#i did this after an 8 hour shift so my brain and legs are nearly dead

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[shipmistress9]

8 -hiccstrid 😊💜

HICCSTRID

8. Interrupting with a kiss

This is actually a story idea I was pondering over for a good while now. But it fits this prompt, so I had a great excuse to finally write it down. ^^

Fateful Heights

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

Hiccup couldn’t help but marvel about this saying as he threw a cautious glance down into the gaping abyss below his dangling feet. Or, well, the rest of the funfair, but it certainly felt like a gaping abyss…

Earlier, when they'd waited in line to get onto the Drop Tower, they’d all joked about how scary it would be to get stuck at the top. Then, when Snot, Legs, and the twins were getting onto the first ride while he and Astrid had to wait for the next round, he’d joked about how it would actually be funny to watch them get stuck and get sick now. It had been mainly to interrupt the awkward silence between him and Astrid, the girl he’d had a crush on since forever. But she’d laughed and agreed that it would be hilarious to watch.

Now, however? Now, it was him and Astrid being stuck on this stupid tower. For ten minutes now, the thing hadn’t moved even one inch. Every now and then, the operator called up instructions or reassurances over a megaphone, but in all honestly, that didn’t help the feeling of dread in his guts one bit.

It wasn’t even the height per se that bothered him. He absolutely loved heights. Snot had even jokingly commented before that Hiccup got high on heights, and, well… he wasn’t so far off. Of all the rides they’d planned to go on today, this one was the one he’d been looking forward to the most.

No, it wasn’t the height that made him feel queasy. It was the sense of helplessness. To be out of control and at the mercy of someone else, something else.

The wind, usually a highly welcome sensation when blowing around his face, now made him clutch so tightly at the handle that his knuckles stood out white. One person a few seats to his right had dropped their shoe, and it had taken a disturbingly long time to reach the ground.

And it was no exaggeration when he thought that the only thing keeping him sane was Astrid sitting next to him.

“Hey, look over there,” she now said, her hand awkwardly pointing to a spot on the horizon. “There’s a ship coming in. I bet the people on the ground can’t see it yet, not even those right at the harbour.”

His eyes followed her finger and his quick mind did the calculation without him even having to think about it. “That’s a bet you would win,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible, to not show how scared he truly was. “My guess would be, that it’ll still be up to three hours before that ship is visible from the pier.”

Next to him, Astrid shifted in her seat and somehow managed to peer past the safety harness to throw him a bemused look. “You’re such a nerd,” she eventually chuckled.

Hiccup blushed, but wasn’t too bothered by her comment. He was a nerd; no point in pretending otherwise. And as long as she said it like this—with the undertone of teasing affection instead of as an insult—she could call him whatever she wanted, anyway.

A few minutes passed in relative silence. Around them, people were chatting, crying, one even screaming, but Hiccup did his best to blend them all out. Instead, he focused on Astrid who was humming to herself. It was a little off-tune but somehow still the most relaxing noise he’d ever heard.

“Hey, look!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I found the other’s.”

Hiccup glanced down in the direction she indicated.

“Over there, between that building with the red roof and the yellow-and-blue-striped tent.”

“Ah, yes, I see them.” Hiccup thought for a moment, the map of the funfair before his mental eye. “They probably got themselves an early dinner. The building is the pizzeria, I think.”

“Huh...” Astrid grunted, and even though he couldn’t see her face, he could imagine how she would narrow her eyes right now. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re locked up here, possibly about to fall to our death, and these idiots are eating!”

“At least, they didn’t get popcorn,” Hiccup muttered. He liked his friends, but at least Tuff wasn’t beyond finding their situation entertaining. Snot probably too.

Astrid snorted. “They know better than to risk that. I’d haunt them for the rest of eternity. Hey, do you think I can spit onto their pizza if I aim well enough?”

Again, Hiccup’s mind did some quick calculation out of reflex before he shook his head. “I’d say you can’t,” he said regretfully. “Not to insult your aim, but from this height and with the wind, it would be all but impossible to predict where your spit lands, if it reaches the ground at all. And as much as I’d pay to see Snot’s face when you ruin his pizza like that, I wouldn’t wish the same fate on anyone else.”

Astrid sighed. “Fair enough. But if he gives me the slightest reason, I will hit him.

“I won’t stop you,” Hiccup chuckled. He was unable to fully put his feelings into words, not even inside his head. But he knew that without Astrid, he would have gone insane. How she managed to be so lighthearted in their current situation was beyond him, but her jokes and generally good mood were all that kept his own despair at bay.

Their rescue didn’t take too long after that. Maybe it had just been an error in the software, but from one moment to the other, they were moving again. Initially, there was even more screaming, some surely fearing they were all going to crash to their death now. But their decent was slow, gentle, and only a few minutes later, they were all back on solid ground.

On shaky legs, he and Astrid were ushered to the side, to a hastily erected tent where medics were waiting for them to make sure everyone was physically unharmed. Mentally might be another question, though.

Once he and Astrid were allowed to leave, Hiccup let out a deep breath. “Oh, what a trip. I always loved these Drop Towers, but now, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to—”

He broke off when Astrid suddenly grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t a gentle one, teeth digging into his lips from how hard she pressed herself against him.

Hiccup was stunned, unable to react other than let his hands land on her waist. Of all the things he’d expected from this day, Astrid kissing him had been even further down the list than getting stuck on a ride. But here she was, clinging to him, and he even thought he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started. Hiccup was still trying to comprehend when she released his mouth and instead buried her face against his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

“Oh, Gods,” she gasped, voice nearly breaking. “I thought we would surely die here.” She was shaking he now noticed, and so he wrapped his arms more firmly around her, holding her in a comforting embrace. Did this still count as comforting, though? It was meant to be comforting, at least.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he tried to soothe her. “We made it. Nothing happened, we got off with no more than a fright.”

Astrid’s grasp grew even tighter. “How did you do it?” she gasped. “How did you manage to keep so calm up there? I was so scared that my brain stopped working completely. I think I was babbling the entire time but can’t remember a thing I said. But you? You even did math up there. I…” She trailed off, took a deep breath, and calmed down at least a little again. “Without you staying so calm, I would have gone insane.

Hiccup, still caught in how surreal this situation was, awkwardly patted her back. “Honestly, I was just as scared. Only coped because of all the jokes you made.”

Laughing a little shakily, she eventually pulled back. “Looks like we both helped each other then.”

She turned and made a step toward the exit, but Hiccup couldn’t let her go now. Not with like this, with this one moment hanging between them. “Astri?” he called her back, picking up all his courage as she glanced back at him. “Why did you kiss me?”

She blushed and, ducking her head, swiped a strand of loose hair out of her face before she answered. “You… didn’t miss that, huh? Of course, you didn’t.” She let out a weak chuckle. “It’s… I—I wanted to ask you for a long time and promised myself that, should we get off that tower alive, I’d do it. But I guess my mind skipped a few steps there. I-I’m sorry, we can pretend it never happened if you—”

She didn’t get the chance to say any more. Hiccup bridged the distance between them with one step, cupped her face with both hands, and pressed his lips to her mouth. This kiss wasn’t as harsh as the other had been, soft and gentle. Astrid didn’t need long to catch up, her lips twitching into a grin before she kissed him back. It was a chaste kiss, sweet with only lips. But as her arms slid around his waist, Hiccup felt as if this had to be the best kiss of his life so far.

