from work.

«I don’t know if I can talk about it, Y/N» Naomi replied with a sympathetic smile.

«Oh come on! At least what his voice sounds like»

«Again, I don’t know. He used voice changers during our calls. But!» she said with enthusiasm and Y/N frowned in confusion. «I met someone you would like»

«Who?»

That was when Y/N met "Ryuzaki", an enigmatic and mysterious young man who had the hobby of solving cases like private or consulting detectives. Since Y/N was a FBI agent and Ryuzaki a private detective, they would meet many times in crime scenes. The young agent felt like she was Dr. Watson and Ryuzaki was Sherlock Holmes: he would theorize many possible scenarios for the above-mentioned case and Y/N listened to him in disbelief. But Ryuzaki was not the sole smart one, Y/N had a shrewd mind too: her unique methods of investigation and her strong power of observation made her one of the best FBI agents. That was why Ryuzaki started to request her presence and assistance more often.

«Good evening, Miss L/N»

«Ryuzaki! I told you to call me Y/N. There's no need for such formalities» she chuckled quietly, the two of them were on a crime scene again.

«I apologise, force of habit I guess» Ryuzaki played with his pale lips using the thumb. Y/N understood Ryuzaki's way of communicating with his body: if he played with his lips (like he was doing in that moment) it meant he was deep in through; if he stared emotionless at something, it meant he was bothered by something; or if he ate more sweets than usual it meant that the investigations were in a turning point and his brain needed more "fuel". That was easy for Y/N to understand those things, it was her job after all.

«What are you thinking of, Ryuzaki?»

The young man seemed surprised. «Ah, it seems I don’t have secrets for you, Y/N»

She chuckled again. «Nope»

Y/N couldn’t know it but she was wrong. Terribly wrong. However, as time passed the two of them grew quite closer. Not only because of work but because they somehow matched each other. Very often Y/N would move up Ryuzaki in many things, they would think the same thing and they worried for each other during difficult and risky cases. Soon enough Y/N started to develop feeling for that weird, clever boy but she didn’t know it the feelings were mutual. Ryuzaki seemed without emotions as if nothing touched him. Even in the most terrible crime scene he would not be that shocked as anybody else.

Unaware of Y/N, there was a very simple explanation for that attitude of his: Ryuzaki was feeling overwhelmed. He was very good at not showing it but the truth was that something changed in him. At first he treated Y/N as a common FBI agent, neither kind not bad. Their relationship was purely linked to work. But then week after week, case after case, Y/N dusted a forgotten trait of his personality.

«Agent Y/N, would you like to join me in an exhibit? I heard from Miss Misora you like F/P»

«But it is private, Ryuzaki. You have to have the tickets»

«It just so happens that I have two tickets with me. The senior manager is a friend of mine»

«Really?» Y/N said surprised. «I would love to, Ryuzaki!»

Ryuzaki smiled in seeing such happiness in his cute FBI agent. The exhibit would be the perfect chance to understand if what he felt for Y/N was mutual.

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

Ah, the exhibit. Such a wonderful place. Y/N loved everything about it: the guide, the paintings and Ryuzaki's company of course. Moreover, it was the exhibit of F/P, Y/N's best artist. She was in bliss.

Once the guide ended the tour, the guesses could roam around the place to have a better look at each artwork. Ryuzaki expressed his approval to a specific painting, a still life to be precise. And when he noticed Y/N liked it too he started to describe the history of the said painting.

His voice enchanted Y/N. So deep despite Ryuzaki's young age and extremely alluring. She would listen to him for hours if it was possible. Y/N was so focused in it that she didn’t noticed Ryuzaki asked her something.

«Uh? What did you say?»

«I said, Y/N…are you enjoying the evening?» Ryuzaki was sitting in front of that still life in his usual position, with the legs pressed the chest. Y/N was beside him.

«Yes, a lot. Thank you Ryuzaki» she smiled kindly at him and it forced the young detective to look away. Then he started to play nervously with his lips. «Something is bothering you?»

«I have a confession to make, Y/N»

Oh dear, no. At that phrase, Y/N started to panic. Was he tired of her company? Did she do something wrong? Did he want to stop working together? So many questions span inside Y/N's mind.

«Yes?» she tried to stay as much calm as possible, hoping her voice would not betray her.

«We met a while ago and I have to admit I really appreciate your presence. Both as an agent and as a person. I would like to become closer to you, if you agree» he turned to look at her. His black eyes were much gentler than usual, his look full of…happiness? Y/N couldn’t tell.

She blushed, her face was as red as the apples in the still life painted in front of them. She noticed that Ryuzaki extended a hand waiting for her answer. «Of course, Ryuzaki»

Y/N put her hand over his and he kissed on the hand gently. This made Y/N blush even more, now she was truly one of those red apples.

And with that, they set off the beginning of their relationship. Outside work Ryuzaki was a really romantic person: he would rub Y/N's shoulders (he was really good with massages); he would play with her silky H/C hair while thinking or he would simply listen to her after a stressful day at work.

«You can call me whenever you want. Even if there's no reason to, Y/N» and «I like how your hands fit perfectly in mines» were the most romantic things Y/N heard from Ryuzaki. She even wrote them down in her personal agenda.

More time passed and December 2003 came fast. For some time now, criminals from all around the would were dying of heart attacks at an unprecedented rate and all law enforcements were concerned and scared but this. Thanks to some colleagues, Y/N learnt that the greatest detective L was mentioned in one of the many Interpol meetings.

L was considered the best detective in the world. He solved the most complex of cases, even ones that were considered unsolvable. The problem was that nobody knows who L was. And if they existed. According to Naomi Misora they were real and this L was worth their title. It was in that moment that Y/N made a decision: as a FBI agent, she would take part at that case. In Japan, people started to call the main responsible of these killings "Kira" and she couldn’t wait to start the investigations.

«Ryu, I have to tell you something…»

«What is it, Y/N?»  

They were on the phone, as often happened when the two of them had work up to their necks.

«I applied for the Kira case. I want to be a part of the task-force»

Silence.

For five minutes neither of them dared to speak. Y/N was waiting for an answer, she was chewing nervously her lips. After a while she heard a sigh.

«Y/N, it's dangerous. It's better if you stay in the States»

«But Ryuzaki! I want to be helpful! You know I can't stay here while there's some mad serial killer around the world that kills with the force of their mind»

«Y/N, such things don’t exist»

«Don’t change the topic, Ryu»

Again, silence. Y/N bet Ryuzaki was playing with his lips as much as she was chewing hers. She knew he was worried for her but she couldn’t stay at home doing nothing. She had to do something.

«Please, Y/N. Consider it again. The Kira case is too much…»

«Ryu, I'm a decorated FBI agent, I can take care of myself. You don’t need to worry»

For the third time, the call fell silent. Ryuzaki was thinking for sure, Y/N could hear the soft sound of him chewing his thumb. «Promise me you'll be careful» he interrupted the silence with his usual emotionless voice.

«Of course I will»

This allowed Y/N to fly to Japan more lightweight knowing Ryuzaki was by her side despite the distance. But another big event was waiting for her: the first meeting with L.

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

After many ordeals (like the death of Y/N's friend Naomi Misora), the main Japanese task-force against Kira was formed: Soichiro Yagami, Touta Matsuda, Hirokazu Ukita, Hideki Ide, Shuichi Aizawa and Kanzo Mogi. And of course Y/N L/N. It was New Year's Eve when the task-force received a message from L:

"I would like to meet the seven of you who have my trust as soon as possible. Do not speak of our meeting, or having met me, or what we will be doing, to anyone who is not in the room now.

Please leave the NPA building to discuss whether you can swear to the above, and whether you can trust me. Only those who agree to work with me in this investigation shall return to the room, and I will send my further conditions for our meeting to this computer."

That was it! The moment Y/N was waiting for a long time! As L explained in other notes left in the laptop, the entire task-force arrived at a luxury hotel where they knocked at the door of a room and were asked to enter. They were about to meet L.

"Oh gosh I'm so nervous!" Y/N though while staying behind the rest of the task-force. Her heart was racing fast and she couldn’t hide the excitement. We were talking about the greatest detective alive after all.

"I wonder…who gave them that title?"

Pink wall-to-wall carpeting, beige couches with red pillows and luxurious black doors. That was the aspect of L's room. From where Y/N was standing she could only see the furniture of that room but she petrified when she heard his voice.

«I am L»

Y/N went pale in one second. The excitement was soon replaced by fear and later by anger. But she had to be sure, she needed to see him. Maybe Y/N missed Ryuzaki to such a point that she heard his voice everywhere.

No, there must be something else. Ryuzaki's voice was too unique and peculiar to be confused with another one. There must be him for sure. And once Y/N made her way through those men, she had the certainty that she had Ryuzaki in front of her.

«Please turn off your cell phones, laptops, and any other electronic equipment you may have, and place them on the table first»

«You think we might have our cell phones on talk mode so someone outside could monitor our conversation…?» Aizawa asked quite annoyed.

"No, he hates when phones rings if he is talking…" Y/N though while doing as L said. She had to maintain a professional attitude despite she was boiling inside. She wanted to cry but to punch Ryuzaki at the same time.

«It's not that. I can't stand it when someone's cell phone rings when I'm talking» the detective replied while "sitting" in one of those fancy armchairs. «But before discussing about the case, I would rather have a talk with agent L/N in private»

The task-force moved in another part of room so Y/N and Ryuzaki would be alone. Silence filled the room, an anger and disappointed silence to be precise. They were still wearing their professional masks.

«Why didn’t you tell me…» Y/N was the first to give in. Her hands were curled into fists, the way her body tremble suggested rage or a desperate effort not to cry. L was aware Y/N was going to lose control if he didn’t explain himself.

«I couldn’t Y/N…you know very well I couldn’t»

«Of course you can! It costs nothing, Ryuzaki. Just few words!» that was it, Y/N lost control.

«What should I have said then? Something like "Hello I'm L, the greatest detective in the world and I think I developed strong feelings for you"» Y/N was going to answer back but L interrupted her by raising the index. «Everything about L is dangerous. My words, my actions, my presence…they all are dangerous for other people. That's why I work alone, Y/N»

«But you weren’t alone when we worked together» now sadness was taking place in Y/N's mind instead of anger. She felt so betrayed.

«It was different back then, Y/N. They were simple cases, neither me nor you were in danger. But this case…Kira is the symbol of danger and injustice, Y/N. I don’t want you to be involved»

«I'm already involved, Ryuzaki. And like it or not, I'm going to the bottom of this» the young FBI agent replied with determination but hot tears started to form on her eyes, clouding partially her sight. «I just…wanted you to be sincere with me» those tears fell over her smooth S/C cheeks.

L, seeing that scene in front of him, felt very bad for his Y/N. That was why he didn’t want her to be involved: he couldn’t bare crying people. But not because he hated them but because he didn’t know what to do, how to soothe that suffering. And the sight of Y/N crying in front of him broke his heart.

He stood up and walked closer to Y/N. And when he hugged her she gasped loudly, meaning she didn’t notice him approaching her. She stopped crying, yes, but sadness was still there.

«I…I'm sorry Y/N. My only intent was to protect you. I know you don’t need a knight in shining armour but when this case came out I knew I had to do something. Maybe you would hate me for the rest of your life but if it meant you would live it was alright. So please…realise there wasn’t malice in my actions»

Y/N hugged him back, smelling the sweet scent of his white shirt. The warmth of his body and the heartbeat were so calming, sadness melted in a matter of seconds. They stood there for entire minutes not moving, just appreciating each other presence.

«You're right, I don’t need a knight in shining armour…I want a detective in a white shirt»

L chuckled and that sound sent chills down Y/N's spine. Gosh, she missed that sound.

«Here I am»

«Do not keep secrets from me, Ryu»

«Never again»

[mrwinterr]

Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You meet your favorite artist and get more than what you bargained for. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual and protected sex, oral [male and female receiving], vaginal fingering, belly bulge, light degradation) dirty talk/language and recording. Mentions of drugs and alcohol and a tiny bit of angst.

Disclaimer: I don’t smoke regularly, so anything that has to do with drugs mentioned are techniques I’ve outweighed based on what I’ve been taught by different people. I don’t know which method works best nor am I encouraging the activity. It just came with this fic’s territory. It’s not that deep. You do you, boo. 

Title Inspiration: “Happy” by The Maine 

A/N: I might or might not have based some of this on true events. All I can say is, life is short, shoot your shot! Enjoy! 

A/N #2: There’s a Part 2 now!

“You owe me.” Your friend next to you said for probably the third time this hour. You learned earlier in the day to tune her out. She had been saying that since you persuaded her to accompany you on the weekend long road trip to the neighboring state just so you could see your favorite band…again.

Growing up your parents thought this was just another phase, but as your teenaged years passed on by and you’re now well into adulthood, you’re still a bigger stan for The Avengers as ever.

The Avengers consisted of three members: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Everyone had their take on each of the guys, Steve was the nice one, Sam was the goofy one and Bucky was the bad one. It was silly. They weren’t *NSYNC or The Backstreet Boys, but the fangirls will be fangirls.

Their music wasn’t exactly mainstream, but they did very well within in their genre’s scene. They graced the covers of a couple of magazines, garnered thousands, close to millions, of views and streams online, were featured on TV every now and then, toured around the globe, sold a bunch of records, even independently, but despite all that notoriety, they stayed true to their sound and that’s what kept you around as a fan.

That and the band’s front man Bucky Barnes. 

He was hot – plain and simple. Ok, maybe he was just that to most, including your friend who couldn’t deny it, but you didn’t want to objectify the man. What their music had done to get you through the years, they were more than that. There was a level of respect there. You also didn’t buy into the “bad boy” gimmick the fans have dubbed for him. They were human beings just like the rest of us. Imagine being called something like that by the public? They just so happened to be fortunate enough to share their talent to the rest of the world.  

“You’ve already seen them. I don’t know why you think you need to for what a tenth time?” She clearly wasn’t amused by your infatuation with the band, but she was still your friend and she would always be by your side through thick and thin even if she didn’t have the same taste in music as you. You loved her for that. Who else would stand for hours in a dark room full of loud, sweaty, smelly, rude even, and sometimes drunk people with no self-control for you? She really was the real MVP.

And she was right though. You’ve already seen The Avengers perform. It was probably more, but you’ve lost count. Whenever they’re in your city or two to four hours in the next one over, you loved this band alright!

You both were polar opposites standing next to each other in line waiting for the venue doors to open. She was calm and still, arms crossed with an unamused look on her face – she could almost play as the “mom that tagged along and didn’t want to be there” – but you knew she wasn’t really mad. There was a bar inside she could occupy herself at. You on the other hand were trying to contain your excitement. You tried your best to not fidget around in anticipation so much. You didn’t want to sweat off your makeup that you managed to apply on point or get an embarrassing stain on your clothes.  

“It doesn’t matter,” was always the response you gave her, “their music means everything to me. I’ll always come out to support them.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and scoffed a bit at that. She wasn’t trying to knock you down. She knew you deeply liked the band, but she also knew another side of you, and she liked to pick at it. “Yeah that and you’re into Bucky,” she said and just flat out poked at the side of your breasts. The bra that you chose to purposely wear tonight gave your boobs an extra push and it didn’t go unnoticed by her. They were out there, tastefully, since you were hardly the flashy type. 

“Okay, but who isn’t?” You flare back swatting her hand away and trying to shut her down. You didn’t need to have this conversation with her while other fans were around. You didn’t want to sound like a fangirl. You weren’t 13 anymore.

“Chill.” She said raising her hands up in surrender. She wasn’t going to fight you on this one again.

When the top of the hour hit, the roar of the crowd signaled the doors had opened. Once inside, you hit the line to the bathroom considering you’d been outside for a few hours. You didn’t just have to pee, but you needed to freshen up. Your cheeks were a bit flushed from standing in the heat. You dabbed lightly at your face with a small blotting sheet, sprayed a bit of body spray and finished putting every hair back into place before finding your friend, who was already at the bar.

You sported a 21 and up paper wristband that was handed at the entrance, however you weren’t planning on drinking. Usually you had one or two drinks at most, but you were assuming you would be the designated driver tonight. You just always flashed your ID to the bouncer for the wristband to emphasize that you were of age. Unfortunately, some bands have had a bad reputation of fooling around with underaged girls, who lied about it.

She held up her drink to you with a smile on her face. Yeah, you were going to be the one driving back to the hotel, but at least she’s happy. She tried to coax you into ordering a drink of your own, but you only shook your head at her nonsense and stood away from the crowd.

As an avid concert goer, you’ve been to enough shows that you’d been in every section of the crowd. Hell, you’ve even gone crowd surfing before! Plus, you couldn’t hang with those vicious and hormonal fans in the crowd anymore, so you learned to enjoy the show from the back with a full view.

The opening bands were decent. You’d never heard of them, one was probably local, but you always believed live music was just as good, if not, better than opposed to being recorded and remastered at a studio. 

During their sets, you caved and bought a drink from the bar, hoping it’d help to pass the time before the headliners came on. Your friend was seemingly on her phone when a random guy approached you asking if he could buy you a drink. The house lights were on. Did he not see the can of beer in your hands? You politely declined his offer and further advances until he gave up and walked away.  

“Girl. He was cute!” Your friend said shoving you lightly.

“I wasn’t interested,” you shrug and taking a swig of your drink. 