When they parted, Hiccup let his forehead rest against hers, unwilling to part just yet. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he murmured. “I’m glad it did.”

Astrid nodded, then pulled away and threw him a warm smile. “Okay. So… should we go back to the others now? But I warn you, I stand by what I said. Or at least I think I said something like this. If your cousin makes even one stupid comment, I’ll hit him.”

Chuckling, Hiccup reached for her hand, inwardly rejoicing when her fingers closed around his without hesitation. “Again, I won’t stop you.”

[mage-ellie]

His Wish

This is my first request from AO3! People seemed to like it so I thought I’d post it here too :) I’m open for small requests! Feel free to request headcanons/scenarios/prompts! I’ll write about any of the P5R cast. Akechi is just my favorite boy <3 All I ask is that you don’t request abusive/toxic relationships, yandere, smut of underaged characters (I will age them up though), or pieces that romanticize mental illnesses. I prefer to write fem!reader since i’m a girl and it’s easier for me, but if you say please, i’ll do my best to write GN and male!reader pieces! <3 

Warnings: P5R spoilers, lots of fluff

Word count: 2,497

Link to original post: Click me!

Summary:  All Goro Akechi had wished for was to be loved, to be needed, by someone, anyone. He never could've imagined that his wish would actually come true.

In less than 24 hours, Goro Akechi was going to be married.

He never could've imagined that he would live long enough to find love, let alone get married. He had also never imagined that he would be marrying one of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Although, he couldn't complain, she was quite the impressive thief, having managed to steal his heart right out from under his nose.

Goro was currently lying alone on the bed in the hotel room he was staying at. Their wedding reception was going to be held at the Yoshiki-en Garden in Nara, Japan. His fiancée had practically begged him to have their wedding there. The garden was at its most beautiful during the spring time. But truth be told, Goro would've married her any where, even in that little hole in the wall, Leblanc.

The soon to be husband couldn't stop replaying everything that lead up to this moment.

How she had practically forced him to live with her during the whole Maruki conundrum. How she confessed her feelings to him in March when he returned. How he told her he loved her for the first time during their date to the cherry blossom festival in Tokyo. How he proposed to her in front of all of their friends 3 years later at that same cherry blossom festival.

He was so nervous for tomorrow, and yet so excited. He actually found someone who wanted to be with him for who he was, not because of his celebrity status. She knew about all of his flaws and his horrific past, but not once did she let him doubt her love for him. She worked so hard to support him while he went to therapy, to help him make amends with Futaba and Haru, to help him come to terms with the fact that he deserved a second chance.

A few years ago, he would've been terrified at the thought of having someone in his life like this, but now, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

-

The next thing he knew, he was being awakened by the sound of someone slamming their fists against his hotel room door. Akira Kurusu, Ryuji Sakamoto, and Yusuke Kitagawa were currently standing outside of his room, each with a black tux in hand. As well as Morgana, who was sitting on the floor next to Akira's feet, already wearing a cute little handmade formal black vest. They wanted to get ready with Goro, seeing as it was his big day and all.

A little ways down the hall, the group of boys could hear a group of girls squealing about marriage, dresses and romance. It was 8 A.M. and they were already so energetic. The groom and his groomsmen all laughed to themselves, they were excited as well. This was the first marriage in their friend group after all.

Akira, Goro's best man, mentioned that he should try to take as many mental photos as he could, because this day would go by in a blur. Goro believed him, one moment the boys were standing at his door, ready to get the day started, and the next they were all dressed and making their way to the venue.

The normally oh so composed Goro Akechi was sweating bullets. His hands were clammy and his throat was dry. Never in his life had he felt so nervous, so unprepared.

Before he knew it, it was suddenly 3 P.M. and the ceremony was beginning. Only your closest friends and family made up the audience. No media or paparazzi in sight. Goro shifted his weight from one leg to the other, he hadn't seen you all day. His heart raced as music began and you appeared in your gorgeous white wedding gown, Sojiro by your side, walking you down the aisle. He felt a hard lump forming in his throat at the sight of you. You always looked gorgeous to him, but in that moment, he truly believed that you were an angel sent from above.

A soft, teary eyed smile spread across his face as you made your way closer to him. He knew he'd be teased by the others for the rest of his life for crying while you walked down the aisle, but he didn't care. All that mattered, was that you were now standing before him, in a gown he never imagined he'd see you in. A warm, comforting smile made its way to your cheeks from behind your veil as you looked up into his eyes. It was taking all of his self control to not kiss you right then and there.

He could hear the officiant speaking about love and happiness, but he wasn't really listening. Goro was too busy taking as many mental pictures as he could fit into his brain. He only tuned back in when you brought up a small index card filled with writing. It was your vow to him.

"My dearest Goro. Never in a million years had I imagined that I would be spending the rest of my life with you, and to be honest, I'm pretty sure you had thought the same thing." You began, a light giggle coming from your throat. The Phantom Thieves, Sae and Sojiro also laughed, knowing what you meant by that. He had quite the troublesome past with the thieves after all. "Despite our differences in the past, I can't imagine being with anyone else. I vow to you that I'll work tirelessly to show you my love, to always be there for you, and to give you the home and family that you deserve." If he hadn't been so entranced by the way you looked while reading your vows to him, your words would've had him sobbing. "I love you Goro," He froze when your voice cracked, "I'm so happy that you're home." He knew what you meant by that. He remembered how devastated you looked when he told you that he might not have survived during Shido's palace, but he wouldn't dwell on the memory, he was with you now, right?

It was his turn. Shakily, he pulled out a card with his vows on it from his tux pocket. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he began. "Y/N, my love. I truly didn't believe that I would live long enough to find love like this. And you're right, never had I imagined that I would be marrying you of all people." He watched as you lifted a hand to your mouth and laughed, your eyes lit up as you did so, the other thieves snickering along with you. He was glad that you could all laugh about the past like this. It lifted a guilty weight off of his shoulders. "And yet, here I am, unable to picture this day any other way. These past few years, you've shown me a love that I've never known. Today, I vow to you that I'll spend the rest of my days finding ways to bring happiness to you, like you've brought to me. I vow that I'll protect you and cherish you with my entire being." He looked up momentarily, amazed by the fact that a single tear was making its way down your cheek. "I love you Y/N. It's good to be home." He watched as you nearly broke down at his last sentence. You took a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath.

The officiant started talking about your rings, but once again, Goro was too busy staring at you to listen. The sound of you squealing is what brought him back to reality. He watched as Morgana trotted down the aisle, carefully balancing a pillow on his head and carrying the rings to you both. You had a look of pure delight on your face, apparently, Akira had told you that Morgana wouldn't be able to make it because cats weren't allowed or something, but of course, your kitty friend wouldn't miss this day for the world.

Everyone in the audience cooed at the cat as he sat in front of you both with a smug grin on his face. You both reached down for the rings, your hand lingered for a moment to scratch the black cat on the head.