“You’re not being fair,” she started and seeing that you weren’t catching on continued, “you can’t wait around hoping that one day Bucky will notice you. Honey, he came here to play a show and make money not look for a girlfriend.” Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, bursting your bubble like that and all, but her intentions were good. Bucky Barnes just set the standards too high.

She wasn’t wrong. Guys like Bucky meet new people every day, met girls probably way prettier than you. The majority of their fans were female because let’s face it, the guys had sex appeal and you know what they say…sex sells.

Looking around the venue, you took in the kinds of girls you were going up against. There was a mixture of women of different backgrounds and sizes decked out in different styles, but the ones who won most of the time were the ones that looked good dressed in risqué clothing and heels. Some of them probably even wore less make-up than you or none at all. You couldn’t understand how it was effortless for some people.

It wasn’t that you had low self-esteem. You had your fair share of internal struggle, so sometimes your insecurity played its part. You had your good days and you had your bad days.

You decided upon wearing something simple that you would be comfortable in while still serving a look. And the only other significant thing you did to your make-up was add in a little more shimmer. Yeah you wanted to impress, not sell your soul to the devil.

“Okay, but I just really wasn’t interested,” you said again hoping she’d understand. She did, aware you wrestled with that demon in your head always taunting and ridiculing you that you could look better when you’re perfect just the way you are. With an added bonus of telling you that Bucky was missing out if he hasn’t noticed you already, she ordered another drink in time before the lights dimmed and ear-piercing screams erupted to alert that The Avengers finally took the stage to headline the show.

Like each of the shows you’d previously attended, they were amazing. They poured their hearts out with each beat and belt. Every lyric resonated with you so deeply. There was just so much raw emotion packed into their performance. The beauty of concerts was that they were designed to let you forget about all the bullshit happening in the world for a few hours. They were therapeutic for you.  

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say your friend secretly liked The Avengers’ music because she broke you out of your shell and had you swaying along with her to their songs…that or it was the alcohol taking over her. You didn’t fight it and you allowed yourself to let loose.

You tried to give each member equal attention, watching them as they played, but you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on Bucky the most. They were just trained on him. His cheeky smile and onstage presence were electric. The mere sight of him, all sweaty as his clothes stuck to his skin accentuating his toned body so well, all but had you shuffling trying to ease your body’s frustration and mind.

The only time you looked away was when you swore you thought he looked at you. Making eye contact with someone on stage was kind of awkward sometimes, but with him it was almost intimidating. Believing he was probably staring at the girl behind you, you downed the rest of your drink, pushed that thought away and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.

A full set of songs that showcased their albums and a two-song encore later, you were driving yourself and your buzzed friend back to your hotel room. It wasn’t that far from the venue, electing to stay within its vicinity. Upon entering the room, you tossed the shirt you bought at the merch booth on your bed before removing your leather jacket while she face-planted down on her bed, arms wide open, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. You couldn’t blame her. It felt great to rest right after standing on your feet for hours.

Your back rested against the headboard, you knocked your boots and socks off a while ago and had your bare feet up on your bed. You hadn’t changed out of the rest of your clothes or even wiped off your make-up yet. Instead, you sat there skimming through the timelines of your social media accounts while you waited for your friend to get out of the shower.

You had posted a few photos and videos of the night to your story, like your outfit, a few of you and your friend sightseeing, and of The Avengers’ set. You refreshed your timeline and noticed Bucky’s account pop up before everyone else that you followed. It’s no surprise that you were following them on social media. You liked seeing them share the personal moments of their lives. They used to be interactive with their fans. Bucky had even once commented on the old photo you had with the band years ago.   

You met them after a show when they were just starting out with their first full-length album debuting that summer. Now, they hardly came out because all it took was one crazed fan to ruin it for everyone else. Their popularity sometimes deemed it unsafe for venues to let them stick around so late, restricting them from meeting their fans.

You click on Bucky’s account and go through his story. There was one of a view of the open road from their tour bus, a clip of a song he liked, a cryptic quote with a deep underlying meaning to it, him getting ready to go on stage and then of the show.

He had taken a photo of the crowd towards the end of the set, asked fans to tag themselves if they could, because the crowd was amazing…as if they didn’t say that in every town they played in.

His caption read: “Awesome crowd tonight! Probably our best show yet!” topped with how much he loved the city. Sometimes you wanted to reply to his posts like he was one of your friends, but then you second guessed yourself knowing he’d never see the message, or he would and just ignore it because he was busy. You knew it was a long shot, but what did you have to lose and what is it that they said these days? Shoot your shot.

You didn’t linger on the body of the message for too long, settling with a “Great show tonight! You guys were amazing as always! :)” hitting send and closing out the app thinking it would conceal any embarrassment that might come out of it. It was a ridiculous thought.

After surfing through the channels of the TV and picking at the food you had delivered to your room, your phone pinged. You saw that it was a notification from your social media account, but once your face unlocked the phone and the subject appeared, you nearly choked on the drink you were sipping on.

Bucky Barnes sent you a message.

Your heart pathetically started beating really fast. The phone almost slipped from your hands as you opened up the toxic app again to read what he said. He probably just sent you an emoji or something.

“Thanks for coming out.”

That was it. Okay, what did you except? A proposal. That was a fair response. He probably had some downtime and was able to reply to people. You couldn’t be that special…but thinking you could strike gold again, you started typing up a response.

“Of course! Will always be out there to support you guys! Hope the city treats you well and have a safe rest of the tour.” Yeah, that was a good one. You say to yourself thinking that would be the end of it…except it wasn’t.

“Appreciate it. You know of any good spots around here?”

Nope. You did not. Do you look up some recommendations for him? No, that’s too much. Great, you’re having a conversation with him through DMs and you can’t even genuinely contribute enough to hold it down.  

“No, not really. I’m not from here actually. My friend and I drove here just to catch the show. Maybe YELP?” Shit. You just might’ve effectively got rid of him with turning him to the Internet instead.

“No way! That’s love. Good thinking.” They came through in separate text bubbles.

Why were guys so short? You couldn’t work with that. You thought about it for a while but came up with nothing, so you sent the sassy ‘girl sticking her hand out’ emoji as a reply. Damn, you were really bad at this.

Several minutes passed by and thinking you were really done with him; you got another message. It was Bucky again and he sent you a photo. It was from your own feed; the group photo of you and his band mates all those years ago.

“I thought I recognized you.” You sat up straight as you read that message over and over, eyes bugging. Thankful your friend was taking her sweet time in the bathroom, so she wouldn’t see you all strung up.

What? There’s no way. That was a long time ago. Your thoughts spiraled at his words that had you blushing. He’s pulling your chain.

“Impossible. That was forever ago!” I guess two could play this game then.

“I swear. You tripped and fell into my arms that night.”

What the hell? He actually remembered that? Yeah, that did indeed happen. You had been waiting outside surrounded by a bunch of other chatty girls, pushing and shoving their way to get to Bucky first. By the time he turned to you and you stepped forward, you lost your footing and fell straight onto him. He played it cool, but then you heard Sam, who was trapped in his own circle of girls, signing and taking pictures away, that Bucky has girls falling for him all the time.

“OMG. That was so embarrassing, and I was so awkward!” You couldn’t even speak to him when you managed to hold your own ground. You were young then, you thought you effectively put that behind you.

“You weren’t awkward! You were cute and that’s what has stuck with me since. One of the most memorable moments.”

Yup, he was definitely pulling your chain. While you were ecstatic that you were interacting with your favorite artist, you couldn’t help but wonder why you. He was a public figure and you were just a fan.

“Is this weird?” Came through as his next message after your silence. 

Oh, no. I hope I didn’t offend him. You might as well tell it like it is and get it off your chest.

“I don’t know...just a bit. Probably because I’m just a fan? I feel like you should be careful. I mean I should be too…” You really did wonder though. How was it that people of his status were willing and freely open to people they barely knew only to get threatened of being leaked and blackmailed by their own nudes or messages? What made them trust the other party so easily with that kind of stuff? They couldn’t be that dumb. Well, you got your answer.

“I don’t think of you or anyone as just a fan, but you are right…at the same time I feel that you’re grounded enough and a good person that we can trust each other. If that makes sense.”

You weren’t sure if it did. He still didn’t really know you.

“Awe, well that’s really flattering. I totally understand that because that’s how I feel.” Did you? There was a pause between that message and the next that would come.  

“What’s your cell?”

Really? It was just that easy? Oh, okay then. Nonetheless, you still gave him your number. The DMs stopped and transferred over to text messages. You have Bucky Barnes’ phone number. What fan fic were you living in? Shit like this doesn’t just happen, does it?

The texts between you and Bucky went back and forth, some playful and some slightly suggestive, but you were completely oblivious to them thinking that was just in his nature. You found out the band was staying in for the night before heading back out on the road tomorrow afternoon off to the next city. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath when you stared at his most recent text asking if you wanted to hang out. It was kind of late, but you didn’t get a guy like Bucky Barnes asking you to hang out on the regular.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questioned breaking your train of thoughts. You could see her from your peripheral that she was towel drying the ends of her hair even though you’re still staring at your phone.

“Bucky sent me a DM inviting me to his hotel room.” You answered in a stoic demeanor, but it felt really strange coming out of your mouth.

“Okay. How long was I in the shower?” Your friend asked with her hands on her hips wanting an explanation.

You recount the details and show her the messages you and Bucky had been sending to each other. She scrolled through each of them and you could see the look of apprehension forming on her face.

“I don’t know,” she said her words trailing before giving you a worried look, “shouldn’t you be the slightest bit concerned?”

“About?” You ask taking your phone back from her.

“All of this!” She exclaimed her arms outstretched in exasperation and not understanding why you were so blinded by Bucky. “You briefly met the guy, years ago might I add, and you decide it’s okay to meet him at his hotel room in a city you don’t even live in?”

Alright, it did raise a couple of red flags, but you were a consenting adult and you lived a life of being cautious and in fear a little too much you wanted to be reckless for at least one night.

“I know you’re only looking after me, but I got to go for it. You know I like him! Sure, I may not know him on a personal level, but I’m allowed to have some fun, right?” You try reasoning with her. Just how different was all this compared to what people around the world were already doing with each other anyways?

She was a bit skeptic before reluctantly agreeing and letting you go but with the promise from you to be careful, share your location and his room number with her just in case she needed to save you or come after him. You thanked her for understanding and assured her that you’d be back before check-out in the morning.

On the drive to his hotel room, you thought about how you always imagined the different scenarios of what it’d be like when you’d ever meet Bucky again. What things you’d do differently or say. How you’d make sure to not trip or do something to embarrass yourself the next time. How you’d be more confident.

Parking was a pain in any city’s downtown, you ended up having to pay for parking twice in one night. Not surprising to you, they stayed in a nice hotel. It wasn’t over-the-top nor was it fancy, but it was definitely clean and a slight step up than of what was in your budget for booking a room.

When you’re finally at his door, you wonder if you were going to be catfished. Were there other people in his room? Were you really that special? Fuck it. Was the final thought, putting an end to the rest, and knocked at his door.

You hear a click and sliding of the chain door unlock, then you’re face-to-face with Bucky. He’s dressed down in sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He shoots you a smile and steps aside for you to come inside, there wasn’t much light offered to illuminate the room other than the ones the lamps attached on the wall between the beds and what little the TV could provide.

“Oh, thank God. You’re real.” Motherfucker. Did you really just say that?

Bucky laughed at that and you explained, honest with him, that this whole thing just felt surreal. He nodded in agreement, offering to take your jacket from you and a drink. It was alcoholic. Not denying him, you accepted it and waited to see what he would do next.

You watch him sit down on the king-sized bed with his feet up, one foot over the other. You’re standing there next to the dresser that also served as a stand for the TV he was watching a random show on. Not sure what to do, you set the drink aside, kick off your boots, leaving them next to the luggage rack, and sit on the spot next to him with a considerable amount of distance between your bodies.

It’s quiet and you’re trying to hush the voices in your head. Did he really invite you to just watch TV with him? Is this awkward for him? Oh, no. He’s going to realize I’m boring.

You feel the bed shift and you see Bucky is leaning over, opposite of you, to grab something from the nightstand. You don’t see much of what he’s doing as your view was blocked by his large back. When he changes positions, a brief spark of a flame emits from his hands. Your eyes trail up from his hands to his lips and notice it was a blunt. You were pretty sure this was a non-smoking room, but it wasn’t under your name, so it didn’t really matter in the end.

Of course, he did that kind of stuff. It was part of the lifestyle to be exposed to it. He took a steady hit and you watched as he exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke disappearing into the air in front of him.

“Want a hit?” He asked passing and offering you the blunt.

It’d been a while since you last smoked anything. You tried it a few times and even then, you didn’t think you did it right. You stare at the neatly rolled blunt in between his thumb and forefinger, but not too long as to not let it go to waste and ash up all over the bed.

You steadily take it from him and carefully attempt to take a puff. Wrong. That puff was anything but steady. Not realizing how close you were actually sitting next to Bucky, when you tried to exhale you ended up coughing – terribly. Bucky’s face scrunches up as he braces for the impact of white smoke to hit his face.

“Oh my God,” you say covering your mouth in disbelief, but it was a bad idea because your body didn’t like that, and you ended up coughing even harder.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to get out in between your coughing fit while passing him back the blunt and trying your best to waft at the smoke. Well, if you thought your first encounter with Bucky was embarrassing. This had to take the cake. It wasn’t proper etiquette to blow smoke in the other person’s face.

He waves it off letting you know that it wasn’t a big deal before taking another hit. He even begins to give you a few pointers to inhale in increments, until you get used to the smoke. You don’t even notice the long looks Bucky gives you hit after hit. You take a second to let the smoke stay in your mouth before you give it a second inhale, letting it process through your system before gently exhaling. It was a lot of fucking steps to remember.

“Don’t try to put too much emphasis into the exhalation,” he said as he watches you take another hit, almost perfecting it and with each puff and pass being deeper and longer than the previous, “see, you’re getting the hang of it!” He whimsically lifts his hand up for a high-five that you softly pat in return, but he seizes that moment to hold your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The more you breathed in the more your body started to relax. All the edge was taken off and you felt good. You and Bucky continued to pass the blunt, smoking whatever was left of it and what he had with him, as you told random bits of information about yourselves to one another. By now, you and Bucky were leaning on each other, backs against the headboard, the TV barely audible as it continued to play a rerun of whatever that was on earlier.

“You know I really do remember you?” He says causing you to turn your head to look down at him. He has his gaze fixed on your hands, his thumb barely grazing the back of your hand. He’d been playing with your hand, drawing random shapes on it.  

“That’s hard for me to believe,” you answer back truthfully.  

“Why?” Bucky questions while looking up at you. He was in a slouched position, his hoodie and shirt rising up, allowing you a thin glimpse of his skin, while you sat a little higher up than him. 

You admired his handsome face, the crease lines in his forehead, the faint and not so faint marks scattered all around it, his wet lips that shone when he ran his tongue over them and the stubble that surrounded it all down to his adorable nose. Then there were those blue eyes that once put you in an overawe of intimidation, were now a bit alarming in a new sense. They were swirling and growing darker.

“You meet new people every day, Bucky. There’s no way that I could’ve been that unforgettable to you.” You just couldn’t wrap your mind around that. Staring at him, you tried to read him, but you were too faded to concentrate.  

“But you were,” he tells you in a low voice just before you notice his eyes shut and he leans in to place an experimenting kiss to your lips. He pulls back to quietly study your expression, and when you don’t show any sign of disapproval, he goes in for another.

This time with added pressure, more emotion, Bucky pulls you down by the back of your neck and casually slips his tongue in your mouth the moment your lips parted. Your heart started racing when you reciprocated his kiss, trying to keep up with him. He definitely liked to dominate. You could even slightly taste the blunt you both shared moments ago as his tongue tangled with yours.

He slips off his hoodie leaving him in a dark gray shirt. Navigating his body over yours, he pulls you down into a more comfortable position. He’s cradling the side of your face as your lips continue to move one another, getting hungrier and hungrier.

The movements cause your top to ride up, exposing your midriff. His hands wander down to caress your skin before you feel his fingers grip at the waistline of your jeans. You instantly grab his hand and stop him. This was moving all too fast for you.

Bucky didn’t press on it for too long and slipped his fingers out, running his hand back up your side and this time underneath what your tank top was covering left of your upper body. His hand snuck back out and started tugging at the material bunched underneath your breasts. When your top was finally discarded to reveal your red bra, he latched onto your neck, kissing up along your jawline and nipping at your ear, the sound of his harsh breathing sent a tingle at the contact and shivers through your entire body.

You winced when you suddenly felt one of his hands at the back of your head, yanking a handful of your hair causing your head to snap back. It gave him more access and you closed your eyes letting the sharp pain run its course and turn into something pleasurable as he practically devoured your neck. You could feel him inhale deeply, getting high on you, and possibly the lingering aroma of the drugs, and sucking tiny splotches onto your skin then licking to soothe them.  

He pushed aside the straps of your bra as his lips travelled down your shoulder before stopping at the curve of your breasts. You briefly opened your eyes to see him fixated on your chest. He uses both hands to grope them.

“You think I didn’t notice these from the stage?” He asks now looking at you, squeezing and releasing them before pulling your bra down, your breasts spilling out of the cups. He instantly latches his mouth onto a nipple, while the other hand digs in between the mattress and your back to unclasp the bra. His tongue swirled around the nub, teeth lightly grazing and sucking at the skin around it.