Goro melted into your touch when you took his hand so you could put the ring on his finger, it was a simple silver band with both of your initials engraved on the inside. Next, Goro delicately took your hand in his and slid the crown shaped wedding ring onto your left ring finger. He was the ace detective prince after all, marrying him made you his queen, right?

The officiant spoke a bit more before saying the words Goro had been waiting to hear all day. "I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Goro gently lifted the veil from your face, but before he could lean in, you had pushed yourself onto the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his, your arms making their way around his neck. You had been waiting just as long for this moment as he had. He quickly slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to him, reveling in the feeling of your lips.

Cheers erupted from the small crowd as you two pulled away. "I love you Goro Akechi." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. "I love you too, Y/N Akechi." His response was just as quiet as yours. Saying your first name with his last name did funny things to his heart. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to it, not that he minded. It would be a reminder that someone out there truly did love him.

The rest of the night was a blur for Goro. His most prominent memories of the night were of Sojiro sobbing when he danced with you, Morgana and Futaba arguing over who got to dance with you next, Ann screaming when she caught the bouquet of flowers you had thrown, and the way you looked, swaying slowly in his arms to a song he didn't know the lyrics to, but you knew every word. He wasn't even sure if he got to eat a slice of the expensive wedding cake that he had paid for.

By the time you both made it to the bridal suite, you were exhausted. Goro was barely able to get your wedding dress off of you before you passed out on the bed. He did his best to carefully remove your makeup so you wouldn't have to worry about it in the morning. He couldn't help but stare at you for a bit as you laid beside him, the light from the moon making your skin glow. His mind was ready to burst from how many mental photos he had taken throughout the day.

Gently, as to not disturb you, he wrapped you in his arms and drifted to sleep while going over the memories he had of this day.

-

5 years.

You and Goro have been married for 5 years now. Goro couldn't deny that he was happy to wake up next to you every day.

However, today was different. He knew that you had planned to meet up with the girls for an early breakfast, but you didn't wake him up to say goodbye. Usually, on the rare occasions that you would have to leave your shared house before he woke up, you'd wake him up and give him a kiss goodbye.

He had noticed that you had been a bit distant lately, and he couldn't help but worry. Were you falling out of love with him? Were you cheating on him? Was it something worse? His mind filled with all sorts of negative questions and concerns in an attempt to figure out why you were acting the way you were.

Goro waited for you on the couch in your home, planning on confronting you about your strange behavior when you got back. In the 8 years that you've been together, you've never once done something like this, so he was incredibly scared.

The familiar jingle of keys and turning of the lock on the front door signaled your safe arrival home. He watched you freeze for a moment when you made eye contact with him, uncertainty and nervousness clouding your once bright eyes. Goro raised an eyebrow, despite the fear that coursed through his veins.

You took a deep breath before approaching him silently, once in front of him, you dug around in your purse for a moment, before handing him a small white box with a red ribbon tied around it. He stared at the box, shocked as you took a seat beside him. Goro could feel you staring at him, burning a hole into the side of his head. A... gift? This wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"Well?" Your voice sounded so small. Were you afraid of something? He took a moment to look at you before untying the ribbon and opening the box, inside sat three pregnancy tests. Each one testing positive. It took a moment for his brain to process this information. You were pregnant, with his child. That's why you had been so distant. The two of you almost never talked about kids. Due to his traumatic past, Goro believed that he would never be a good father, even with all of the therapy and support from you, he could never see himself being one.

"You're pregnant." He breathed, still staring at the pregnancy tests. "Yeah." You sounded so tired, sad even. Despite his original negative stance on becoming a father, he couldn't help but feel joy. He was going to be the father of your child. He was being given the chance to start a family of his own.

Slowly, he turned towards you, staring down at your stomach. You weren't really showing yet. "Well?" You repeated. Your voice shook, on the verge of tears. Goro didn't respond with words, he just leaned forwards and pushed you into the couch, his arms wrapped around your back and his face pressed into your stomach. He couldn't stop the sob that escaped his lips. He never could've imagined this. Despite his initial fears, he would do his best to be the greatest father that he could be.

Your body shook as you began sobbing as well, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other resting against his back, holding him as he cried.

"I'm going to be a dad?" He cried into your stomach, needing to confirm that this was real. "You're going to be a dad, and an amazing one at that." Your response was so genuine, it made it impossible for him to believe otherwise.

His wish of being loved, of being needed, had really come true.

[griff-us]

Title: Being So Normal Part: One Pairing: Black!Reader/Bucky Barnes Summary: Neither of them are very good at being normal. Good thing the spectrum of normalcy these days is anything but the definition of the word. In other words: two broken people mend together. Warnings: typical canon level violence, mentions of past abuse both physical and emotional, alcohol abuse and mentions of, drug abuse and mentions of.

Chapter Theme: Being So Normal, Peach Pit

Notes: Just a little self-indulgent series that's been sitting in the back of my brain that I have finally decided to work on after kinda scraping the previous one.

Sort of a Neighbors's AU mixed with a Coffee Shop Au. Lots of character introspection for the reader, and Bucky, and some fun and drama along the way. This will no doubt be a slow slow burn.

Hope yall enjoy and feel free to leave any comments or hit me with questions! Oh, mood board slapped together by me! Also, no Beta. Tbh I'm lazy and impatient so excuse any mistakes.

Saturday: 11:30pm

Sam was the one who convinced him to come---or maybe forced would be the better word. Life has been returning to somewhat normal for the two of them; Sam shouldering his mantle as Captain America, and James slowly easing into his role as Sergeant Barnes rather than The Winter Soldier. But, it’s not all easy, at least not for James. Normalcy is not his strong suit, not when the urgency of survival had been drilled into his skull for the past hundred years or so. Sure, he was comfortable, but not necessarily happy. James is lost, and no one can tell that more than Sam.

And that is how he’s found himself in this crowded club with flashing lights and a bass beat that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that the environment is too much---it’s just that he feels so...odd out. After all, Jame’s idea of a night out used to be something more akin to a jazz bar and dancing. Not whatever gyrations and wiggling around the kids called dancing was these days.

God, he really is old.

“You gotta loosen up man, you’re killing my vibe.” Sam, as if on cue, shoulders into him. James scowls, making sure to keep a tight grip on his beer---if you could even call it that. The brewery it was from managed to pack so many damn spices and fruit in it that it tasted more like a cocktail than any beer he’s come to like.

“You’ve got a weird vibe then, Sam.” the other man laughs, elbows resting against the bar top behind them while he scopes out the scene. It’s a typical New York club; fashion being the forefront of it all, the entire reason anyone is out right now is to be seen and admired. Among other things.

“That cutie over there keeps tossing you looks, you should go say hi.” James follows Sam’s gaze across the bar. A gaggle of young women crowds around a booth, all of them eyeing them and whispering to one another. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer.

“I think you mean they’re looking at you, Sam.” The super soldier turns back toward the bar to push his empty glass to the bartender who only nods his way and produces a refill without another word.

“Eyes up, Sergeant, they’re coming over.”

James doesn’t pay any mind to the coming onslaught; it’s always the same really. Sam is descended on by a group of gals excited to meet the new Captain America and even more enthralled when they realize he’s pretty damn charming. Not that he’s jealous in any way. Annoyed? Sure. See, he just isn’t one for new people---especially the kind that Sam tends to attract sometimes. The airheads, the young ones just waiting to hook up and never talk again. He just can’t vibe with it, can’t grasp it. Maybe he is too old for this modern age of love and romance.

James just turns his attention to the muted TV over the bar, his back facing the chatty group of women behind him while they flock to Sam like vultures starving for a meal. The news flashes between stories from all over; follow-ups on the last of the Flag Smashers, some weird disturbances in a tiny town somewhere far off, and a local story on a stray cat that is just “too cute to not have a home.” He snorts, lips smacking from the twang of his beer.

“Sorry about them.” The tiny voice from his left nearly makes him jump, and James can only blame the blaring music for his lack of attention.

“Huh?” He peers down to see an average height woman; with big brown eyes and skin a deep tan and sunkissed. By all accounts, she is stunning---and looks nearly as out of place in this massive club as he does.

“My friends---” her head jerks towards the group of women still fawning over Sam, who no doubt is loving all of the attention. “I tried to explain to them that you guys are just normal people too," she thinks they're normal? "but the alcohol made them all braver than they normally are.” The woman rolls her eyes but by the soft smile she wears he can tell she means no malice.

“And what about you?” James leans his full weight on the bar top now all the while inching closer to the woman. He can read the confusion on her face. “Are you feeling braver than normal?” she flushes at his clarification, and an easy shrug rolls from the shoulder.

“I’m just the mom friend trying to make sure my friends don’t end up dead, in jail, or worse.” James can’t help but laugh at that.

“A mom friend, huh?” gloved fingers pluck the pint glass from the bar and neither of them breaks eye contact while he swallows nearly half the glass.

“Yeah, kind of how I’ve always been; just an eighty-year-old woman at heart I guess.” James gives her a crooked grin: he could understand that.

“You’re too young to talk like that.” he elbows her gently, suddenly so comfortable with her presence that he can feel himself loosening up a bit.

“Then what’s your excuse?”

Brows cock high, that twisted little grin never once wavering from his face. He likes her---the idle and quiet wit, the way she matches his quips with equal stride.

“What’s your---” but before he can finish the group of girls are flagging her down, yanking her arm in one direction while they all gossip about how someone managed to snag Captain America’s number. James watches while she shoots him an apologetic smile while she is all but dragged back to their booth across the dance floor. Before he knows it, her face is lost in a sea of people.

“You would pick up the prettiest one.” Sam’s voice yanks James from his thoughts, and he looks up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little flirt session. You get her number?”

“I’m going home.” James slaps a crisp bill on the bar top and Sam laughs, all loud and boisterous.

“You didn’t even get her name, did you, man?”

“Good night, Sam!” with hands shoved deep in his pockets, James turns heels and heads home.

Sunday: 8:am

The mornings were his favorite time to jog. Consider it a coping mechanism---not that he necessarily needed to go for mile-long runs or work out, what with the serum, but it was the only time his mind was truly quiet. So, James kept to a strict schedule of an hour or so run every morning followed up by a tall dark roast. Only today, he is late by nearly an hour to get to his usual coffee spot; which wouldn’t be terrible but James lives for routines. Without one, his entire day is skewed.

It’s eight in the morning when he strolls into the coffee shop, a tiny little place sat precariously on the corner of two streets only a couple blocks from his apartment. Clad in joggers and a simple black t-shirt, he strides up to the counter; eyes glued to the menu board for any new sweets that may catch his eye.

“Well hi again.” brows grow taught at their center---he knows that voice. James looks down to see the same woman from the night before. Black hair is piled high on her head and rather than the slim little dress from the night before she sports simple leggings and a graphic shirt of which the reference he is utterly lost on.

“Oh. Hi...uh....” blue eyes look for a name tag, and he finds none. Damn it.

“Y/N” she smiles wide at him, much like she had in the club only this time, with better lighting, he can make out the dimples that crease each of her cheeks.

“Y/N.” he repeats her name back slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, or see you again. I guess.” he points to himself, “I’m Bucky.” said so lamely, so simply, he really can’t blame her for laughing at him.

“I know. What can I get for you, James?”

James.

That throws him; tosses him so off-kilter the man can hardly remember his order. Sure a couple people call him James, well really only his mother and his therapist when he’s in deep shit but…. To hear a name nearly forgotten to himself, and from her? Well, it turns his brain to static.

“Just a large black coffee and one of those brownies please.” She nods and starts to prep his order, all the while he stands there like an idiot with a ten-dollar bill in his hand and his heart in his throat. Finally, he finds a safe landing back on earth.

“How was the rest of your night with your friends?” Y/N groans while she pours him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Catty. I finally got the last one home around three in the morning. Got home just in time for a nap before I came in here.”

“That sounds---awful.” James trades her the coffee for the ten, and watches while she works the register.

“Wasn’t so bad. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Y/N offers the change back to James but only nods his head toward the tip jar.

“Sounds like you earned it. Did you just start working here?" he's never seen her working here before, and per his routine, James is here around this time at least five times a week.

"Covering for a friend, I usually work the closing shift if I'm not teaching." Teaching? James would assume she'd be on the younger side to teach.

"I'll have to come more often around that time then." he watches while round cheeks twitch, and flush.

“Deal. I’ll uh...see you around, James?”

“Y-yeah. See you around, Y/N”

[thatfanficstuff]

That’s my Girl - Poe Dameron

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: nope. 

A/N: Flangst! It’s my fave. Enjoy. PS: I’m so happy to be writing again.

***

You had a reputation.

You wished you could say it was for something as exciting as sleeping around or being a trouble maker, but no. You had a reputation for being the best mechanic on base. Yep. You were the best at your job. How boring.

And, let’s be honest, all that really meant was more work for you. If no one else could find the problem, they got you to take a look at it. Did they care if you hadn’t had a day off in weeks? Or that you hadn’t strung together more than five hours of sleep at one time in the last two? Of course not. Not when the great and mighty Poe Dameron was complaining that his fighter was sluggish and none of them could find anything wrong.

You huffed out a breath in irritation. It wasn’t Poe you should be mad at. He wasn’t the one that woke you from a sound sleep to look at his ship. But you’d bet good money that he did more than hint that they should get you down to the hangar when they couldn’t fix the problem.

Something bumped against your leg startling you from your thoughts. You jerked in surprise causing your wrench to slip and you barked your knuckles. Damn it. That hurt. You sucked on the tender skin and glared down at BB-8. “What did I tell you about doing that?”

“Don’t be mad at him. He just gets excited to see you. Who can blame him?”

The smooth voice drew your attention and you snapped your gaze from the droid to his owner. Poe Dameron. He smiled as your gaze met his and your heart sped. Heat flooded your face and you cursed under your breath. Why did he always have this effect on you? Every single time you hated yourself for it and swore it would never happen again yet here you were.

“Dameron.” You turned back to your work doing your best to dismiss him. The sooner he left you alone the better. He was far too distracting.