You run a hand through his hair, it was a little sweaty and you couldn’t blame him. It was getting hot; you could feel the heat radiating off of him. It became even more apparent after he got rid of his shirt and you feel his clammy skin on yours.

He pulls back, straddling your waist, most of his body weight falling on his knees, careful to not to crush you. Your hands cascaded down his chest and rested at his thighs. You gave them a shy squeeze, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and you were only slightly satisfied.

Bucky flashes you another smile before he braces one hand next to your head and leans back over to fish something off the nightstand. When he pulls his other hand back you notice he’s going through something on his phone. Curious, you look at his face trying to get another read at him, but this whole night was just full of surprises. He finally looks at you before speaking.

“Can I ask you something and you promise not to freak out?”

It depends.

“Yeah…” Who were you kidding? You’d gladly get on your knees for this man. He swooped in for another hard kiss, your mind turning into mush just before you could get anything else out.

“I think it’d be so hot if we recorded ourselves,” his face was so close to yours making sure that your focus was on his and only his. He must’ve felt you shift because he allowed more of his weight to drop; he was closing in on you and it was like you almost had no chance of escape. You weren’t going to lie. The way his weight was crushing you and sinking you deeper into the bed felt really nice. You were speechless. He wanted to record a sex tape with you.

“I travel so much,” he starts listing off reasons why while still cradling the side of your face again, your hand bracing his forearm, and starts kissing your face, “it gets really lonely being on the road.” At this point, he’s probably kissed every inch, “I’d love to have this...it’d be so much easier for me to come thinking about you.”

Motherfucker. His dreamy voice speaking those words into you did one hell of a number because you were aching down there plus the way his hips dragged at your still jean-clad lower region didn’t offer much relief.

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate for a bit. What if his phone got hacked and the footage leaked?

“It’s just for me, baby. I swear,” he asks with hopeful eyes.

Sure, you could’ve had the strength to say no, but you were more than willing to be everything he desired. With your consent, he sealed it with another wild kiss. The magnitude of it setting you ablaze.

Bucky sets his phone back on the nightstand, propping it upright, camera on front face mode to display the both of you on its screen, and at the perfect angle he hits the red record button.

It’s showtime.

He revisits the mission of removing your pants and is this time successful. If you both weren’t so faded, he’d probably have an easier time taking them off, but they were tight, and you were grateful he didn’t clumsily break your ankles in the process. Chucking them somewhere off to the side, with his fingers, he traces the top pattern of the matching red lace panties you had on.

He let out a faint chuckle commenting on how red is his favorite color. Oh, you knew. You precisely chose this set just in case you got lucky. He plants kisses to your hip bones, his lips evading the area that cried out for his attention the most, and slithered down the bed, so he had your calves now placed over his shoulders.

Bucky laid gentle pecks on them and came back up to start nipping at your inner thighs, most likely leaving his mark there also, until you felt the tip of his nose hit your center. Your panties were definitely a deeper shade of red at this point. He pushed your panties to the side enough to get started.

You feel the pads of his fingers begin to rub circular motions at your clit. The first wave causing your hips to jolt involuntarily. You feel the smirk that formed on his face against your thigh at your body’s response.

“So sensitive,” he says pushing your hips back down to continue his task at hand, “and so wet,” he added while pulling his fingers away to examine your arousal that coated his long digits. You don’t take your eyes off him and you almost forget how to breathe when you watch his lips wrap around his fingers, noting his eyes closed and how his cheekbones become more prominent on an already perfect jawline as he sucked them off clean.

When Bucky opens his eyes, they’re darker than before, clouded with lust. He roughly yanked at your panties, still in his other hand, effectively tearing the overpriced garment. After giving it a few more tugs, it was long gone. Headfirst in between your legs, Bucky craved for more of you. He licked a broad strip, down up, to your clit. His tongue teased your folds before dipping inside you, the intrusion causing you to gasp. Your body withered around desperately searching for a path to release. Bucky kept at it, his nose nudging your clit with each plunge his tongue made.

Not denying you of a finish, he adds his fingers into the mix, curling them to find that spot. Noting that your eyes had closed sometime during the act, he stills, and you whine at the sudden halt. Your hand aimlessly reaches out to his face. When you find it, you open your eyes and pick your head up to find out why he had stopped. Bucky offers one of his hands for you to hold on to before speaking.

“Baby keep your eyes on me,” he orders, and his eyes don’t leave yours as his head lowers back down to your pulsing heat. You struggle to keep your eyes open and head from lolling back in ecstasy because you desperately wanted to come. Fuck, he was so talented.

The noises as a result of his onslaught were downright sinful. Bucky’s hips started to ground into the bed trying to relieve some friction of his own. His moans tremble across your entire body. There’s no warning when you come, and you don’t even give him a chance to escape your thighs that clamp around face. Not that Bucky minded, feeling you clench around his fingers as he drank in more of what your body had to offer. Bucky only then emerges when your legs fall limp against the bed.

He plops back down next to you, but as he does so, he pulls you on top of him. Your lips reattach themselves with his and the raw nature of tasting yourself on his lips drive you both mad. He hadn’t even wiped around his face, so you feel the wetness on his chin scrape across yours, staining you with your own arousal.

Your hands moved on their own from planting themselves on his firm chest then working their way down the ripples of his abs, through the trail of hair leading to the top of the waistband of his sweats. You tauntingly pulled the drawstring to loosen it before letting it go and instead grip him through the soft material. Bucky grumbled at your actions, but let you carry on.

You palmed him, getting a feel of how thick and long he was. Bucky was growing whiny with each passing move your hand made, he took matters into his own and grabbed your hand, shoving it into his pants. Your hand instinctively wraps around his hard cock and you give it a light squeeze and a few strokes, generating long drawn out moans to spew from Bucky’s mouth.

His cock felt even better with nothing separating you two. Bucky’s pants and boxers easily slide down his muscular legs, which spread apart to give you room. You maneuver south to lie on your stomach, still in between his legs, and grab his member that was curved resting at his stomach and bring it your face.

“Wait,” he says almost breathlessly. Your mouth is only inches away from the head already weeping profusely. He sits up to rest on his elbows and retrieves his phone from the nightstand. Oh.

“Okay, smile for me,” he directs, and you follow his lead before your tongue darts out at his slit and follow the ring around the tip of his cock. You pull back to savor his taste for a moment, your hands spreading the pre-cum around his shaft. Your strokes are then accompanied by the long licks you give at the sides and to his balls that your other hand had been playing with. Bucky’s head rests on his pillow so his other hand could rest on the back of your head and guide you down his length. Your mouth immediately started to water, but it made it easier for you to bob up and down. He let you move at your own pace for the most part. Bucky pushed your hair off to the side, away from your face to get a better view of the outline of his cock poking at the inside of your mouth. You let his cock drag across the inside of your cheeks a few times until it audibly popped out of your mouth.  

“Fuck me. I knew you’d be perfect.” His words mixed with his incessant moans were like honey pouring into your ears. He loved the way your eyes looked directly at him through the camera lens when you come up with a long tantalizing lick to the underside of his cock and crawling back up to straddle him.  

Bucky gets a good shot of your flushed face and breasts that had some of your drool combined with his pre-cum running down your body before dropping his phone beside him. He sits up causing you to fall back down at the other end of the bed. He picks out a condom from the nightstand and you watch as it rolls down the length of his cock. You bite your lip watching it twitch.

He’s on his knees, but sitting on the balls of his feet, you are lying down patiently waiting for him. He swipes his cock through the wetness of your pussy, prepping himself to slide in. He’s watching your reaction with each pass his dick makes. Your body is yearning for him to be inside of you, to hit that fucking spot over and over.

Just when you think he’s about to do it, he’s reaching over for that damn phone again. Out of habit, you cover your face with your hands. Not only showing the last shred of humility you had left, but also because you probably looked like a fucking bitch in heat.

Bucky pulls your hands away, he still has the phone in his hands, and he’s got it angled to playback from his point of view before he finally pushes into you. He’s big, much bigger than what you’ve experienced, you think you need a moment to adjust, but he never gives you that opportunity and you find that it doesn’t matter when he feels so good. Too good that you find it hard to breathe with each thrust he’s making because he’s hitting it so deep. You push your hands out in front of you to his lower abdomen and attempt to slow him down. Bucky shakes his head and knocks your hands out of the way.

You let out an abrupt yelp at his retaliation to your failed efforts in trying to stop him with a particularly harder and much forceful thrust. Instead, your hands grab fistfuls of the hotel bed’s white blankets and just let him have his way.

“So beautiful,” he says spreading you further then coming down on you to reclaim your lips with his. He rips your hands from their tight grips on the bed sheets to pin them down next to the sides of your head. You don’t care where his phone went, just happy to have both his hands on you. The skin-to-skin contact just hit different sometimes.

The kisses become so feral you start to feel a burn around your mouth from his stubble. Bucky rolls his hips into yours deliciously, a damn true artist, the rhythm he’s got going sends you just about over but never fully beyond the edge to prolong the climax.

Much to your dismay, Bucky withdraws away from you again, back into his previous position, a new idea popping into his wicked mind. With his hard cock still inside you, he slides his hands under your hips and hoists your lower half up towards him, resting your ass on his thighs, effectively bottoming out. You don’t hold back at the way that made you feel and let out an embarrassingly loud moan. He holds still for a second and you’re not quite sure why. You try to move by wiggling your hips, but he holds you still.

He’s staring at how close your bodies are, connected, he moves just the slightest. It causes your pussy to contract and your stomach to tighten up. He does it again in different intervals, his eyes surveying the entire thing. The next push is a little harder and when you see the devious smile breakthrough his face, he does it even more. The thrusts are much sharper and almost painful, but it quickly subsides when you feel the head of his cock probe at the right spot.

Bucky lifts your hips up higher, your back arching in bridge fashion you weren’t aware you could even do until he resumes his new pattern of thrusts again. This new position aided his cock in hitting your sweet spot a little better. He’s filming you again and resting one of his palms on your stomach. He’s not only watching, but he’s feeling the bulge in your belly from the distension caused by the jabs of his cock.  

“That’s my girl,” he praised, continuing to pound into you, “you take this cock so well.” The sight boosts Bucky’s ego and for you it actually probably wasn’t a good thing, but you’d be damned the angle did so many wonders to you right now.

“You love watching your cock go deeper and deeper inside me, Bucky?” You ask trying to look up at him from that position. Where did that come from? Your words cause him to freeze momentarily, but you could still feel his cock throbbing inside of you. He liked that.

Another impish thought running through his head, Bucky pulls out, picking you up so you’re also knee-height with him, giving you another searing kiss, then he’s behind you. He gently pushes you down, you on your elbows, Bucky leans over behind you, his soaked cock sliding up your ass resting on the small of your back as he places his phone back on the nightstand in the same position it had been in the beginning.

You don’t dare look at the screen in front of you, so you look down until you feel Bucky enter your pussy once more from behind. Your head rises and it wasn’t due to the surging pleasure, but because Bucky uses your hair as a rope to bring your body upright with his.

He thrusts up into you while he mutters incoherent slurs and lewd noises into your ear. He peppers the side of your face with wet and uncalculated kisses, his hands massaging your breasts before one of them migrates down to cup your pussy. His fingers dip in and starts another assault to your clit. You’re already tethering off the edge and on the brink of succumbing to him, but he just knew when to let up and keep you starved for more.

“Look at you,” he says, using his other hand to turn your head to face the small screen, the numbers continuing to go up. “You’re such a fucking slut for my cock,” you don’t argue with him and instead moan his name. “You like watching yourself fuck this huge cock, don’t you?” You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore; watching the two of you was hot. Your uncontrollable moans now muffled into Bucky’s palm. And he just kept egging you on, “I know I do. It’s gonna remind me just how tight this fucking pussy is.” Damn him. 

“You want to come, baby?” He asks, the speed of his fingers picking up a notch.

You pull down Bucky’s hand to respond, “Mmm, yes. Fuck! Please let me come, Bucky,” you don’t know what has possessed you, but it spurs the both of you on even more. Your next words do it for Bucky, “I want to come all over your cock,” and he’s immediately coming and spilling into the condom, still inside you, you feel his release pump through him. He’s biting your shoulder, some of his weight coming down on you, his thrusts becoming erratic, but one did the trick for you and you finally let go.

And what drives Bucky even more wild, is that you don’t stop. You keep rolling your hips into him, riding it all the way out. Bucky’s trying to hold on, with a bruising grip on your waist, his forehead resting on your back; the aftershock of his release proving too much. Your release pours out freely, you feel some of it slide down the inside of your thighs mixed with sweat.

You sag against Bucky, each of your body weight balancing against the other. You feel him scatter lazy kisses up your back and pull your face towards him to press one against your lips, moaning in satisfaction. He slowly pulls out of you with a low groan, your body feeling numb when you fall forward to lie down on the bed. Bucky discards of the condom and shuts his phone off before settling next to you.

He pushes the hair out of your face, and you, facedown, peek an eye open. He has a more than content look on his face, you notice his eyes were back to their normal color. He allows some time to pass for you both to calm down. Sleep wants to overcome your body, but it doesn’t when Bucky’s touch puts you on notice again. He runs his hand up and down your back. He’s insatiable, but he didn’t anticipate your comeback in the end and put him in a daze. He could get addicted to you.    

“Is it weird if I fly you out to Brooklyn?” He said out of nowhere. Brooklyn was thousands of miles away from where you lived. He wanted to pay your way to see him again. It was such an outlandish request. You’re starting to regain a more balanced sense of perception and thought, and you ponder on this for a few seconds. “Never mind. You think it’s weird,” he says lifting the blanket over his head turning his back to you. You could tell he was just trying to be cute.

“Oh, come on! You caught me off guard. You can’t blame me!” You respond, but he doesn’t budge. You muster up enough strength to sit up to lean over the side of his body, resting your chin on the top of his shoulder, and try to grab at the blanket. You pull it over his head and see the lazy smile etched across his pretty face. All you do is return the smile and close your eyes, basking in the post-coital bliss.  

“Stay for the night,” came as his last request and turning to lie on his back, wrapping his arms around you.

You don’t think about your car, that’s still parked nearby or care if the parking rate is probably going up by the hour and start eating at your bank account. You don’t think about how pissed your friend would be when she wakes up in the morning and you’re still not back in time. You just think about how tomorrow he’d be far away. You scoot up to give him one more kiss before laying your head to rest on him and make the best out of the present. Happy that you went with your gut on this one.

A/N: This could flop. At first, it was easy to write, but then the ending tripped me up. & while I have your attention, please let me know, anonymously or not, if there’s an interest in a Chase Collins fic? Charles Blackwood smut, anyone? Anyway, I hope this delivered! Thanks for reading!

[half-feral-sewer-kitten]

Vent

Like I dont want to sound spoiled or ungrateful for her or anything but I’m a bit bummed out at the moment. I’ve been trying to find a new job for a while (If you know intimate details about my life and health you know this is very hard for me) and just after Christmas when I felt really low and my motivation had suffered from no responses for a time my partner told me when I managed to get a job she would buy me this nice pair of white docs that I fell in love with when we were getting hers. I didnt even NEED this motivation to want to keep looking for a job at the time cause I really wanted one but it helped when it felt hopeless and to get me through the slog of applying for job after job after getting knocked back, I made myself feel better by creating outfits built around these shoes. I finally got a job today and was really excited about the job more-so than the shoes but still I was pretty excited about that too but my partner just said (very sensibly I know and Im not mad at her) that we should fix up some bills instead and Im not gonna get them. Like I totally understand and its a sensible decision but I’d just kind of rather she hadnt said anything at all cause id still be super pumped about getting the job but now im just sad that this thing that had become something I was holding onto and motivating myself with when I felt bad isnt going to happen and I cant even feel happy about getting the job right now. I feel like a shitty terrible spoiled, ungrateful POS girlfriend. Like I DONT want to feel dissapointed, its a smart decision and makes perfect sense and I dont want her to think she needs to buy me stuff but my stupid fucking brain had just built it up in my head and I guess my piece of shit personality cant let go of being a stupid spoiled fucking brat for like 5 minutes to just be happy I managed to get a job. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I FUCKING HATE MYSELF

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Roman Castile: Passion and duty

Roman finds that his different passions seem to get in each other's way for now. But one day, he will find a balance.

“Ugh! I am done!” Roman exclaimed relieved, barely hearing the hissed warning from the librarian. Homework had been draining. Sure they’d had fun. Especially when it came to teasing Virgil about his pronunciation when they worked on Spanish.

Still Roman was ready to do literally anything else.

“Give me a sec, I have to finish this thing for English,” Virgil muttered absentmindedly. Roman knew that Virgil had rewritten that particular assignment two times already.

“Want me to read it trough for you?” Roman offered. Maybe hearing someone say that it was good would be enough to stop him from second guessing himself again.

“You don’t…”  Virgil started, somehow looking guilty.

“We’re here to help each other Virgil. If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer. I thrive on being of help to my friends. It’s no trouble,” he assured him. Virgil offered him a small smile and a nod in response. “Alright. You can read it when I’m done,” he allowed.

Roman took peace with that and opened his notebook to start doodling.

He had a few ideas for some more shirt designs. He’d enjoyed making his ‘coming out’ shirt. Then there was the Halloween party and every other social event this year has to offer where he had to slay. Junior year was a year to be noticed. Nothing wrong with putting down some ideas in advance. He just might come across the perfect outfit.