“Y/L/N,” he responded in a mockingly serious tone. “Fix my ship?”

“Haven’t found anything wrong with her yet.”

“Yet. See, that’s why you’re my favorite. Everyone else just gives up.”

You grunted in disagreement. “They don’t give up. Not really. You just pick up on microscopic changes in your ship before they actually become a problem. Makes them harder to find. That’s all.” You knew some of the mechanics didn’t even bother trying to look beyond the obvious. They turned it over to you to do the hard work and walked away. But not all of them were like that and you didn’t like to listen to anyone besides you complain about it.

“But you always find the problem, Y/N. I swear some of the others think I make stuff up.”

You glanced at him to find him grinning at you and your traitorous heart threatened to skip a beat entirely. You quickly shifted your eyes back to the wiring you were now inspecting. “I’ve never known you to be wrong about your ship, Poe. I’ll find the problem.”

“That’s my girl,” he said in that sweet, smooth voice. And didn’t that do all sorts of things to your fragile pulmonary system. Damn the man. Before you could even think of a response, he disappeared, taking his droid with him.

***

“Are you still working on this stupid fighter?” Rey’s voice caught your attention and you looked up with a smile. You were currently sat on the floor of the hangar taking a break in the shadow of the ship.

“I’m nearly finished,” you assured her.

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’ve found the problem then?”

You shook your head. “No, but I’m running out of places to look.” With that pronouncement you got back on your feet and climbed the ladder to the wiring you had exposed for your inspection.

Rey sighed and pulled over a nearby stool to sit on. “You’ve been at this for two days. Have you even slept?”  

“I caught a few hours.” And you had, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest for long when there was a problem to solve. So for the past two days you’d been mainlining caffeine and sleeping in short bursts before getting back to work. In fact, you’d just come back from a three-hour break to rest and eat. It was supposed to be a full eight hours, but you’d had an idea and couldn’t rest until you looked into it.

“That’s not healthy, Y/N, and you know it.”

You glanced at her. “You know how I am, Rey. I can’t help it.” You turned back to your work, separating the wires to inspect them individually. And then you found it. Finally.

For some reason one of the bolts on Poe’s seat had been replaced with one far longer than the original. The extra length was enough to have it rubbing against the wires in the compartment below. Undoubtedly the fluxuation in power Poe had complained about came from the bolt hitting the bare wire once the protective covering had been worn away. You had no idea who had replaced the bolt but once you looked back over the maintenance logs to find out, you were going to chew their ass. This was the kind of thing that could cause a system to short out during a flight. It was the kind of thing that killed pilots. The First Order did enough of that without the mechanics adding to the body count.

“Y/N—” Rey started and you cut her off.

“Give me a minute. I finally found the problem. Let me fix it and we can get out of here.” You slid down the ladder and dug through your tool box. A quick comparison of two bolts and a length of wire later and you were back in the access hatch under the fighter.

Now that you knew the problem, it was a quick matter to fix it. After one last check over the wiring to make sure only the one had been compromised, you grinned. “All fixed,” you announced as you sealed up the access hatch.

“I knew you could do it. This calls for a celebration with my favorite girl.”

You were surprised to hear Poe’s deep voice and were thankful your back was turned so you had a moment to compose yourself before facing him. Your heart was racing as your feet hit the floor and you turned to accept his invitation. Only Poe wasn’t looking at you. No, his focus was solely on the petite blonde under his arm. She giggled at his attentions and your heart dropped somewhere in the neighborhood of your stomach. Of course he wasn’t talking to you. You should have known better.

Your gaze shifted from them to Rey to find her looking at you with a face full of sympathy. Great. Just what you wanted. Her pity. You shook your head and sighed. Stepping around Poe and his date, you spoke to Rey as you walked by. “Let’s go get something to eat so I can get some sleep and you can get off my ass.”

She fell into step with you. “Don’t be pissy with me just because…”

You glanced over to see why she had trailed off. She was looking behind you with a frown. Before you could question why, a hand grasped your arm pulling you to a stop. You turned to find Poe standing behind you. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you. You’re the best.”

You grunted in annoyance and gestured toward the woman trailing behind him with a lift of your chin. “Pretty sure that designation falls to her. Have a good day, Dameron.” You twisted your arm from his grasp and walked off, ignoring the weight of his stare on your back.

***

Three weeks passed. Three weeks in which you did your level best to ignore Poe Dameron. You monumentally failed, but you tried. Fortunately, things had been busy so you were never left without an excuse when he tried to engage you in conversation.

Currently, you sat at a table in the mess hall with one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee while the other picked at the plate of food Rey was making you eat. One of the squadrons had gotten into a firefight with some First Order assholes and you’d been busy patching holes in their ships for the last three days.

You grinned as she filled you in on the details of her and Finn’s date the day before.

“Fantastic,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes. “Incoming.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Poe dropped into the seat beside you. Rey made a face and you snickered as you broke off a piece of bread and popped it in your mouth.

“I just came from the hangar. Campbell told me he fixed my fighter.”

You gave Poe your attention, your brows arched in question. “And? It’s usually a good thing when your ship gets fixed isn’t it?”

The pilot frowned. “Yeah, when you fix it.”

You rolled your eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Dameron, I’ve got half of red squadron in for repairs right now. I don’t have time to be your personal mechanic.”

“I know you’re not my personal mechanic, Y/N, but I feel better when you look her over before I take her up again. I trust you.”

Your traitorous, traitorous heart sped up just a little. Damn it. You sighed and tore your gaze from his. “Flattery changes nothing, flyboy. I’m busy.”

“Can’t my girl find a little time for her favorite pilot?”

You didn’t even glance in his direction. Instead, you stood and grabbed the bread from your plate. “See you later, Rey.”

As you walked off you heard Rey behind you. “Sometimes, you’re a real asshole, you know that, Poe?”

“What did I do?”

***

Two days later you’d finally finished the repairs. You sat on the roof of the hangar with your feet dangling over the edge while you sipped from your flask. It wouldn’t be long before you headed to bed for some much needed sleep but for the moment you were simply enjoying a bit of peace as you watched the stars. It was late and most of the base was dark as people with much less work than you were already asleep.

Footsteps fell on the roof behind you and you didn’t so much as glance in that direction. You didn’t need to. Only one person ever bothered you when you came up here. Poe fucking Dameron.

He sat beside you and you passed him your flask. He took a drink and you smirked when he coughed as he returned it to you. “Are you trying to get drunk or strip paint?”

You shrugged. “Works for both. It’s particularly useful for cleaning engine parts.”

“I don’t know if you’re joking or not, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you weren’t. That’s disgusting.” Even as he said the words, he held out his hand for another drink.

You took one of your own before handing it back to him. “Grows on you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Like a fungus.” He took another swig then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stared at the flask in his hand for a moment before stealing another drink.

You snatched it from him, causing some of the liquid to spill on him as a result. “Quit drinking all my liquor, Dameron.”

“Name’s Poe, Y/N.”

You lifted your brows but didn’t look at him. “Pretty sure your name is also Dameron, Dameron.”

“You have been avoiding me since you fixed my ship. And you haven’t once called me Poe. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t know what to tell you.”

He huffed a laugh. “How about you tell me what I did to piss you off? And how I can fix it. I miss you.”

You clenched your teeth and worked a muscle in your jaw. “If this is about your ship, you can stow it. I already looked it over. It’s fine.” You saluted him with your flask. “You’re welcome.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Dameron, that you smile and flirt until you get what you want from me. Which, let’s be honest, is always fixing your ship. Once she’s back in fighting condition, you disappear until something else goes wrong.” You took another swallow of liquor. “I’ll save you the effort and tell you that you don’t have to sweet talk me into doing my job.”

“That’s not…okay, yeah maybe that’s fair. But in my defense you don’t make this easy, you know?”

You laughed and shook your head in disbelief. “What exactly is it that I make so difficult for you?”

“Liking you, okay?” He muttered to himself and ran a hand down his face when you didn’t immediately respond.

Realizing you were staring, you tore your gaze away and cleared your throat. “Liking me as in I’m a horrible person and there is nothing likable about me?”

He laughed. “No. Liking you as in you’re amazing and I’m just another flyboy.”

You cringed as you remembered calling him exactly that the last time you’d talked to him. “I’m just a mechanic, Poe. Pretty sure the Resistance would crumble without their best pilot.”

He shook his head. “You underestimate your value. To me and the Resistance.”

“I didn’t think you saw me as anything special.” The confession hurt so the words were quieter than you’d intended.

“Rey was right. I am an asshole if you believe that.”

“Not going to argue with you, Dameron.”

“Hey now. That’s not fair,” he protested.

You shrugged. “You only talk to me if you want something. Forgive me if I find it difficult to believe you see me as anything other than a mechanic.”

He sighed. “I can talk to you about my ship. I can talk to you about flying and fighting and know that you won’t think I’m an idiot. I know about all that stuff.”

“Do you remember the first time I fixed your ship?” you asked.

He frowned but nodded. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You took it out the next day. When you came back, I was arguing with Roberts about something and you interrupted. Told him to quit giving your girl a hard time. When I looked over, you just gave me a grin and a wink before walking off. I was smitten from that moment on. Stupid.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish,” you interrupted. “’My girl.’ That’s what you call me. And every time it melts my heart. Gives me a minute where I can pretend maybe it’s real. Then I heard you call Victoria that. And Shelly. And some blonde I didn’t recognize. And every time it hurts. Which is stupid, you know, because I’d never had any indication those words meant to you what they meant to me.” You sighed as you pushed yourself to your feet. “I expected something from you that you’d never promised me. That’s on me, not you. I’ll get over it.”

You were half way to the ladder when Poe grabbed your wrist and pulled you to a stop before releasing his grip. “Wait. Can we just start over?”

This was stupid but you found yourself unwilling to disappoint him. You turned to face him, extending a hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. Head mechanic. Nice to meet you.”

Poe shook your hand. “Poe Dameron. Pilot.” Instead of releasing you, he tugged you closer until there was little more than a breath between you. His eyes ran over your face and a small smile curled his lips. “I think you’re brilliant and beautiful and amazing and I’d love it if you’d be my girl.”

Your heart raced as you licked your suddenly dry lips. “Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast? After all, we just met.”

He narrowed his gaze and pulled you closer before wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you to him. “Be my girl, Y/N.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke but he stopped short of actually kissing you.

You leaned into him and moved your lips over his in answer. Your hands fisted in his shirt to keep him close as you kissed. When you separated, you sucked in a breath and smiled. “Finally.”

His answering grin lit his whole face. “Finally.” Then he dipped his head for another kiss.

As the night wore on, he walked you to your room. And when the two of you couldn’t separate long enough to say goodnight, he followed you inside. You slept in his arms and woke to sweet kisses and lazy smiles.

And when he talked you into staying in bed instead of heading into work on your day off, he rewarded you by pulling you closer. “That’s my girl.”

[detectivecarlosreyes]

In Case of Emergency (Ch 8/10)

Ao3 | 2.2/15.6k | Buddie | Status: Incomplete

Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 8: 30 feet of mud between you and me Both Buck and Eddie struggle with the concept of sleep after Eddie gets taken to the hospital and Buck gets through the rest of the shift wondering what the rest of the team thought of reaction to Eddie's accidental burial. Set mid-Eddie Begins- 3x15, after Eddie's self-rescue and before Chris's show and tell.

Retrospectively, Buck knew he had let his emotions get the best of him. Losing his best friend, his partner, the man he decidedly loves to the depths of the earth to a place that he couldn’t easily follow was unlike anything that he ever felt, and it sent him in a spiral of despair that could not be easily explained to the others.

And it wasn’t just the fact that Eddie was trapped under 30 feet of mud with no certain rescue that sat heavily on his chest, it was his immediate thought afterward - what am I going to tell Chris? - that really had him hell-bent in believing that despite the odds, Eddie was somehow still okay because he just couldn’t fathom any alternative that didn’t result in Chris getting to see his father again.

And then Eddie was just there, having resurfaced in a way that was so typically Eddie that Buck couldn’t feel anything other than joy and relief. He reveled in just being able to hold Eddie’s hand even for the short period it took to get him to an ambulance.

Buck was ready to get out of there as soon as he could because all his thoughts were consumed by Eddie and the gravity of that situation, of the fact that he’d almost lost him for good. The need to see him and hold him to be sure his self-rescue wasn’t a figment of his imagination was near overwhelming, thankfully when they returned to the station, they were mercifully free of calls for the next few hours allowing them time to get warm and clean after being out in that torrential rainfall, but that didn’t mean he was able to get even a wink of shut-eye.

And with the mental exhaustion of being at the tail end of a 24-hr shift, there was little energy for speculative conversation to which Buck was secretly grateful because at least the tiredness gave him a buffer from the potential consequence of that call resulting in Cap calling him into his office to discuss interpersonal relationships and ask the questions that could very well be on everyone’s mind since witnessing his less than subtle emotional outbursts, something he assumed based on the way they looked at him.

Not that it would be a bad thing seeing as neither he nor Eddie were actively trying to keep it a secret anymore, not since Christmas really, but it was one thing for people to guess and speculate, and another thing entirely him to announce and confirm it without his better half present and consenting to share such news.

Much to his relief, the end of their shift came around soon enough, and having had a message relayed from Eddie through the hospital reminding him that Chris would need to be picked up from Pepa’s for school, a job he usually reserved himself but seeing as he was out of commission the job defaulted to Buck, meaning he had to leave as soon as humanely possible to keep to the schedule.

It was enough for Chim and Hen to question his eagerness to leave, seeing as he was usually the one of the last out of the station.

“What got you in a rush this morning?” asked Hen as he collected both his and Eddie’s bags, slinging them over his shoulders, “got somewhere to be or something?”

He looked at his watch and said distractedly without missing a beat as he added up time it would take to get from the station to Pepa’s and then to the school, “Actually yeah, I need to pick Christopher up for school seeing as Eddie is still at the hospital, and if I’m going to make it, I really need to leave right now. I’ll see you guys later.”