“Seems I’m not the only one who can draw up some clothes,” Virgil noted and Roman nearly fell of his chair when he jumped at his sudden proximity.

“Will you stop that!?” A thing about Virgil Roman had learned over the last week. He always seemed to pop up out of nowhere. One minute he’s gushing over the latest Disney trailer with André and suddenly Virgil stands next to him giving his two cents. It was terrifying.

“Not a chance,” Virgil chuckled as he picked up Roman’s sketches.

“This looks good though… You ever thought of becoming a fashion designer?”

Roman’s eyes widened. Making amazing outfits for a living? He could make a whole ‘wear your pride’ line and… Oh… Oh…!

“You are a genius!” Roman exclaimed. He’d had no idea what he wanted to do with his future, aside from hero work, but now the idea was brought up he wanted nothing else. Fashion designer, superhero, actor, maybe also Mr. Castile-Anker. That was a future he could look forward to!

Virgil chuckled. “It’s the least I can do. I sent in the designs like you said… I’m kind of excited.”

Roman beamed at him. “I’m sure next time you see DreamPrince on the news he’ll be wearing your design.” He was. He’d been shown some alternative designs by Manifestor and found Virgil’s drawing among them and immediately declared that that was the one.

As he’d told Roman, he’d changed a few things. He’d shown him on Wednesday to get his stamp of approval. Roman had gushed unapologetically, because he knew he’d have to tone it back a bit in front of the team.

Which had been hard.

Tonight he’d be taking it for a test run and he’d make sure to be seen by people and cameras.

“We’ll see,” Virgil smiled as he pushed his laptop with his assignment towards Roman.

Roman read it, dropping the subject without problem.

Virgil was easy to be friends with and he’d quickly learned to read his moods.

During lunch Virgil usually sat himself a little bit away from the group when he felt the need to just focus on his music and sketch a little before heading back to class. He was sarcastic, witty and could dish it out about as well as he could take it.

He was also very guarded emotionally, which Roman could understand, but whenever they were just the two  of them, Virgil opened up some more. He’d learned about Virgil’s soon to be stepdad and the admittedly adorable meet cute he’d been a part of.

He knew that Virgil’s dad had found them a new home and they’d moved in just that week.

He learned that Virgil was mature and his dad’s only wingman which they both agreed was super awkward but also hilarious.

Roman had joked that Virgil might end up being his father’s best man. But apparently there was a family friend ‘uncle Thomas’ who might get that position.

Virgil had gone out with another girl that week. Anna, who’d had English with him last year or something. Virgil had listened patiently, but relatively unaffected to her asking him out and arranged another semi-date at the music store for the next evening. Luckily nothing came from it again. Roman asked him why he kept saying yes to people he barely knew. Virgil explained that he had missed out on enough chances to befriend others. So the way he saw it he’d at the very least get a friend out of it. Roman kind of took comfort in that. It didn’t sound like Virgil was trying to get a girlfriend or a boyfriend right now. Just trying to socialize. Roman had reminded Virgil to watch his boundaries though. He wouldn’t want him to push himself out of fear he’d be missing out.

One more thing he learned about Virgil: he was overly critical of himself.

“Well, I think you can hand this in with confidence Virge,” Roman concluded as he returned Virgil’s laptop to him.

“So… I recall something about pizza? I’m starving!” he grinned.

Virgil chuckled and lead the way. Soon they were sat at a table with their orders and they were talking about everything and nothing. It was great. And Roman was so close to asking Virgil out but…

“So… Um… There’s this… Shoot wait a minute,” Roman got up and picked up his phone.

“Si mama…?” he asked curiously after seeing the caller ID.

“Darling. I know you are out with your friend. But I wanted you to know we’re headed to the university now,” his mother informed him. The university… Wait. “Que?” Roman looked at his watch incredulously. He was going to be late. Unless he left right now that is.

“Perdona! I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and dug through his wallet for some money.

“So sorry Virge! Time got away from us I’m afraid. I swear I intended to give you that ride… Can you call your dad… You know what? Just use the change to take the bus or something alright? My treat! I’ll call you later!” he promised as he tossed down a few bills that should more than cover the tab and the tip before rushing away.

How was it so late already?

He sprinted around a few corners and found a spot to get changed. BS had explained about the sciency stuff behind his costume change, but all Roman really cared about was that he basically had a magical boy transformation. Sure he could sit there and let the tech do its thing, but it was much more fun to make up a cool transformation sequence.

First, hair. He retrieved a lip balm like object and applied the substance to his hairline. He tucked the balm away and with one smooth movement of his hand he styled and recolored his hair. Instead of parted in the middle with regal waves it was flicked to the back, save for a single rebellious strand dangling down his forehead. Instead of a deep ash brown it was warm chestnut in color.

Then he took a tini metallic bead from a ring on his finger and tapped it against his temple, before he swiped his hand in front of his eyes as his mask placed itself securely on his face, changing his eye color in the process. He tapped his wrists together in front of his chest and brought them down with force, feeling his blazer and shirt get replaced by the skintight suit. He tapped his right heal against his left before taking another power position and finishing his costume change.

How cool was his life?!

He created a platform to lift himself to the roof and sprinted towards the university. The GTH was in it’s basement. As he made his way there he started to think over asking Virgil out again.

Maybe, now wasn’t the time. Virgil was clearly still upset about the whole Janus thing. He didn’t say it but Roman could tell. And he didn’t want Virgil to think for even a second that Roman’s crush was anything less than genuine, he had noticed that Virgil still had trouble believing their friendship was real at times. Not to mention that starting a relationship with someone while he was still figuring out how to balance out superhero and civilian life was clearly a bad idea. He couldn’t even ask him out without being interrupted by his other life.

So, he'd wait until he had his life in order and he was sure Virgil was ready. There was definitely some kind of connection between them. And Roman was willing to wait until the time was right…

He knew he was being a coward, but his friendship with Virgil was so fragile.

He entered the basement campus with little hassle and dropped of his bag in his personal locker, making sure to lock it. If anyone with ill intent got in here they could easily find out his identity with it's contents and Roman didn’t want his name out like that. Not yet at least.

He hurried to the training hall, threw open the doors and slid inside.

“Your prince has returned!” he exclaimed, doing a pretty good job at pretending he hadn't just sprinted the whole way there.

“Has he now?” BS asked, apparently in a bad mood today.

“Oh come now big S, the boy is just excited for his present! I would be too if I got a new costume made for me by a secret admirer,” Sweets offered with a calming hand on BS' shoulder. Sweets was an empath. He could share his emotions and those of others, perfect match for someone who wants or needs to keep his calm.

But what sweets said made Roman rather flustered. “I don't think DreamPrince has had enough appearances to already gain such attentions. Whoever did this just couldn't stand to look at this any longer.” Roman gestured to his current costume.

“Speaking of which…” he held out his hand bouncing on his feet in excitement. He was supposed to meet the chief of police today and he wanted to look presentable.

Manifestor chuckled from his spot on the desk. “Give the boy his stuff. He's been looking forward to this day for the past four years.”

BS sighed and handed Roman a small box, which the young hero snatched up before rushing to the dressing room.

He turned his suit off and took off the containment units. He opened the box and switched the old units for the new ones. The bracelets were more comfortable and adjusted to his skin tone, the metal bead was replaced with two skin colored stickers he applied to his temples.

“Let’s do this,” Roman smirked excitedly.

“To adventure!” he called out as he crossed his arms and tapped at his temples while simultaneously clicking his wrists together. At the same time he tapped his right toe behind his left heel and brought his ankles together. He struck a power pose, facing the full length mirror and grinned excitedly. Virgil had added an insignia on his cape and golden trimming in the final design. There'd been a few options for his emblem and Roman had chosen the shield with a castle by the sea with the sun shining down on him. He looked quite dashing.

He left the dressing room and handed the box back to BS with an elegant gesture.

BS wasn't amused. Sweets and Manifestor on the other found it hilarious.

“So? What do you think?” Roman asked as he turned around to show off the end result.

A loud ‘bing' announced a message from his family watching from the observation room.

“Gaaaaaaay!” Roman rolled his eyes good naturedly. Remus was a fan.

“Stay away from Planes!” the next one read. Roman chuckled. He had asked Virgil about the cape, considering he’d expected someone as cautious as him to heed Edna Mode's advice.

Apparently Virgil had intended the Cape to be an addition for official events. So ‘Prince’ would look good on camera. He'd also pointed out that it would look badass for the prince to un-claps his Cape before a fight. He'd had a point and Roman actually loved it.

“You look very handsome darling.”

“Thanks mom!” Roman called out.

Then two beeps came from a device on BS wrist. He looked down and relaxed, tapping away at a holographic screen, turning up the intensity of his shadow. “The chief is here,” he announced.

Roman raised an eyebrow, that was not what BS had been so tense about. Something in his private life maybe? If that was the case he'd never find out.

Roman had no time to worry about that though. The door opened and in walked the police chief. A small but commanding African American woman. It was something in the way she walked that made Roman want to stand at attention. And so he did. He wasn't the only one.

“DreamPrince, at your service ma’am,” Roman introduced himself respectfully.

“So you are what all the fuss is about?” she asked as she looked Roman up and down.

Chief Davies pursed her lips before nodding to herself. “I’ve read your file, you’re quite the prodigy aren’t you?” she asked.

Roman chuckled a little awkwardly. “I’ve just been training from a young age, that’s all.” Most gifted didn’t realize their talent until they were well in their teens.

“Good answer. I have no time to stroke an adolescent ego. We’ve got work to do.”

Chief Davies turned to Manifestor. “You got the files I sent?”

Manifestor nodded hurriedly. “Yes. I had no time to review them though.”

“I’ll walk you through it,” she announced dismissively. The leader of Roman’s training team nodded and tapped at something on his wrist. The screen that had shown the messages from Roman’s family earlier was now filled with mugshots.

The men looked dangerous. Roman shifted nervously. “You… you want my help apprehending these men?” he asked, trying not to show how frightening it seemed.

“God No!” Roman hid his relieve. “These men are all in jail already, with iron clad cases keeping them there for a long time. You think I’m going to send some rookie after hardcore criminals? No offense, but you are still a baby,” Roman blushed at that and focused back on the pictures.

Wait a minute. “I know that guy! Remember at the end of my first week? I spotted some tugs bothering that kid and tossed a rock at them?”

“And by some miracle you weren’t found when said tugs came looking for you,” BS added through gritted teeth. Still upset at Roman's initial recklessness.

“I wasn’t the only one they were looking for,” Roman insisted. He’d been so sure he hadn’t been alone that night. But BS claimed the would have known if anyone else had been there.

He never went after the tugs after they left the alley. BS insisting he was done with back alleys for the night.

And now those guys were apparently behind bars?

“Next slide please!” Davies called out.

A picture of a ziplock bag with pictures, a USB stick and a note of cut out letters that said ‘your turn’.

“For almost a year now we’ve been getting mysterious packages like this. Pictures, audio and video recordings. Every last one had one of these men incriminating themselves. It’s like whoever delivers these stands right next to them, but never gets caught taking pictures or carrying a wire. I have a small task force on the case who have dubbed them ‘The Phantom’. We are keeping this as in house as we can. Once the public hears about the Phantom, we’ll lose the most valuable asset we’ve ever had. Plus until now we weren’t sure if they were a sensible vigilante or a mobster who was taking out competition in a very clever way. Given what you just said I’d be inclined towards the former. They might have some sort of gift that hides them well enough to get away with spying. But right now, they are putting themselves in danger.” Davies turned towards Roman.

“Keep an eye out, see if you can spot him during your patrol this evening. And if you do, get him on board with the program.”

“Prince did not go through all that training to be your recruitment poster boy!” BS snapped to Roman's surprise. That was the most emotional response he's seen from BS ever. Aside from when he scolded Roman on his reckless behavior.

Davies glared at BS, looking quite intimidating, despite barely reaching to his chest.

“Now don't go all noble on me BrainStorm. What? Did your heart grow three sizes while I wasn't looking? Is there suddenly room for more than one other person there?”

Roman knew that this was a threat. Davies knew BS’ true identity, where he worked, who he cared for. She could ruin whatever he had built in an instant.

Roman often wondered what kind of life BS had outside the facility. Did he have a partner? A family? Did they know about his past at all.

A few seconds ticked by with no one daring to do so much as breathe.

Then Davies relaxed and stepped back. “I'm no monster BrainStorm. I wouldn't ask some rookie to deal with this if I hadn’t tried everything else already. I send in my agents and even called in other gifted. All we got out of that was this,” she gestured and Manifestor showed the next image. A note in the same style as the previous one that said ‘no babysit!’

“Our profiler thinks they are young. So maybe your prince won't seem as threatening. They might've had his back once before already. If this Phantom were someone you cared for, would you rather we left them be, or would you drag their noble behind here yourself to give them proper gear and back up?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, BS had nothing to counter with. Roman imagined Phantom being one of his friends, or even Janus and the answer remained the same.

“I will do what I can,” he vowed before lifting his chin and facing the fierce chief head on. “But ma'am, I don't appreciate you threatening my mentor like that.”

BS had stood up for him, it was only right for him to return the favor.

Davies chuckled. “Just when I started to worry you were only brawn and a pretty face. You can be smart too huh? And you’ve got guts. You just might have what it takes kid. Now. I have places to be. Keep me updated, and don't lose this.” Roman accepted the watch he was handed with a confused frown.

“My people will call if we need you. Please use that brain and return the favor?”

With that she left. Well… that was intense.

Roman put on the watch and saw that it had a frequency displayed on it instead of time. He also spotted two buttons. One blue and one red. It didn't take much to realize that one was a panic button and the other was to make it so the cops could hear him. He wondered if it would connect to the nearest patrol car or to Davies directly.

He hoped he’d never have to find out.

“Well… time to show the city their hero is ready for action.”

 It had been a pleasant evening so far. He'd stopped a few shoplifters, broke up a fight or two and dodged a few reporters, though he let them snap a good picture of his new outfit.

Now the sun was down however and he was making his way to the back alleys.

“Looking for a fight is foolish Prince!” BS growled through his earpiece.

But Roman wasn't looking for a fight. He was looking for someone who'd gotten him out of at least one pickle.

He ignored BS as he landed on a roof, overlooking the city using his sight. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but it was his only plan.

Suddenly he spotted something strange and unusual. There was an energy, a few blocks ahead. But it was impossible for him to really see it. Like he was looking at it trough glasses with strong prescriptions.

He rushed towards it and found a gang of criminals with violently swirling auras. He knew what this meant. They were going to hurt someone.

“Send back up to my location,” he instructed before turning the receiver off. He needed to focus.

“I say we attack now! They are week! We can take them down easily.” A shorter guy with energy like glass shards insisted.

“Boss says we have a truce until the rat is found,” a giant of a man stated calmly, though his energy betrayed how much he wanted to go with the first guy's plan.

Were they talking about Phantom?

“What rat!? Those idiots just bragged to the wrong crowd.” The first voice shot back. Phantom was becoming a bit of a ghost story it seemed. Some who believed, judging by the shudder that went through the other men's auras at the mere mention of them. But clearly not everyone was convinced.

“Oh and they gave out pictures as well? Did a little livestream? We're not safe until this rat is lynched,” the tall man pointed out tensely. He was a believer. And he wanted Phantom dead. Not good.

Roman studied the tugs and to his relief he spotted they were all armed. Weird thing to be happy about. But it meant he had probable cause to interfere.

He jumped down, slowing his descent just so that he didn't hurt himself on the landing without sacrificing the cool factor.

“Do you gentlemen have permits for those weapons?” he asked as he rose up to his full length facing them fearlessly.

“what the…?”

“It's that Prince clown!” Rude.

The tall guy, the leader probably, silenced the group with a gesture and smiled, his anxious energy almost completely disappearing. He'd found something to vent on. “Sure kid. Got mine right here.”

Roman flung his cape in front of him and manifested a gelatinous shield around himself as the leader pulled out his gun and fired several rounds at him. The tugs wouldn't see it. But it was there, and it caught the bullets slowing them down until they were harmless, making them fall to the ground when they met with the fabric.

“Well now you just pissed me off. This is brand new!” he complained as he dropped both cape and shield.

“I suppose you won't surrender peacefully?” he deduced. The criminals all readied their weapons. Seriously? Did they not get that he was essentially bulletproof?

He sighed as he took off his cape and hung it on a water pipe that ran down the side of the building.

“Fine,” he sighed and then he amped up his speed a bit while shielding himself from the rain of bullets heading his way. He used the gelatin shield because he didn't want to risk the bullets ricocheting and injuring someone. Especially the gifted he was sure was still watching the whole thing.

It wasn't hard to disarm the criminals. He even managed to knock a few to the ground. But there were at least two who'd gone down without him even touching them. And he would’ve sworn he saw a figure move between him and a tug once or twice to block a blow. He couldn't really see the other hero. It was an odd sensation. But he could feel his presence better and better and soon he was adapting his moves to those of the Phantom. Together they took out the whole group. Though to the villains it would seem like he'd done it by himself. He stood victorious over the leader, a pile of disassembled guns behind him and sirens lighting up the alley.

He twisted his foot to show off his white boot with gold accents. “So… how does it feel to get your butt kicked by a guy in heels?” he wondered playfully before looking up towards the presence and winking in acknowledgment.

“Good job Dream Prince. We've got it from here.” Roman turned to the cops and bowed to them

“It's my pleasure to be of assistance to the police of this fine city.” Then, while turning around, he made a gesture that could be taken as a ‘goodbye’, or as a ‘follow me’.

He was glad to notice that the presence seemed to follow him. He found a fire escape and floated himself to the roof it led to.

He turned to face his hopefully soon to be partner in crime fighting.

He could hear the clanging of someone climbing the metal fire escape. And while he still couldn't quite make out the figure that reached the roof he saw his reflection in a pool of water left behind by the rain earlier that day.

An unfortunate weakness, but so long as no one knew, no one would be looking for it. In order to be a hero, no one could know Phantom really existed. Was that why the authorities were kept at a distance? Why Phantom never made introductions despite having crossed paths at least once before?

He stepped forward with a bow. “Greetings Phantom. I must thank you for the assistance. Both just now and three months ago. I am Dream Prince, he/him if you please. A pleasure to officially meet you.”

A distorted chuckle made him look up. He could see Phantom much better now. He was dressed in Male coded clothes, though that was no guarantee. The hero outfit was simple. A black t-shirt, boots and denims, paired with a black coat that reached down to his calves and had the collar popped up. He looked really cool… but Roman couldn't make sense of his head. He was looking right at him he could see it, but his brain couldn't identify a thing.

It was so weird.

“Phantom huh?” His voice was a strange deep echoing sound. The distortion was pretty spooky if he was honest, but he wasn't afraid. Phantom was on his side.

“Sure you can call me that. He/him… mind telling me what that was about? I thought you officials weren't let of your leash unless you could be responsible enough to not get yourself killed?”

Roman cocked his brow. “Says the guy who has half the criminal underworld out for his blood,” he reminded him. Phantom looked away. Clearly he knew Roman had a point.

“Do you have something against the program?” His tone had been oddly bitter.

“No I…”  Phantom took in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just pissed at the cops for sending you, I guess.” He sure sounded upset. And Roman could understand that. Here Phantom was, doing his part and all the cops could do in return was bother him At least as far as the young vigilante could tell. But then why…?

“Yet you chose to follow me up here?” Roman pressed. That didn’t make any sense. Phantom had shaken off his ‘babysits’ before. What made Roman special?

“Um… Well… I just…” Phantom stammered. Roman wondered why. Was he bad with confrontation? Social interaction in general? Or had Roman said something that hit a nerve somehow?

“You interrupted my stake out!” Phantom blurted out all of a sudden.

“Do you know how long it takes to work my way up the ranks? First I have to find a low level runner, then I follow him to his boss, that guy to his and so up the ladder I go. I was getting real close to the big guy of this group. And now…” Oh… Well Roman could understand how that would be frustrating.

“I apologize,” he said sincerely with a small bow. “I merely intended to help. They were talking about killing you.” Surely he could understand that he could not stand by after hearing that.

“And now there is a price on your head! The leader of that little club is like two steps away from the big boss. They won’t be happy with you taking him in.”

Well… He had a point. But Roman had back up. It would be rather stupid of the mob to come after a hero with government sanctioning. And these guys would go behind bars for a long time right? “You got dirt on them?” he asked. If the guns weren’t enough then surely whatever Phantom  had gleaned from his stakeouts would be sufficient. Right?

“Yes… But that’s not the point. They have no clue about me. Not really. But you are out in the open. This is not your kind of mission Royal pain.” Oh, he had nicknames huh? It was an insult, but Roman didn’t mind witty banter. Especially if it came from a place of care. And Roman was starting to think it did.

“And now that you are out, you can’t expect me to hold your hand any longer…”

Roman crossed his arms and smirked catching the implications of what Phantom just said.

“You’ve been looking out for me all summer huh?” he guessed.

Phantom scoffed and probably rolled his eyes. While Roman still couldn’t quite see it, he would bet his entire Disney collection on it.

“It’s not like I came looking for you.” Phantom snapped. And Roman believed him.

“Still… Thank you…” he was going to say more but then he heard a beep in his ear followed by a loud voice. “Prince! Answer this instant!”

“Ow!” Roman exclaimed annoyed, reflexively reaching for his ear though it wouldn’t help much. He pressed the button to talk to BS. “One. Loud. Two. Rude! I am in the middle of something! And did you seriously remotely reactivate my com?”

He would demand a new com that couldn’t do that or he’d refuse to wear one period. What if he needed to concentrate right now? What if he was in the middle of tense negotiations or being told delicate information. As a matter of fact. This situation right here was delicate. One wrong move and Phantom might bolt. And he might not come along next time he found him. And even if he couldn’t get him to join the program, he wanted Phantom to know he had an ally in him. Someone to talk to, confide in, count on if he didn’t have anyone else.

“You do not turn off your com while going into a gunfight! It’s moronic to go in alone!”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I am fine, not a scratch on me.” He wasn’t going to mention that he wasn’t alone exactly. Phantom had never consented to BS and the rest of his team knowing.

“I’ll call you when I’m done here.” And this time he took the com out of his ear. BS could yell at him later.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “My mentor is… intense at times.” In a cold and distant way.

“Mentor?” Phantom asked.

“One of the people helping me practice my powers, test my limits. Comes with the program. It’s not just a babysit and a nice suit,” he joked casually.

“Oh…” Phantom’s tone was odd. It made Roman want to come closer and offer comfort. He didn’t though. They weren’t at that point yet. Not by a long shot.

“Listen, I admit I was sent by the chief. But I didn’t come here to recruit you. I wanted to thank you and tell you… If you ever need someone to talk to, to help you figure something out… I’d be more than happy to oblige. No need to tell me your name or anything about yourself,” he vowed as he reached out his hand. Phantom hesitated for a few moments before bridging the distance and offering his own.

Roman grinned and grabbed it for a firm shake. “I’ll see you next time,” he assured his fellow hero before letting go and turning around to finish his patrol.

Progress was made. Not much, but still.

He just might’ve made a new friend.

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

End of this part meet Virgil and read his story.

Masterlist

[thisdreamplace]

hi! i was the anon who asked about career, thanks for your thoughtful response. i dont know exactly what it means or how to change my self-concept. from my perspective, i was always overconfident, always thought i was amazing and super capable and smart and this reflected in my life. my peers admire my intelligence and would say “omg im so jealous youre so accomplished” and i would ace my exams in school without studying, i would get internships easily, i would get praised for my outstanding work ethic, etc. which i feel like means my 3d aligned w my inner self-concept? to be completely honest, i always thought and still think i am someone who accomplishes a lot and is admired, and not trying to be narcissistic but more that i work hard and it pays off. so thats why i was so shocked when things didnt go well? it didnt match up with everything i was used to, which is success. the pandemic and social media, bad news, etc. never affected me. i always thought id get any job i wanted. my sp and friends also would reflect my thoughts, saying that they know im going to get such an amazing job.. so i guess i wonder what “went wrong”? it really discouraged me and now i feel really worried and hesitant about applying for better jobs in the next year or so :( i tried journaling and meditating to really think about and be honest w myself but idk.. dont feel like i was ever lying to myself or that i deserve anything but the best and yet here i am

Hi!

It's really frustrating to feel like you've done it all and nothing is working. And I know it can feel even more frustrating to hear you aren’t doing anything wrong, when it feels like you clearly must be. The law is definitely a journey and it may not click all overnight. But the important thing is that you keep persisting, no matter what.

In my reality, I know for a fact self concept is at the foundation for everything. So I'm sorry, but this is the best perspective I can give you because it is the one that best aligns with my own experience. It’s an approach that really puts all the responsibility into your hands and it can feel like a lot at times. So I am sorry if this approach doesn’t really resonate with you, but it’s the most accurate and consistent way to get results from my experience.

That being said, it doesn't make sense for your 3D to align to your self concept then one day it decides it doesn't want to anymore and starts showing you things outside of your state. It cannot be so. The 3D doesn’t have a mind of it’s own. The thing about it is that you're not an exception to the law. As in, you're not hitting every nail on the head and it's still not working for you. No one is an exception to the law.

However, I also cannot say I know what is going on in your inner world. And from what you are telling me everything is perfect in your inner world. Thing is, this conflicts with the exact way the law works. The external reality is only a mirror. It will only ever be a mirror of you. So, if everything was great on the inside then the 3D would have no choice but to be great on the outside. Something is not adding up. But only you would be able to figure out what that is. And really, it’s not even something you need to search for. Just being and allowing yourself to go through life is often a good thing to do in moments where you’ve felt like you’ve exhausted all options.

But, from everything you're saying the best I can come up with is three things:

You focus on the 3D heavily. Everything you wrote about is validation from the outer world. You believed these things because something showed up to make you think so, but when things don't go your way it’s possible that you shut down. From your other ask, you said your friends would tell you "it's fine, first jobs outside of college are just like that." Thing about it is, everyone is you pushed out. People aren't giving you advice they came up with on their own. In this way, you can take that very verbal hint from your 3D. There's a part of you, a rather strong and persistent part of you, that believes that. Otherwise your friends couldn't have shown up to say it. On top of that, the fact you have had such a difficult time getting the job you wanted is proof on it’s own. The 3D does not have a mind of it's own. It simply does not. And the quicker you can take responsibility for what the 3D is showing you, then turn yourself towards your inner world to make the needed changes, then you will be able to experience what it was you sought to experience in the first place.

You come from a place of ego rather than a true place of knowing who you are. Everything you said about yourself is great. It's not narcissistic at all. It's amazing to see yourself in such high regard. But in some ways, it only scratches the surface. If everything was your true feeling deep within, this wouldn't be an issue right now. Your ego doesn’t manifest for you, your true self manifests for you. And you cannot be rejected unless you reject yourself. Think about it. If you are God of your reality and you know it to be the most stable fact in your life, how thrown off would you ever really be? How often would you feel powerless? You would have your human moments, sure. But you would be more confident and able to see passed the things in front of you. Like I said before, the law has a very simple way of working. As within, so without. No one is the exception. It works the same for all of us. Life doesn't happen to us, it happens through us. And it seems like a part of you feels you don't actually have control. Perhaps you could deepen that amazing feeling you feel to within you, to who you truly are. Rather than it only being tied to your identity as a human/ego, but also as your truth as the creator of your reality. Our human self can do very little. It is within us where we have the ability to move mountains. Hopefully that makes sense.

Finally, you keep feeling the need to try. And manifesting isn't a trying process. In everything you mentioned where you felt the 3D validated you, it seems like it just happened to be so. Everyone and everything seemed to align with you naturally, because that's how you saw yourself. But when it came to the career, you felt like it was time for you manifest something outside of you. Like you're getting something outside of you that you need to manifest in. When in truth, the job of your dreams is fulfilled within you first and then you experience is without. If you were fulfilled within, you may not love your current job but you wouldn't spiral because of it either. Because you don't need your job to be a certain way to make you feel good, you already know and feel good within. This is subtle, but it's important to notice. Because through that inner fulfillment, even if you would have taken this job it wouldn’t have lasted long before something better came along. But there’s a piece of you that isn’t allowing that into view. Either you’re giving up too soon (which it doesn’t seem like it, from your asks) or you’re simply not allowing the opportunity into your experience.

I truly hope this helpful. Once again, my biggest understanding of the law lies in self concept and I full heartedly believe it is at the heart of manifesting. So in that way, I am not able to answer you any better than from my own experience. But hopefully somehow you are able to take something from this and it will help you along on your journey. 💖

[iwadori]

hi i wanna try for ur matchup event <33

my name is qhloee its like chloe but spelled like qhloee, i use she/her and id like to be paired with a male character pls

im not rlly sure if im intro or extro im just a mix of both depending on my mood, i dont know my exact height but i think im somewhere near 5'0ft. im usually assigned as group leader in school group activities/projects and i love it. im not rlly the smartest in class but i have okay grades because i dont like studying at all but i do get serious when it comes to school i just listen to the discussion so that i dont have to study. i have a lot of friends but none im close enough to be best friends with. i think im quite carefree but not all the time i can get very serious because i like being responsible. i pull a lot of all nighters but i love sleeping i just procrastinate a lot so i feel tired almost everyday. i cry easily but i dont like being seen crying lol. I rlly like watching horror, thriller, mustery, comedy, psychological, and romance movies. im very quiet but i can get very talkative with the right person, i love cuddling and hugging. the arcade is my go to mall destination and i rlly like taking photos & videos. i often drift to sleep in the middle of the day, i love bubblegum and salted caramel flavored ice cream. my love language is acts of service, quality time, and physical touch. I dont rlly have any current hobbies but i do draw from time to time. im very straightforward sometimes and i like having things go my way so i sometimes get very bossy and serious. i wear glasses because my vision is so extremely bad and i have a resting b face but my friends say its vry different when i smile. im sometimes just sometimes sarcastic and petty depending on the situation. i like helping people with projects and assignments even if i dont get anything in return but ofcourse theres a line i dont cross. i hate getting looked down on so i get very rude but its usually mutual, im nice to people who are nice. I believe i can succeed anything that i want to, i like listening to music and im very forgetful. Even if im confident, i still need some reassurance here and there and i like peace.

i think ive written too much lol

i want a fluff scenario please,,, thank u so much writer～♡

Haikyu scenario event

Word count:500

Genre:minor minor angst,fluff

Apply for the event here

I match you with Kageyama.  

Yours and Kageyama’s relationship is like a push and pull between you both, but you always find stable ground in the end. With both of you having ‘straightforward,’ ‘bossy,’ persona’s it can be a handle for the people around however whenever you clash on certain things you always manage to find a compromise in the end. When you and Kageyama first met, he definitely commented you on your short height and other aspects about you. However, you definitely checked him on that and that was when he knew you were the one. He is attracted to your fiery personality, and he thinks you look extremely cute in your glasses.

Kageyama comforting you after you had a bad day,

You heard the door open and you quickly wiped your eyes and blew your nose to hide your tears that you were just having.

“Hey tobio,” you say forcing a smile.

“You’ve been crying,” he says, ignoring your greeting.

“No, I haven’t” you say sniffling again.

Kageyama leaves your room shutting your door, leaving you dumbfounded. You were a bit shocked but didn’t pay much mind to it since you were still upset from your bad day before. You spend the new few hours with Kageyama gone, so you decided to watch a repeat of one of your favourite thriller movies. On one of the scariest parts, Kageyama enters the house at the exact same time making you jump. “Gosh Tobio, you scared me.”

“’Sorry Qhloee” He said putting a bag on the side and taking out his contents “This is for you.” He handed you your favourite brands of salted caramel and bubble gum ice cream, to which you happily took.

“Whats the occasion Tobi?” you asks with a smile on your face, digging into the ice cream.

“Your sad.” he said simply “And when you sad, I need to make you happy so... ice cream?  

You laughed at his awkwardness but heated up at the kind gesture. From your lack of response Kageyama looked panicked and said “Did I get the wrong flavour? Do you need me to get a new one?”

“No Tobio, it’s all perfect.” You scoot over and pat the seat besides you “Now come sit down and watch this movie with me.”

“Is it a thriller movie?” he asks scowling at your nod “But I hate – fine then.” he sits on the couch and digs into the ice cream you gave him.

You guys end the movie with Tobio’s head in your lap, as you stroke through his hair explaining about your terrible day. Kageyama was a great listener he always knew when to chime in with his thoughts and opinoins and when to let you continue to speak. Before you went to bed you say “Tobio, you know we already have the ice cream in the freezer right?” to which Kageyama facepalms.

[lambourngb]

from “This Hard Heart”

gif by @scoundrels-in-love​

Hi! Remember Michael Week? Remember my fun AU after 2x05′s flashback? Previously it started here, continued here, here, here, here, and here. I teased the last part that is in progress here.  And finally another bit. This is finished in full on Ao3 now.

Michael stalked away from Alex angrily, and headed out to the perfectly curated garden attached to the rental house. Ornamental bushes, a bird feeder and a gorgeous fake dry riverbed snaked through the background in an attempt to provide a low maintenance backyard without compromising on the ascetics. As beautifully sculpted as the environment was, it did little to soothe the immediate anger rushing in Michael’s veins. 

Serenity was far away, almost in another galaxy for him.

Alex felt like he was the perfect candidate to assume his brother’s identity to the Caulfield Prison after Jim revealed he had an ID badge and uniform for the ruse. No matter how viciously Michael had protested the idea of a Nashville musician going undercover as a soldier, Alex had remained resolute in his desire to make things right and attempt to undo the harm his family had inflicted.

Michael scooped up a small decorative rock and threw it as hard as he could into the flat barren desert that stretched just beyond the property line. 

“Was that with or without your alien brain power?” Kyle asked, sitting up from the small patio table where he was partially obscured from view.

“Without,” Michael bit out. 

“Cool.”

There was a comfort there between them, forged over the nights where they both carefully didn’t probe past the surface subjects and simply used the physical touch as their language of communication. Michael kept his back to Kyle for a while, taking long deep breaths to push down the last vestiges of wild anger. He had lost the habit of this during the last few years, feeling helpless and paralyzed with fear over something happening to Alex; the last time was sitting in the back of the Wild Pony watching while Alex had dodged raucous drunks from the air base as he served drinks and bused the tables. Or those nights when Alex had walked home alone from the bus stop before Michael was finally able to get that frankenstein Ford up and running for safer transportation.

There was a crunch of gravel, and then in his peripheral vision, Michael watched as Kyle bent down to pick up a rock. He hefted the rock once, and then stepped back, like he was still that high school quarterback moving out of the pocket, and threw it. The rock took a slow flight and made a weak drop just a few feet away. Kyle looked at his hand first in betrayed confusion, and then where the rock landed close by.