And promptly left with a wave, leaving Hen and Chim to share a long questioning look before staring after him, only now noticing that he was in fact not just carrying his own bag.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Eddie was glad to finally be allowed to go home having been given the all-clear some 8 hours later.

The hours had passed slowly for him, lying in the hospital bed, waiting for his observation period to be over. It was excruciating, especially knowing that he could not for the life of him get any measure of rest despite being told by the hospital staff that was exactly what he should be doing.

It was something that he was unable to do, not when his mind was replaying what happened in that tunnel over and over again feeling as though he’d just barely cheated death, which in reality he had. He shouldn’t have survived being trapped down there, probably wouldn’t have it not for the family that he created for himself, with the fire station, with Buck, with Buck and Christopher.

Christopher.

Tears had sprung to his eyes at the thought of his son, knowing that he had been so close to not being able to return to him and that Chris could have very nearly lost both parents in the space of a year. It was a sobering thought, one that plagued him in the early hours of the morning while most of the hospital still slept.

And thinking about it all had just left him restless, itching to hold his son in his arms to remind himself that he actually did make it out and Chris still had a father to come home to. It was those thoughts as well that lead to remind him that he was supposed to be taking him to school and ended up convincing one of the nurses to call Buck to take his place for the morning, something he knew Buck would do without hesitation.

Speaking of Buck; the man showed up after dropping Chris off with an inexplicable warmth to him greeting him with a soft “hey” before insisting that he hang around until he was discharged despite looking just as exhausted as he felt, as if he had just as little sleep as himself.

Much to his displeasure, his body still betrayed him still showing signs of exhaustion despite being given a clean bill of health. And Buck walked closely beside his tired frame to the door carrying both of their bags and opened the door using his own key looking distinctly at home in doing so, a stark difference to the first time all those months ago.

With a sigh he sat on the couch, eyelids drooping while Buck left him for the kitchen stating he should at least have a shower while he made them some tea before getting some rest. Rest: there was that word again. Something Eddie was slowly beginning to hate because every time he closed his eyes he was back in that hole, trapped and alone. It was enough to keep the chill in his bones.

Reluctantly, he trudged to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand, and gave himself a quick but thorough wash not wanting to be surrounded by water for longer than necessary, unwilling to let the sensation of it get the best of him.

Soon after, he returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the pillow and finding himself unable to lay down, terrified that the moment he closed his eyes he would just keep reliving that moment when he realised he was alone, no connection to the outside world, no way of knowing that they knew he was still alive.

“I made you some camomile tea, thought it might help,” Buck announced as he joined him in the bedroom, setting the tea beside him on the bedside table, before turning and standing between his legs, cupping his cheek with one hand and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Eddie couldn’t help but lean into it with his eyes closed, relishing in the contact.  

It was over too soon, and he mourned the loss of contact until he heard the sound of clothes rustling and opened his eyes to see Buck changing into his sleepwear. He watched over his shoulder as Buck climbed onto the bed behind him and felt his heart speeding up at the prospect of the simple act of sleeping.

“Eds?”

“I can’t close my eyes, Buck.” He admitted under his breath unable to move from his spot, “I still feel cold even though I know that I’m not and I’m afraid if I close my eyes, I’ll open them again and I’ll be back there.”

He felt Buck’s weight shifting on the bed before his warm body pressed up against his back, a firm but gentle hand placed on his waist, and Buck’s lips lightly touched the junction between neck and shoulder.

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t been able to sleep either,” Buck murmured against his shirt, “Let me be here, with you- for you. I’ll keep you warm.”

He could feel the tension melt from his shoulders, not realising that he had been holding any in the first place and allowed Buck to drag him with him to lie down. Almost instantly he relaxed into the comfort of Buck’s arms, feeling the heat the man radiated seep into his core, warming him up in the specific way that he had been sorely needing.

And they just lay there in the still partially lit room, finding an easy rhythm in their breaths. He was close to sleep before he started with a sharp intake of breath, his brain reminding him of one important thought, “What about Chris? We need to pick him up from school.”

Buck shushed and lazily stroked a hand in his hair, “Don’t worry, I’ve got an alarm that’s hours from now to get us up before pick up, and then we can cuddle him on the couch for as long as you want, but right now we both need to sleep.”

That was something that he loved about Buck. His innate sense of knowing and understanding him as much as he knew and understood himself. He settled back down, nestled in Buck’s arms, and reflexively breathed out the words neither of them has said out of fear of saying it too soon despite knowing how the other felt.

“I love you.”

Buck’s arms gently tightened around him, pulling him in closer to his chest as he answered softly into his hair, “I love you too, Eddie.”

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

True to his word Buck’s alarm startled them into consciousness. Much to their relief, sleep had come easily, exhaustion pulling them under swiftly, leaving no room for dreams or memories to wake them.

In no time they were dressed and fed with sandwiches Buck had prepared earlier when he was in the shower and were at pickup waiting for the moment that Eddie had been waiting for since he resurfaced in that pond.

“Daddy!”

After that nothing else mattered, he scooped up his son and held him tight and wouldn’t let him go, even going so far as sitting in the backseat with him on the drive home.

“Bucky said you had to go to the hospital because you got really cold when it was raining last night. Did they help you get warm?”

“That’s right bud, I was very cold and tired because I was helping a little boy, only a couple of years younger than you, get back to his mom.”

“You saved him?”

“He sure did Chris! Your daddy is a hero.” Chimed in Buck from the driver’s seat, and Eddie shared a look with him as Buck mouthed in the reflection of the mirror, our hero.

Soon enough the three of them were cuddled up together under a blanket on the couch with Eddie in the middle and Chris and Buck on either side of him, bellies full of pizza and ice cream, slowly being lulled into a food coma while watching the latest Disney movie that Chris was excited about.

Eddie was content, having the two reasons that helped him make it back alive wedged under each arm, feeling the most at peace than he had ever been in the last 24 hours.

By the time the credits were rolling, Chris was out like a light and he and Buck weren’t that far behind, despite having a solid 5-hour nap earlier. So, they drowsily set about relocating Chris into bed before falling into their own, resuming their earlier position with Eddie curled around Buck’s side head on his chest with Buck’s arms circled around him, securing him in place.

He was nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of Buck’s steady heartbeat when Buck’s voice quietly rumbled in his chest.

“Hey Eddie.”  

He hummed in response, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure the team knows about us now,”

“Is that so?” He asked with an air of levity as he shifted his head.

“I would like to preface it and say that it’s not my fault, I thought I lost you.”

“I guess I can forgive you for that,” He answered before quietly laughing into Buck’s chest, “Really it’s on them for taking so long to notice anyway, its not like we’ve been all that subtle at recent gatherings.”

Buck softly snorted at that, “Yeah, that’s true.”

“We can figure it out in the morning when we’re awake to remember it.” He suggested with a deep yawn, barely able to stay conscious.

He barely got a whispered okay before they were both fast asleep in another peaceful slumber.

[21burritoseavey]

Slow Down - Chapter 8

a/n: k i literally hate this but i hope you enjoy it a little lol. let me know what you think!