Michael gave a slow clap in response, trying to keep from smiling too smugly as he briefly forgot his upset. “Wow that takes me back to Homecoming senior year, we were down by 3 against Goddard High-”

“And I threw that squib pass on 4th and 4,” Kyle finished, before shaking his wonderingly. “Oh my god, that was you, wasn’t it? You used your alien power, so I would lose that game.” He bumped his shoulder against Michael’s amiably. It said something about Kyle’s character that wasn’t angry with this reveal, just darkly amused, having left high school behind him. “Wow. What did I do to Alex Manes to deserve that? Wait, don’t remind me, no doubt I deserved that.”

“Nah, I wasn’t on his radar during Homecoming.” Michael had been too busy studying and applying for scholarships, to lift his head from his books occasionally. Except for when Max had pouted loudly for company in his ‘be wherever Liz was’ strategy for winning her heart. “No, this was because you were dating Liz Ortecho and my brother Max was head-over-heels in love with her. I was trying to do him a solid.”

“Loyal, aren’t you, I like that,” Kyle commented, looking out toward the setting sun on the horizon. Pink, purple and streaks of yellow stained the sky. Lights were starting to go on in the house as the shadows crept in. At some point, a plan of action would need to be agreed upon by everyone, but for now, this was the calm before the storm. And as the cicadas were just starting their song in the quiet, Kyle turned to face Michael. His handsome face blank of expression, “Dad said that Rosa was murdered by an alien. That wasn’t you, was it?”

[vivdunye]

present day, present time

and you don't seem to understand

fabled adages of science

so i was watching the snyder cut of justice league the other morning, i couldn't really begin to tell you why other than i needed 4 hours of background noise . but i tuned in at one point when the fictional super Israeli, wonder woman, narrated a scene explaining an alien technology "that was so advanced that it almost seemed like sorcery", and wouldn't yknow, that's a real concept actually, i recognized it immediately as clark's third law:

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

it's perhaps the most well known and oft quoted of the three, but i always felt like arthur c. clark's first 2 laws don't ever get quite enough love . i've been thinking heavily about the first law lately:

When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

i've been thinking about it in relation to this one quote from wernher von braun that i always liked:

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death.

many people are afraid of death; of ceasing the awareness of life, because they don't know what will happen to themselves after, where do they go if anywhere? it's much more nebulous in the secular sense if you haven't a construct for the afterlife already . i've been thinking about death more and more often lately to a worrying degree . however, scientific thought for all its clinical detachment from all things spiritual has strangely enough always felt like the perfect module for contemplating the metaphysical . so i decided to do some research .

i want to recall right now thomas edison's first intended use for the phonograph . edison had originally envisioned the phonograph primarily as a means of preserving the voices of loved ones after death . he later went on to try and develop a "ghost box" or "spiritphone" . this device would allow humans to communicate directly with the dead . he was unsuccessful .

if hauntology has taught us anything, we technically do have ghost boxes now, but maybe not in the way edison intended or even predicted . we carry them everywhere and can check them anytime, channeling messages through them constantly . we actively become digital ghosts, online we are both present and absent . the present implodes with the past, we've over-documented everything so now we can experience an instant nostalgia . today's future becomes archaic, we live in the archive to try and remember what the future once was .

'haunted' and 'futuristic' become one and the same .

by this token i'm reminded also by transhumanism . as the technological singularity fast approaches, as progress charges forward at a constantly increasing speed, current estimates posit the 2040s as the point in which technological improvements will occur at a constantly self-replicating rate . in the time between now and then, transhumanism and the eventual merging of human consciousness with machinery are theorized outcomes of technological progress . one day we might be able to leave the shackles of our human bodies and transcend our physical forms as a joined digital consciousness .

and in relation to this i also think now of clark's second law

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

through the wired

this is the stage on which the anime Serial Experiments Lain is set . a story, that while constructed on the patchwork of fiction, is nevertheless symbolic of certain phenomena based in reality .

also i apologize if it wasn't apparent that this post was going to be about Lain . im lainposting boys

the first few episodes exist to misdirect the viewer right from the beginning . and only by returning to these episodes having thought through the rest of the show, does their purpose become clear . the first episode, aptly titled "Layer 01: Weird" , is meant to show us exactly one thing, that lain is fucking weird . we can't tell what she's thinking, we can't tell what she's doing, and that's exactly how everyone around her feels . lain is totally and completely disconnected, she doesn't keep up with current events at school, she doesn't communicate with her family, near as we can tell she has no actual interests besides her stuffed animals and totally phasing out of reality. the inciting incident of the series happens when someone tries to make a connection with lain, and that person happens to be dead...

or at least there body is dead, their consciousness seems to have escaped into the wired . lain's decision to pursue this connection is what lead's her to ask her father for a new navi (the series' name for a personal computer) and that's all that really happens in this episode . coming back to it from later episodes we know that lain is probably thinking a lot throughout this episode . the decision to not entreat us to any of her thoughts is intentional, it is to make us feel distant from her as viewers, the same way that the world around her is distant . as lain forms connections throughout the series, so too, will we form a connection with her .

we do not know how much time has passed since then and the second episode, but whatever has happened lain has already developed a significant presence in the wired . this episode is tricky in its presentation as it doesn't make us privy to which things lain is lying about and which things she's honest about . in it we have lain talking to someone on her navi, she types sporadically in an encrypted language, and someone who looks just like her appears late one night in a night club downtown . while lain won't admit it to her classmates it's apparent at the end of the episode that it was her at the club all along . the key to understanding her actions throughout the episode is to realize she is trying to keep her existence in the wired and her existence in reality as separate entities . the realization she has by the end of the episode, which she uses to terrify a gunmen into suicide is that there is no escape from the wired, no matter where you are you are always connected .

made in the late-90s, Lain was quite ahead of its time . it predicted not only how in the early 2000s the internet would be regarded as a separate world where anonymity and personas reigned—it also predicted how the internet would eventually and inevitably overlap with the real world, once people in the real world realized that the internet is the real world . people have a tendency to see one part of themselves as their "true selves", whereas the parts they show to others are personas, they think of these things as separate when in reality a person is an amalgamation of all of their personas . lain tries to change her personas by dressing and acting differently from when she's in the wired-mode and in normal-mode, but she doesn't realize how people have been doing this way before the wired existed . her classmates are all 15 but they all pass for adults when they've dolled up and hit the club . if the characters in the show seem a bit young for their attitudes then you may not have met enough tech-savvy teenagers before . the purpose of this episode is to ultimately to prove to lain that the so-called real world and the wired are merely two layers of one reality, which couldn't be more true of the world today .

let there be light300pMTK. .

in mythology, psyche was the mortal princess who fell in love with and, eventually, married the god cupid; in religion and classical philosophy, psyche came to mean the human soul, and in the modern, literate world, it retains that meaning as the human spirit; in freudian analysis, psyche refers to the totality of the human mind: the id, ego and superego .

every meaning of psyche is distinctly human: a human princess who achieves godhood, the soul or mind of an individual . if previous episodes introduced the blurring of the real world with the wired, then episode three; "Layer 03: Psyche" is the episode that starts to blur human identity online and offline . one doesn’t even have to venture into the wired to ask what is human .

by this point we know that lain is definitely up to something . at this stage it's hard to tell what, but all we get are little glimpses into her actions . she still seems to be hiding a lot from the world around her and from the viewer in turn . ironically, lain's blank-faced silence and response to the questions of those around her it's own incrimination . when a police officer tells her to speak up (regarding the gunman's suicide) even if she had nothing to do with it, he doesn't realize she's being silent precisely because she does have something to do with it . but her deer-in-the-headlights persona gets her out of it .

the lain of the wired and the lain of reality are slowly starting to mesh into one whole . it remains difficult to interpret the physical existence of "other lain" so to speak, and the show refuses to outright show her playing that character . at the least, we do get to see lain access the wired in all its chaotic glory and she does begin to take an active interest in expanding her knowledge as she learns about and installs the "Psyche drive", a computer circuit that lain procures in hopes of it enhancing her computer's processing power . on the smaller scale, when lain applies the psyche processor to her navi, she is installing a spirit or soul, an animating element, to her machine . notably, the psyche does not replace the main processor; psyche augments the main processor, interpreting the data that flows through it . the soul is not simply the brain, it is an elevated consciousness or meta-self. by this point in the series lines become blurred and the lains begin to merge (hehe) . all of this is set against the backdrop of lain trying to decide if she should remain in the physical world or fully integrate in the wired . she hears one voice telling her that death feels amazing, and god exists in the wired, that there is nothing left for lain in this world . however, lain begins to establish a connection with her classmate alice, saying her name out loud and commiting it to memory for the first time, alice asks why her friends are not more shaken up after watching someone shoot himself in the head the previous day . it's almost as though lain is clinging to alice as an excuse to stay in the physical world out of fear for changing over . this all sets the seeds for what eventually grows throughout the series .

i want to recall the final meaning of the word “psyche". that the word also meant “butterfly,” which is how the greeks imagined the soul to appear . no doubt the symbolism of a creature that begins as one thing and transforms into another is not lost on us here .

every event serves to emphasize the existence of one's own personal reality, and as individuals from all others, we desire a place to belong . however that too is an egotistical concept . in order for there to be a mutual understanding, it is necessary to recognize here and now, like the brain synapses, we are all—in a logical yet chaotic manner—connected .

each is seperate—yet they are one . by connecting, humanity gains first awareness of its function as a seed . and by connecting a human no longer remains a mere endpoint, a "terminus", but becomes a junction to another point, having won the right to continue itself . in a sense, the ability to connect is the ability to continue . this not only applies to the connection of axial coordinates but temporal coordinates as well . therefore, at the time when a conscious, intentional connection is made, surely the dead will rise from there intended place, appearing at the time coordinate of the connection's origin .

in that moment, the realization will dawn that the time in which we inhabit our physical bodies is but the starting point of the connection, and the very meaning of possessing a physical body might be questioned .

we recognize we are connected .

serialize thyself .

[iworshipkeanureeves]

There Are No Rules (2/3)

Keanu Reeves x Reader (The Devil Wears Prada AU)

A/N: We are getting closer to @toomanystoriessolittletime​ birthday, so I’m updating the story dedicated to her birthday challenge. This one is a little dramatic with a lot of mixed feelings and some angst, but I hope you’ll enjoy it :)

Summary: Reader applies for a job in a fashion magazine where Keanu is editor-in-chief.

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of alcohol

Words: 3.2K

-Part 1-

“Keanu Reeve’s office, how can I help you?”

These words got carved into Y/N’s brain over the past couple of weeks. She had been repeating them at least fifty times a day, usually through her gritted teeth, and most of these calls would eventually leave her on the verge of tears.

No matter how much she hated this job, every day seemed easier than the previous one. Y/N felt like she was finally getting the hang of it all, and it was a little glimpse of hope that perhaps she was going to survive this madness. Maybe she was stronger than she thought she was.

Was Reeves as terrifying as everyone had told he would be? Yes, but in a strangely different way.

He had never really shouted or insulted her directly, yet Keanu had his way with words to make Y/N understand how immensely she had failed assigned tasks. Sometimes just his presence was fearsome, as his nit-picking gaze would land directly on Y/N’s desk, making her guts squeeze. Even if Y/N knew she was doing everything correctly, she felt like it wasn’t enough, it was impossible to live up to his standards.

When not in meetings, Keanu would sit in his office swiveling in his chair, enjoying the spectacular view of the New York skyline. Honestly, it didn’t appear like he was doing much, but Y/N could tell from his focused eyes that his mind was constantly at work.

Creatively Reeves had no rules, but when it came to his office, he preferred having everything structured. Every morning Y/N would receive a text stating Reeve’s breakfast order, and she had to get it before he came to work. A cup of plain black coffee, ready on his desk on time, was essential in order to make the day better for the whole office. Y/N was responsible for that, and whenever she failed, every co-worker would be badgering her for the remaining day.

The worst of them was Emily, who wouldn’t shut up about her upcoming Fashion Week in Paris and all expensive garments she was going to be able to wear. Y/N was neither bored nor jealous, but it was very hard to concentrate hearing Emily babbling for the whole day. Eventually, it would leave Y/N making more mistakes, which led to even more disapproval received from Reeves.

---

It was one of those calm days when Keanu didn’t have much on his hands. “Y/N, come over,” he called, and based on his frigid tone, Y/N immediately knew something was wrong. “Where are the Valentino samples I asked for the run-throughs?”

Y/N could already feel her hands sweating and her heart beating through her chest. “What?” her brows furrowed with tears threatening her eyes, she was simply too tired. “But you never mentioned those…”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Reeves sighed expressing his disappointment, which at this point was so familiar to her. “Will you ever do anything right here?”

Anything right…?

His words left Y/N helpless. For the past couple of weeks she had been working hard like never before, giving all her energy to keep the office organized and satisfy every single one of Reeves’ whims. Yes, she had made a few mistakes, but they were nothing compared to how much right she had done.

It was the moment Y/N realized she had had enough, she wasn’t even an assistant anymore, she was Reeves’ maid and it was time to save the last bits of her dignity.

“Oh come on,” her eyes were beginning to fill with anger, tears evaporating in the feverish air. Y/N didn’t even notice her clenched fists with nails digging into her damp skin. “Most of the things I do here are right, they are freaking perfect,” she breathed out, nearing to his desk. It looked like she was ready to fight him.

“It’s nice that you think so, but…”

“You never even notice, do you?” Y/N cut him off with a slight rise in her tone. “All you do is sit in your office, drinking coffee and flipping through the same couple of pages for the whole day,” she knew she was exaggerating, but Y/N was furious, she wanted to make Reeves feel bad, just like he had been making her this whole time. “You know, you couldn’t even manage to tell me to go get those samples, maybe you should start doing things right yourself?”

“Oh sweetheart,“ Reeves exhaled fixing his expensive scarf and stood up in need of reestablishing his dominance over Y/N, his wide shoulders were blocking the sun and casting shadow over her enraged face. He confidently walked around his table, and as Y/N saw him getting closer, she got scared not knowing what he was about to do next. Luckily, Reeves stopped crossing his arms and was ready to say something, but Y/N interrupted him again.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” Y/N knew she had crossed the line and there was no way back, disrespectful words had already escaped her throat, so she decided to go even further. “I am the only one here working my ass off, while Emily is barely functioning on her messed up diet. And yet somehow she’s still taking all the credit for my work. I-I just can’t deal with you and your crazy people anymore. You’re all delusional here,” she was practically shouting at this point.

It all felt like a dream to Y/N, she could barely understand what was happening, and her hammering heart was leaving her lightheaded. Y/N was gasping for air, all trembling and looking a little disoriented, Keanu could see that she physically wasn’t doing well.

Y/N felt his presence closer than before, his warm breath tickling her forehead. “Go on, I’m listening,” Reeves said, raising his hands up to her shoulders for better support. His words were unbelievably calm again, but this time it seemed like Keanu had no intention to intimidate, he genuinely wanted for Y/N to slow down a little and breath. She was questioning though, whether Keanu truly cared for her, or he just didn’t want to deal with the problem of Y/N passing out in front of him.

“I’m done,” she grunted escaping his grip. “I’m so. Fucking. Done.” Her words were quiet but convincing.

For a moment they stood still, Y/N was breathing deeply, debating whether it was time she should turn around and go, but Keanu’s sly smirk managed to catch her eye. “What’s so funny?” she asked, still annoyed, but slowly realizing she had been acting a little crazy, Y/N was beginning to regret her words.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N,” Keanu grinned, leaving her extremely confused.

“What?” She expected Reeves to be angry with her, maybe even come back with more hurtful words. But he didn’t.

“You’re done walking around with those sad puppy eyes, and I can finally see that you’ve got something in you. I saw that fire burning inside, keep it up.” He was about to come closer again, but tucked his hands back in the last second, keeping a polite distance.

“U-uh, okay..?” Y/N was still in shock, trying to understand how he could be so nice to her all of a sudden, especially after this little tantrum she had just thrown.

“Now I can be sure you’ll keep things in place here when I and Emily leave for the Fashion Week,” he tried to locate her sight, checking if she was fine. “Unless you really meant it when you said about being done, but I don’t think you did,” he gave her one last encouraging grin and returned to his usual state, solid and untroubled.

Indeed she wished she could take her words back, Y/N needed this job more than anything, she wasn’t going to find another one soon that would pay enough, and she couldn’t afford to be unemployed. She had secretly applied to a couple of other magazines, but since no one had reached back to her yet, she had to settle for what Reeves was offering her.

Still, it left Y/N wondering whether Keanu had been playing her all along, pulling strings one by one in order to see how far she can go before lashing out. She felt like his little toy, maybe one of his creative projects, something for him to have fun with. But Y/N was having no fun at all.

“I’ll go call Valentino about the samples,” Y/N exhaled turning around and rushed to the phone. Her heart was still racing with adrenaline flowing in her veins, and honestly, she was proud of herself too.

---

At 1:00 AM Y/N’s phone rang and she really thought about not answering it. Just in case, she decided to open her eyes and check the caller’s ID, unfortunately, it said Keanu Reeves.

In an hour, Y/N was standing on his doorstep holding a custom Tom Ford suit tailored just for Reeves. Of course, Keanu made them work on it until the very last night before leaving for Paris, and Y/N had to be the one bringing it to him.

“What took you so long?” He reproached opening his front door. Y/N was expecting to find him all pampered in some chic robe, but he was wearing simple jeans paired with a grey t-shirt, and his hair was messily falling over his face. To Y/N’s surprise, he looked like a normal human being, completely different from what she was used to see.

“Sorry, I was trying to be as quick as possible,” she smiled apologetically, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad.

Keanu just sighed opening his door wider, implying Y/N should come inside. She was immediately looking around for something to hang the suit on, so that she could quickly turn around and go home.

“Yet, here you are, wearing a full face of make-up,” he spoke locking the door, and Y/N took this as a sign that he wasn’t going to let her easily leave. “You know, showing up twenty minutes earlier would have impressed me much more.”

“Come,” he invited her up the stairs, waiting for Y/N to make up her mind. She was quite reluctant at first, lagging in the hallway, but she was also very intrigued, and ultimately, curiosity took over her.

Y/N was following Reeves mesmerized by the penthouse he was living in. High ceiling and tall white walls decorated with colorful artwork, it seemed like he was living in an art gallery. Every painting was more eccentric than the previous one, but it wasn’t happy kind of art. In fact, Y/N felt surrounded by a somber ambience, and the quietness of his home only added to it.

“So, you live here all alone?” Y/N realized she knew nothing about his personal life, no one had even gossiped about him in the office.

“Mhm,” Keanu hummed, showing the way to his living room, where his luggage was set ready, together with the rack curving from numerous expensive suits, which all looked the same to Y/N. “Hang it here,” he commanded turning to the console table to pour himself a drink.

Y/N was very careful, afraid the rack wouldn’t hold any more weight. Fortunately, everything went fine, and she was about to leave the room, when Reeves stretched his arm handing the bottle to her. “Help yourself,” he offered, leaving Y/N unsure whether she should accept it or not.

“U-uh, I think I should go,” Y/N kind of wanted to agree, she was interested to learn more about him, but at the same time she thought it would be wise to keep a professional distance between them.

“Do you have someone waiting for you?” He was unexpectedly persistent to make Y/N stay, and she didn’t really know what to think of it. 

“No, I just don’t want to disturb you,” she was trying to turn him down, but her words didn’t sound too convincing. Maybe it was his tacit loneliness bringing sympathy to Y/N’s heart, which was forcing her to stay for a little longer.

“Be my guest.” His arm was getting tired, so he pushed the bottle further, practically sticking it in Y/N’s hands. Instead of waiting for another rejection, he went past her and got himself comfortable on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

For a minute Y/N still hesitated, she wasn’t afraid to tell him no, but there was something mysteriously captivating about Reeves and she wanted to explore it further. Y/N poured herself a modest glass and went to join him for a conversation.

“Did you force me to go get you Tom Ford in the middle of the night just because you wanted company?“ she asked jokingly, but then immediately realized it was probably true and the question might have sounded a little offensive.

“Don’t you already know the answer?” Keanu mumbled looking down, and Y/N couldn’t believe it was the same man that she had been terrified of before. Now he seemed vulnerable and exposed, without that mask putting a stone cold expression on his face.

“Can I ask you something else then?” Y/N was much softer now, sipping her drink and thinking if the alcohol was going to start working soon.

“Go ahead,” he smiled.

“Why did you hire me?” It was the question bothering Y/N from the very beginning. She had been feeling so out of place at Vogue that even she wouldn’t have hired herself there.

“I needed some fresh air, I was getting tired of seeing the same kind of people.” Y/N was looking at him hypnotized, his husky melodic voice was like music to her ears. When at Vogue, Y/N would pray for Reeves to just shut up and go away, but now she felt like she could sit for hours just listening to him. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Vogue girls, I really fancy them. They live on caffeine, nicotine and five hundred calories a day, yet they’re still always perfect and on top of their game, it’s impressive… But honestly, they can be depressing sometimes, and I thought I just needed someone like…” Keanu stalled, thinking about his next words. “Like you,” he silently said.

“What am I like?”

“I don’t know, you’re just different. You seem like you don’t care at all.” Keanu put an empty glass down, shifting his core towards her.

Every little move was bringing them closer, and Y/N knew she was walking a very thin line here. “And that’s good?” Y/N asked getting a little bolder, she was curious to know more of his opinion on her.

“It’s definitely not bad,” Keanu murmured, gazing into Y/N’s eyes. They both had their elbows leaning on the backrest and Y/N felt Keanu’s hand gently landing onto hers. She was trying to think of possible questions to keep the conversation going, but his touch was too distracting, and Keanu got the chance to speak first.

“What would you do if I kissed you now?” He asked, locking his eyes on Y/N.

Her mind went blank and she didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Briefly she thought that maybe the words were all in her head, just her imagination disclosing her deepest desires, but very soon she realized this was a real question.

Maybe Keanu was playing her feelings again, provoking and expecting a reaction, but fuck, she really wanted him to kiss her. Part of her hoped it was the alcohol speaking, but Keanu only had so little of it that it was an impossible case. It was all him, loud and clear, asking Y/N what she would do if he kissed her…

“A-are you going to?” Y/N stuttered, feeling the weight of his sturdy palm pressing on her.

A long silent pause followed after her words, or maybe time just felt different as Y/N was anxiously waiting for Keanu’s actions, she was desperately holding herself back from falling into his lips.

“No,” Keanu suddenly came back to his senses sliding his hand away. It was obvious he felt uneasy too, getting all flustered and trying his best to stay composed. “That would be highly inappropriate. I am your boss.” He exhaled with disappointment in his voice.

“Y-yes,” Y/N gulped, downing the remaining of her drink.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, that would be inappropriate.” Y/N stretched her arm trying to grasp the handbag lying next to her on the sofa. “And I should get going, it’s late,” she blurted standing up and heading towards the exit. Y/N completely understood that running away was not very mature, but she thought it was better this way than staying to talk this through and saying something much more stupid.

Meanwhile, Keanu was rushing after, following her to the front door looking all worried. Y/N was relieved remembering she would not have to see him for another week and she foolishly hoped that everything would be forgotten once he came back. Keanu, on the other hand, had something else in mind.

“Wait” he grabbed Y/N by the wrist, turning her away from the door. “Come to the Fashion Week with me.”

Keanu struck Y/N with his words for the second time this night. She knew they had to leave in the morning and Emily was probably sitting at home with her bags full, getting ready for the event she had been dreaming about for so long.

“What?” Y/N knew that agreeing would make her a terrible person. “No, I can’t, Emily would never forgive me,” she was eagerly shaking her head, failing to understand what the hell was happening. She didn’t want to reject Keanu, but betraying Emily like that was not an option too. What would that make her? No different than any other person from Vogue.

“Why do you care?” he asked moving closer, and all Y/N could focus on was his lips, the ones she almost got to taste tonight. “Just please don’t tell me she’s your friend, because trust me, there are no friends in this business.”

“No, we’re not friends, but still… Don’t you understand how mean it would be to do so?” Y/N was trying to uphold her values, but Keanu was ripping them away from her.

“Has she ever been nice to you?”

“Well not really, but…”

“Great, I’ll call her to tell the news,” Keanu said with his chest almost pressing Y/N to the door, while he was working behind her to undo the lock. For a moment Y/N felt like Keanu was kidnapping her, but at the same time, she knew that a simple ‘no’ coming from her could resolve everything. She just didn’t want to say it. “I’ll pick you up at eight, good night,” Keanu smiled letting her go.

“Good night…” Deep down Y/N knew how wrong it all was, she didn’t feel like she deserved it, not to mention how devastated Emily was going to be, and on top of everything, there was that awkward kiss moment, which Y/N still couldn’t fully comprehend.

Nonetheless, it was Y/N’s chance, her big opportunity to put herself out there, make connections, and maybe soon she was going to be the journalist she had always dreamt being of.

-Part 3-

Tag-list: @keandrews @rdjloverxxx @jadore30-deactivated20200603​ @danceoftwowolves

>Masterlist<

[atlfics]

Senior Year- All Time Low Fanfiction

Jack and Alex have a heart to heart the night before their senior year of college. College AU. Word Count: 1946

More notes at the end. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to do anything else for you before I leave, Alex?” Alex’s mom asked him in the doorway of the entrance to his dorm building.

“Yeah, I’m sure mom. All of the IKEA furniture we got is put together and all of the other stuff I was hoping you’d help me with his all done. I want to hang out with Jack some before we get to sleep. Besides, his parents didn’t stay as long as you did, so he might need my help with some of the finishing touches to his room,” Alex replied.

“Okay, Alex. I hope you have a great first day of classes tomorrow, I can’t believe that you’re a senior now! You’re going to do great things this year, and if there’s anything that your father or I can do to help you with applying to graduate schools, don’t hesitate to call. Also, anytime you want a home cooked dinner, you know you can come home,”

Alex laughed and rolled his eyes some.

“I’ll be okay, mom. I really appreciate everything and thank you for helping me so much these last three years with navigating college. Also, I’ll definitely come home on a weekend for that homemade meal you mentioned! Be safe going home, I love you,” Alex said, hugging his mom.

“See you soon, Alex!” his mother exclaimed, before turning around and making her way out to the parking lot.

Once she was gone, Alex excitedly ran up the stairs to the floor where his dorm was. As of the next morning, he would officially be a senior, and it was a very bittersweet feeling. On one hand, he was excited to graduate and be one step closer to his dream career, but he would also miss the college experience and the friends that he had made along the way, especially his roommate and best friend, Jack.

He had met Jack halfway through their sophomore year, and they’d become very fast friends. They hung out often and when they weren’t together, they’d always be texting. They’d lived together the previous school year, and it was the best rooming situations that Alex had in his entire college career. They were living together again this year, but now they were in the nicest dorm that was reserved for seniors. The dorms were apartment style, so they all had a kitchen, living room, shared bathroom, and two separate bedrooms.

Once Alex finally arrived at their dorm, he swiped his ID to let himself in, then set his stuff down on the counter.

“Jack, are you in here?” Alex yelled out.

“Yeah, I’m in my room. Come in here, I have to show you something!” Jack shouted in response. Alex went over to Jack’s room and was immediately impressed when he opened the door.

“Woah, it looks awesome in here, man!” Alex exclaimed, looking all around the room.

Jack had taken a bunch of posters and photos of his favorite bands and covered his walls with them. Two of the walls had large collages on them, and the others had bigger posters and banners on it. Alex liked almost all of the same bands that Jack did, but he didn’t quite have the same decorative eye that Jack did, so he was very impressed with his friend’s work.

“Thanks, Alex! So, you don’t think it’s, like, too much, right?”

“What? Hell no dude, I think it looks perfect! I don’t know how you’re so good at this stuff, but it really does look great!”

“Thanks Alex, I really appreciate it. I think I’m done with putting this dorm together for tonight, if I keep working, I’ll just stay up all night fixing small things that don’t really matter. What are you up to for the rest of the night?”

“Absolutely nothing. I don’t feel like working on my room anymore tonight, too. Hey, I bought some ice cream when I went grocery shopping with my mom this afternoon, do you want to hang out in the living room and have some with me?” Alex offered.

“Sure, after the hectic day I’ve had from moving everything in, relaxing with some ice cream sounds great,” Jack replied. The two of them went out to their kitchen, and Alex made up two bowls of ice cream.

“Is this enough?” Alex asked, handing Jack his bowl.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Jack replied, before leading the two of them over to their couch in the living room.

“Dude, I can’t believe that we’re actually seniors in college now. Literally how did that even happen?” Alex asked in between bites of his ice cream.

“Beats me, man. Also, I can’t believe that we’ve been friends for almost two full years now. That kind of feels like a long time, but it also feels like I’ve known you for a lot longer than that, y’know?”

“Oh, I totally agree dude. Like, since we got so close so fast, it really does feel like we’ve been friends for a lot longer than we actually have been. I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so glad that we met when we did. Like, you and your friendship really couldn’t have come at a better time,”

“You always say that, but I really didn’t do that much, dude. I just hung out with you,”

“No, it was a lot more than that, at least for me. Like, I was really struggling sophomore year, in more ways than one. I was literally the most depressed I’ve ever been in my life that year, and for some reason, you still wanted to be my friend, and you talked me off of some serious ledges once I felt ready to let you in more. I honestly don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for you and your friendship,” Alex confessed, his face getting a bit red.

He had always been very comfortable expressing his feelings to his friends, but just thinking about how much of a mess he was when he’d first started hanging out with Jack was enough to make him feel a bit embarrassed.

“I mean, you were my first real friend here, I just wanted to do what I could to help, since your friendship was a really big deal to me, too. I really feel like you were the first friend I’ve ever had who really understood me and accepted me for who I was,” Jack replied.

“Well, everyone who decided that they didn’t want to be your friend is really missing out, because I’m being serious when I say you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I just still can’t believe that you were so nice to me and did so much for me when we barely knew each other. Like the second half of sophomore year kind of feels like a fever dram because of how I was feeling mentally. I don’t know, getting to spend the year with you, or even when we just texted, it felt like an escape from the shitty stuff that was going on in my life and in my head. I know that you don’t really think it was a big deal, but it was to me, you’re a really great friend. Actually, that’s why I’m a bit anxious that it’s our last year,” Alex said, his voice getting smaller towards the end.

“Wait, what? Why are you anxious about that, Alex?”

“It’s probably going to sound really stupid,”

“It’s not going to be stupid Alex, I promise. Come on, tell me what you’re worried about,”

“I guess I’m just nervous about us growing apart after graduation. I know we’re both planning on doing at least some graduate school next year, but I guess I’m just scared that you’ll get too busy to maintain our friendship, or that you’ll find better friends who are actually in the same place as you, causing this friendship to not really be a priority anymore. I’m sorry, I bet that sounds dumb,” Alex said, looking down and playing with the ice cream in his bowl with his spoon.

“No, you don’t sound stupid, but I can promise you that those things won’t happen, no matter where we end up or who we end up meeting, those factors won’t just erase this friendship. I’ve told you this, but meeting you changed my life for the better, and I’m not going to just throw all of that away because of some distance or other people. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jack assured in a serious voice.

“Thank you for that, Jack, I needed it. You always know what to say to calm me down,” Alex replied with a nervous laugh.

“You do the same for me, dude,”

“I don’t know, everything having to do with the future really stresses me out. Like, I’ll be taking the GRE soon and I feel like I could’ve studied more, but I worked all summer, so the uncertainty of next year makes me really uncomfortable. I know all of this is ridiculous and I need to just take it all one day at a  time, but that can be hard. When I stress over that, all of these worst-case scenarios pop into my head, including the one about our friendship fading from us being far away from each other,” Alex explained, still playing with his ice cream.

“Well, it’s totally normal to be stressed over this, it’s a big deal for you and your future, but it’s not worth freaking yourself out so much over. Also, I can promise you that the state of our friendship is something you don’t ever have to worry yourself with. This is our senior year dude, it’s supposed to be the time of our lives, and I’m going to make sure that it is. Everything will be okay in the end, Alex, don’t worry,”

“Thank you, Jack, I needed this. I’m so glad we’re friends, it’s improved my life in so many ways to have such a great friend. Thanks for always knowing what to say,”

“No problem, man. We’re in all of this together, just remember that. I’m so glad we’re friends, and I’m so excited to share this sweet ass dorm with you, and to have the best senior year ever! We’ve got to live it up this year, dude. It’s our last chance to live the college life to the fullest!” Jack exclaimed, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Oh, we will be, I’m so excited to make more memories together. Hey, do you want to turn on a movie, we can watch it until we’re ready to head to bed for the night,” Alex suggested, grabbing the remote to their shared TV they bought the year before on Black Friday.

“Sure, let’s see what’s on!” Jack excitedly replied. After a bit of channel surfing, Alex saw that The Hangover was playing.

“Is this okay with you?”

“Yeah, put it on, man!”

Alex selected the movie, and they started to watch it for the millionth time each.

Even though he initially felt a bit embarrassed about it, Alex was glad that he’d talked to Jack. Jack really had done so much for him ever since they’d met almost two years ago, and while Alex knew he couldn’t ever really express how grateful he was with something as simple as words, he was glad that Jack knew how appreciated he was. Even though Alex was still nervous for senior year and the future beyond graduation, he felt a sense of relief knowing that he’d have Jack by his side for all of it, no matter what.

A/N: Hey guys, I wrote this fic late last night and finally got it typed up this afternoon! It was written with myself and a very good friend as the inspiration for it, so it is a bit personal but I'm very excited to be sharing it. I already have a few more recovery based fics drafted, but please send in requests if you have any! I'd love to bring some of your all's ideas to life! Thank you for reading, I'm hoping to have another fic up really soon! Lots of love, Liv.

[iwritethat]

Bruce Wayne: Ladies Man

A/N: A bit of Batman because I don’t have enough on here.

>>>>——————————>

It was simply a side job, in Gotham such honest living was difficult to come by so when an old friend of the family offered you a waitress position at their bar you couldn't refuse whilst getting through school at 16. Who wouldn't want to earn some cash right? Surprisingly they upheld a few laws, like not letting you serve alcohol but if you remained then it would be something you'd learn among other things.

After 2 years, one interesting thing about the job was the vast variety of customers the bar attracted. You intermingled with the likes of Gotham royalty, both of upper class and the underground depending on the day and being a long term employee meant they remembered your name whether you liked it or not. Unfortunately, due to your uncanny ability to charm just about anyone, you were the pub favourite often requested to serve and the owner adhered to the requests of the wealthy for obvious reason - plus they tipped you generously.

Among these was young bachelor Bruce Wayne, you were on a first name basis with how often his friends came in clubbing. They weren't 21 but money and fake IDs do the talking. Although you cared not for their names, it was Bruce who seemed more mysterious and calculating than he'd ever let on.

Tonight he sat at the bar in contemplation, a member of his group snogging the face off of some lass rather lazily in your opinion.

"I'm surprised you aren't indulging in the same luxuries." You casually addressed your friend, sliding your platter onto the bar and leaning on it beside him gesturing to the aforementioned pair.

"I'm not great at charming women yet. The status does it all for me right now."

"You can't rely on that! You're Bruce Wayne, I expect you to be smooth and have me falling at your feet. What if there's a girl you really like who won't care for your status hm?" He raised a brow at your playful tone, but you'd captured his interest as you usually did unintentionally.

"I don't know, I haven't met one yet."

"Alright then we're going to prepare for that day so she'll be wanting more. C’mon, show me." You patted the bar for emphasis, smirking at his suddenly confused expression.

"Right here, now?"

"Dazzle me." Came your simple yet upbeat response as you gestured him to bring it.

"Okay fine. So uh... you come here often?" Bruce attempted rather awkwardly, leaning against the bar in a way he thought to be seductive as you remained unreadably silent.

"Pfffttt that's the best you've got?" You couldn't hold your laughter for long, head falling into your arms on the bar to stifle them.

"No - no! (Y/n) it's not that funny..." He hummed, lightly nudging your arm to regain your full attention.

"You're right, I just - it was so bad. You're so crap at flirting it hurts!"

"Oh? How would you do it then?" For someone so young, he was challenging and you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.

You ran your hands through your hair, fingers gently grazing his arm with a gentle bite of your lip.

"Now now, we can't have you falling for a mere waitress now can we?"

"You're not just a waitress (Y/n)..." His gaze followed you around the bar as you now learnt over it with a courteous smirk.

"Right there - you watched me walk away, I already have you hooked right?"

"Wait - that didn't - you didn't use a pick up line or anything! How does that even count?" Bruce looked back and forth, stammering once coming to the realisation that you'd charmed him so easily whilst you leaned back to clean a glass.

"Look, chances are that pickup lines are only going to be laughed about and to break the ice anyway, after that you've just gotta be yourself. The people who are worth it will stick around." You gave a haphazard shrug with a genuine smile on your lips and you nodded to the billionaire across from you. It always caught him off guard, the amount of wisdom you held for someone only his age.

"Like you?"

"There are better people in the world than me Bruce Wayne."

—

The air was bitter as you stood outside the usually welcome doors of your workplace, ones that remained closed due to recent occurrences. You held the keys and deed between your fingers, fiddling due to the unfamiliar weight of newfound responsibility - the owner was always a mysterious man, striking resemblance to a character from Kingsman adorned with a British accent and designer suits. Even so his death came as a shock, his Will stating that his bar and all its contents be passed on to you even more baffling.

"The only thing you'll catch out here is a cold." A calm but witty voice commented, the man now standing beside you expecting your signature snark.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard the news, and I thought you might like some company doing this. I know you could handle it but I'm here." Bruce casually answered, your friendship remained constant through the years even if surprising. It seemed you just couldn’t get rid of each other.

"Is it a nightclub? Pub? Restaurant? A combination of all that? Is that even legal? I can't run this place - I don't even know what the hell it is! And the customers - they’re... well, some of them are illegal..." You grimaced at your overwhelmed outburst, palm slipping from the door it once had the intention of opening.

"Hey, why don't you come over to the Manor? I've got the evening free and we can go through it all together, and I'll attempt to lighten you up as we go." You were carefully torn from the door, the millionaire holding your hands in his, the warmth a welcome comfort from the breeze of Gotham.

"The key word in there was 'attempt', wasn't it?" You met his concerned gaze now, tone holding expectant sarcasm despite remaining laced with defeat.

"It has been said that my brooding can get in the way." Bruce responded, hand rubbing the back of his neck out of what you assumed was embarrassment.

"Sounds fun, lead the way oh rich one." You released a half hearted chuckled as the male rolled his eyes, offering his arm to you. However, the foreign soft whisper that followed caught him off guard so much so that he almost made a spelling error on the email currently cancelling tonight’s scheduled meeting.

"And thanks Bruce... for everything."

You spent the night at the Manor, delving into your insecurities and Bruce aided in the business side of things where he could in aid of settling at least some of the worries you had. Afterwards you enjoyed one another’s company, catching up on the weeks events as well as the unfurling of his newest addition to the household over the fanciest champagne and 5* meal courtesy of Alfred who you’d convinced to dine with you also.

-

In a month or so with Bruce’s support you were able to apply your extensive knowledge of the business into running it as your predecessor had and since the regulars knew you already it made it much easier as profits rolled in rather substantially. Now you knew how the old manager could afford his luxury suits.

Tonight though, Bruce made an appearance looking rather despondent and almost exhausted which may not be so obvious to surrounding staff or those not close to him but of course, you were an exception.

Naturally, you leaned on the opposite side of the bar, promoting a weak smile after you’d asked what was bothering the man.

"A business deal didn't go quite how I expected, and it kept me up all night." Bruce summarised, strategically avoiding the details regarding Penguin.

"Then I believe you need some cheering up, I hope you don't have any plans because they are now cancelled~"

"The Manor is free, I can get some strawberrry champagne (Y/n) -"

"Nope, it's my turn. You're about to find out how us commoners spend our evenings."

Without another word you walked him to your spacious apartment which was only around the corner, the hefty bar profits kept it well furnished and your cupboards stocked - even so, you convinced the billionaire to lower his standards to order in which you paid for against his protest.

"I'm paying this time, you're the one whose had it rough recently so I'm treating you. That's what friends are for, besides this food is a little below your pay grade don't you think?" You laughed as you filtered through your movie collection before finding a perfect selection for the night.

"If you think that after adopting Dick that I haven't been subjected to takeout then you're sorely mistaken. I quite enjoy it actually." The billionaire replied rather smugly, slowly growing accustomed to the relaxing atmosphere you and your home radiated. Bruce, for once, felt oddly content.

The movie began and ended, the time filled with idle conversation of which grew deeper as the credits rolled and continued whilst you pottered in the kitchen. Moments later you emerged with a tray, Bruce opening his mouth and closing it being too taken aback to comment.

"I present to you, Chocolat de (L/n)." Came your dramatic voice, accent where necessary to add charm.

Bruce shot you an amused glance, carefully taking on of the two tall mugs from the tray you held - the hot chocolate topped with cream, marshmallows and a flake - very appealing to the eye and tastebuds. It was practically famous in your club.

"(Y/n)?! This is - incredible.”

“Why thank you, only the best for you right?”

He smiled at that, a genuine smile that he’d hoped expressed his immense gratitude right about now.

“That must be why I have you then.”

“Ah, now that is a smooth line. Being in my company has improved your skills huh?” You wittily countered, though Bruce only offered a hopeless yet content sigh.

Clearly they weren’t as effective as you believed.

-

Bruce seemed refreshed after leaving that night, he’d emphasised his regret of not being able to see you in person to thank you properly over the various texts you’d exchanged in the past week - although, as you were wiping down the counter after an early close you were not expecting the uncanny interruption.

An hallowing echo against the oak bar captured your attention, finding a sheepish bachelor at it’s origin.

"What's this?" You inquired as you picked up the item he’d placed down moments ago, inspecting it precariously.

"It's premium Raspberry Ripple White Hot Chocolate - I thought we could try it, together."

"How on Earth do you get as many women as you do with vague attempts like that hm?" An amused brow was raised in his direction, the action relaxing the millionaire more than he’d admit.

"I'm much smoother when I don't actually have genuine feelings for someone, as such I suppose you don't get the privilege of cliché pick up lines. So what do you say (Y/n)?” It was unorthodox yes, but judging by your quiet laugh he assumed it was the way you’d want it.

"You had me at 'Do you come here often?'"

-BONUS-

"You're saying that line worked." Bruce taunted from his place by the Manors kitchen island, you sipping your drink with a nonchalant argument.

"It did not. It was awful."

"I had this all semi planned from the beginning (Y/n)." He smugly replied, tone basking in the victory of the overly drawn out ‘plan’.

"Hah! I refuse to believe this is how you predicted things to go when we first became friends." It was possible but it had been years since you’d first met, he could not have suspected you’d ever end up together this far ahead.

"You're correct Miss (Y/n), Master Bruce spent the entire evening whining about how he'd embarrassed himself in front of you after your little competition and that it was near impossible to win your affections. A common occurrence whenever he visited your bar really..." The loyal butler unceremoniously intervened, pride radiating from his unwanted revelation as he entered the kitchen.

"Alfred." Bruce released a defeated groan as he had you wrapped around his finger for a second, something he’d wanted to relish in for a few seconds before Alfred had besotted you with the truth.

You however, were pleased with the information, winking at your partner with a gracious smirk befalling your lips.

"Knew it."

[moonstruckbucky]

Come Over (2/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you everybody for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! I don’t think I’ve ever had that much response from the get go on a new series. Anyways, this part’s a bit longer. Feedback/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ♥ P.S. - Not sure how many of you saw my recent post regarding tag lists but I figure I’d mention it here: I am not longer doing tag lists. Honestly the work to payoff ratio is so off there’s no point in my doing them anymore, coupled with the fact that Google docs is unreliable. More than half the people on these lists don’t interact with the stories they’re tagged for anyways, so I’m just not doing tag lists anymore. Please don’t ask me for tags.

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Your first day at Stark Industries goes perfectly. Tony is a little ...out there for lack of better terminology, but overall he is the perfect boss—not too needy except in his caffeine addiction. He doesn’t go easy on you, firing off press conferences and meetings and so many other events at you in some funny attempt to get you to slip up. You surprise him by repeating each event, date and time included, in perfect chronological order. Behind his sunglasses, his dark eyebrows raise.

Your lunch is taken at your desk as you fill in your new planner with all the events Tony had given you. Your entire month of September seems to be filled to the brim with meetings you’re required to sit on, presentations of new tech, and luncheons with other big conglomerates in the industry. It’s overwhelming, but you didn’t plunge yourself into massive student debt for easy. 

You even get a chance to meet a few of your coworkers when you step out for coffee for both you and Tony. Unsurprisingly, he takes it black with two sugars. A brunette woman and a tall man with glasses stand in front of you in the coffee shop on the bottom floor of the building, and when she notices you, she smiles and turns around to fully face you.

“You must be Tony’s new assistant,” she says. Returning her smile, you nod and throw out a hand.

“Y/N.”

“Wanda. And this is Vis, he works in Finance for Stark Industries.” The tall man smiles too and instead of shaking your hand, he kisses the back of it. Wanda giggles at the surprised look on your face and lightly slaps Vis in the chest.

“Vis, don’t scare the poor girl on her first day.”

The two of them step up to the counter and order, and Wanda waits while you do the same. She pulls you into a light conversation, asking how your first day is going, what it’s like so far working for Tony, where you moved from, and you answer them all easily. Wanda seems to be an easygoing person, one you look forward to getting to know better. Vis is quiet, but he interjects here and there for clarification on some things or to ask you questions of his own.

Wanda works in Marketing for the company, a huge duty in your opinion, but she seems to like the responsibility. She’s funny and sweet, and the three of you get into the elevator together once you all have your coffees. After exchanging numbers and a promise for a night out together soon, you part ways. Tony’s on the phone when you step into his office after knocking lightly with your knuckles, and he waves you in while telling the person on the other line just where he can shove “such a bullshit offer”.

Your face must show your slight shock at Tony’s mannerism because he smirks and accepts the coffee you hold out to him, downing half of it in a single gulp. He jiggles the cup idly.

“Sometimes you gotta play a little hardball. I’m expecting his call back in about, oh, twenty minutes,” he boasts, spinning on his heel to saunter over to the workstation set up in his office. “So, new blood, why me?”

You’re momentarily surprised by the question; most of your day had been spent following Tony around and scribbling down notes, and now you find yourself put on the spot by his suddenly asking about you. Mentally you fumble for an answer, your confidence a little wobbly after the surprise wears off.

“Where else am I going to be part of the greatest technology to ever exist?” is the response you settle on, if only to stroke Tony’s wild ego a bit. He grins cheekily and sips at his coffee.

“I like you,” he mutters, as if to himself.

He asks you a few more personal questions about yourself, questions that weren’t answered in the interview he regrettably, so he says, could not be present for. It feels rather odd having this kind of rapport with your boss, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Your previous employers only cared about your being on time and getting your work done, but Tony seems to take an honest interest in your schooling, your experiences, and where you see yourself headed in the future.

“Yikes,” he yelps when he checks the Stark Watch on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’m sure you have some work to finish up before you go home.”

He says it with an apologetic smile behind his sunglasses, and the responding smirk you send him feels natural.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“Ah, ah, Tony, please. Mr. Stark makes me sound old and cynical.”

You snort. “Very well, Tony. If I don’t see you before I leave I’ll see you in the morning for our seven AM meeting with AIMTech.”

Winking quickly, you spin around and head back to your office, humming lowly but happily. Your first day at Stark Industries has gotten much better than expected and it puts a small spring in your step as you head back to your office. Office. You can’t even believe that as a personal assistant you’re entitled to an actual office as opposed to just a desk out in the open. But, from what you could gather from talking to Wanda, working for Stark Industries won’t feel like work at all.

You finish keying in changes and adjustments to Tony’s schedule that you’ve received via email. Fortunately, your meeting the next morning remains unchanged, but you feel secure in staying on top of everything. There’s a comfort and a calmness that comes with strict, almost obsessive organization for you. Things feel complete, in their proper places, and so you spend the last fifteen minutes of your work day organizing and reorganizing your desk in a fashion that seems most efficient and less hectic. Your planner is within easy reach, and your computer calendar is pinned to your taskbar. You feel good, at home here, where you can keep someone else’s life perfectly organized.

You take the subway home, earbuds shoved in your ears and streaming the latest episode to the My Favorite Murder podcast. Your feet are a little sore from your shoes, only slight relief when you shift your weight and readjust your feet inside them. The couch, a blanket, and some tea are desperately calling your name as you step off the subway and walking stiffly back to your apartment building. Your first real day in the city had been spent familiarizing and memorizing the routes to and from work so as not to be late for your first day. Now you know it perfectly and you greet the doorman to your building with a tired smile.

Your day was invigorating, but man, are you exhausted. Now that the pressure to be professional and keep focus is off, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. The rickety elevator doors open with a squeak and you step inside and lean against the cool metal of the back wall.

Bucky is in the hallway when the doors open on your floor, looking like he’d just gotten home from work himself and on the phone. Your steps falter a little at the look on his face; it’s pinched, brows furrowed low over his eyes and jaw muscles jumping. You can’t hear him from the elevator where you wait, his voice is low and hurried and sharp. He’s arguing with someone, that much is obvious.

Carefully you step forward, acting as if you weren’t assessing him and his body language, and busy yourself with unlocking your door.

“Oh, hey.”

You look up and over at Bucky, who has ended his phone call apparently but still holds the device in his hand. His smile is faint, and you give him a small, tired one of your own.

“Hi Bucky. Long day?” He catches the quick glance you give his phone and huffs, shoves it roughly into his pocket as if he wants to forget to conversation that’s just taken place.

“Somethin’ like that. How about you? You look tired, doll.” You swallow at the pet name, the way it rolls off his tongue lighting something warm in your belly. It’s forgotten though when Bucky’s face brightens with realization. “Oh! Today was your first day with Stark wasn’t it? How’d it go?”

“It went very well actually. Tony Stark is...not who I imagined he’d be when I first applied to work for him. He’s better, but he’s definitely way more out there than I’d expected.”

The two of you shoot the shit back and forth for a few minutes longer, Bucky’s previous phone call nearly forgotten until it rings again and his face falls when he checks the caller ID. He wags his phone in the air as it continues to shriek.

“I should take this. Hey, um, maybe this weekend you can tell me all about your first week?” He looks shy when he asks, and it only serves to make your face flush crimson. “O-Only if you want to, that is. I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in.”

“I’d love to,” you interject before he can go off on a nervous tangent. “Maybe you can come over for coffee and help me assemble some furniture?”

“Sure,” he replies softly and with a grin. He seems to have forgotten about his phone until its ringing shatters the small silence again, and he frowns. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

“Bye Bucky.” You just get the words out before his door closes and the lock flips.

Sighing, you enter your own apartment and kick the heels off your feet, wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into them. Through the walls of your apartment, you can hear Bucky’s raised voice, though it’s still muffled enough that you can’t make out the words.

Truth is, you’ve heard Bucky arguing a lot the past few days. Despite only been here a week, you’ve come to enjoy having Bucky as a neighbor. He’s a tattoo artist, you’ve learned, which explains sometimes why he’s home or away at weird hours, and you’re not surprised to learn he designed his own tattoos. And aside from the recent conflict that seeps through your conjoined walls, he’s quiet and doesn’t do anything untoward that would have you calling the landlord. He says hi to you when he sees you in the hallway or at the mailbox, asks about your day, and goes on his merry way.

And because of all that you may have developed just a teensy crush on the guy, for which you’ve scolded yourself because how could you possibly like a guy you’ve known, barely, a week?

With a small grunt, you head to the kitchen for a hefty glass of much deserved wine.

Chapter Three