Summary: Daniel and Y/n are best friends, but like every clique love story lol, Daniel fell for Y/n, though he’s never admitted his feelings because Y/n has a boyfriend. After their exams, the group of friends decide to go on a “California-cation” (see what I did there haha) but Y/n’s boyfriend also tags along. It gets a little interesting and I guess you’ll just have to see how things go…

Daniel could barely sleep the night before. His feelings about Y/n only fuelled his anxiety, fogging his brain with a thick haze of memories and thoughts that he couldn’t shake. After hours of tossing and turning, he finally drifted into a faint slumber, rousing from his sleep - after what felt like mere seconds later - by a soft hand on his shoulder.

 “Daniel...” Y/n whispered, biting back a smile at his slight pout and steady breaths. She tried again, “Daniii, wake up.” 

 Daniel shifted in his sleeping bag, stretching his legs and arms out messily with a small groan. The sound of gentle birdsong and aroma of breakfast filtered through the small gaps of his tent had him lifting himself up sleepily. “Uhm...-” he cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he said in a quiet, raspy voice. 

 “Morning.” Y/n replied with a small smile. She got up onto her feet and out of the tent. Daniel followed quickly behind her. “What time is it?” He asked gently. 

 “About eleven thirty or so.” Y/n answered casually as she took a seat on the wooden bench beside Corbyn. She grabbed the box of cereal to pour into a plastic bowl. 

 Daniel’s gaze narrowed into a squint as he peered through the morning sunlight to the array of breakfasts displayed on the table, a blue chequered tablecloth underneath. “Did you guys wake up late too?” He asked, taking a seat next to Jonah. 

 Corbyn glanced at him with a small chuckle, “eleven o’clock is late?” 

 “Well yea, I really want to go on that trail.” He smiled shyly. “You know the one you talked about before?” He glanced at Y/n. 

 “Yeaa!” Her eyes lit up instantly at the vivid memory.  

 Her sudden excitement sent a wide grin to Daniel’s face. “Yeah, I-I planned it for you” he said bashfully, eyes flashing at Corbyn with a smirk. He received a teasing glare in return and Jonah hid his giggle behind a sip of his coffee. 

 “I’m sure we’ll have time. But I actually planned for us to go canoeing today...” Jonah revealed, offering a simple smile in response to his friends’ open mouthed, shocked stares. “I’ve decided to conquer my fear of the ocean...Well, we’re not going in the ocean. Just the river a little way away. But that’s still conquering my fear, right?” He looked to the others for reassurance. 

 “Right.” Corbyn said with a light chuckle. 

 “Whatever you say.” Daniel shrugged, a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him. “Thanks for breakfast by the way” he said, shovelling a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. 

 “That’s okay, I figured I’d volunteer since I’m the mom of the group.” He said plainly, earning light chuckles from the others sitting around the table. 

 A calm aura swallowed the atmosphere as the group of friends ate their breakfast, lavishing upon fresh memories from the past few days. The two other bandmates woke up not long after. They dragged their feet through the squidgy grass tiredly. “Morning…” Jack breathed. The others simultaneously replied with gentle waves and ‘morning’s. Zach shuffled his feet over to the mini, portable coffee machine and poured himself a soothing cup of rich coffee before squishing right next to Corbyn on the picnic table. 

 “Where’s Grayson, he up yet?” Zach asked, peeking a brow as he filled his plate. 

“Nope.” Y/n sighed, dropping her gaze as she haphazardly stirred her bowl of cereal. “I don’t think he’d like canoeing anyway...” She said honestly. Daniel’s smile faltered as he listened to Y/n’s words, and he exchanged identical looks with the guys. 

 “Maybe I can convince him?” Corbyn volunteered, shooting a comforting look at Daniel. He received a grateful nod in return, and they shared tight smiles. 

 -----

The gang were finally ready at around 2pm. They had played almost every board game they brought with them and had grown irritated by hearing the constant chirping of birds and rustling of trees around the campsite. 

 The fresh morning glow of the sky had subsided. The sun scorched down on the cluster of friends as they were ushered - by Jonah - to the sparkling river only a five-minute walk away. A rich tapestry of blue spread across the gentle velvet waters of the river. Jonah nearly sprinted to the wooden rack of canoes. To him, an inviting new adventure was just waiting to be experienced and he was oblivious to his friends’ teasing remarks. 

 “Ten bucks says he’ll absolutely hate it.” Daniel turned to Corbyn, a Nike swoosh of a smirk plastered on his face. 

 Corbyn chuckled, “I think he’ll tolerate it.” He replied truthfully. With a vigorous shake of hands, their bet was official. The guys lifted their canoes from the rack and placed them on the rocky shore. “Hey, Grayson? Can you help me with this?” Y/n asked tiredly as she tried to lift the canoe. She looked around for her boyfriend, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Grayson?”

 “Here.” Daniel giggled, a few paces away. “I can help.” An easy grin played on his face as he shifted the canoe from her arms to his. He passed her a life jacket and calmly watched her slip it on. 

 “Thanks” Y/n said, her cheeks a little more pink than usual. 

“s'ok” Daniel uttered lovingly. 

 Meanwhile, Jonah had been struggling with his own rickety canoe. It was so noisy that the wood creaked every time they moved. Jonah turned back to Daniel hesitantly, “Is this safe to use?” He asked, jerking down the brim of his lopsided baseball cap. Daniel looked up from his spot in the river. His knees were deep in the calm water and his forehead was already dampened with a layer of sweat from pushing the weighty canoe. 

 Daniel laughed lightly. “It'll be fine.” He reassured with a toothy smile. 

 Jonah tried his best to pull a grin in response and he turned back to the front, watching the water ripple and sparkle gracefully. A shaky deep breath left his lips as they finally plunged into the water past the shore. The three other bandmates drifted past, paddling recklessly through the water without a care in the world. “Oh my gosh” Daniel chuckled as he glanced at them. 

 “They're gonna fall in for sure.” Jonah said quietly.

 “I don’t think they’re gonna fall in...” Daniel joked. 

 He couldn’t help but steal a glance at Y/n and Grayson behind them. Y/n’s smile shone as bright as lighthouse beams and the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, spreading light to every inch of him as well. The natural dew on her skin fostered a gentle glow to her face. The serene reverie he slipped into was broken by the familiar voice of Y/n’s boyfriend. 

 “Can you help please?” Y/n asked after her laughter died down. She raised and lowered the oar steadily through the water, watching it glide graciously upon the surface. “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.” She chuckled lightly. 

 “Okay, Y/n.” Grayson picked up the single bladed oar beside him and began paddling. “I didn’t even want to do this anyway.” He murmured quietly to himself, but Y/n heard. 

 “Can you please just do it...for me?” Y/n said, “let’s just try and have fun, okay?” She spoke pleadingly with a tight smile.  

 Daniel sighed after hearing their small conversation but just went back to paddling with Jonah. 

The image of Y/n and Grayson on the canoe froze in his mind, kindling some kind of twisted jealousy or hurt in his gentle heart. The lingering goosebumps on his skin chilled his body to the bone. He let the serenity of silence calm him and the warmth of the sun’s rays heat up his cold body. 

 How are you holding up? You seem a little tense.” He asked Jonah although his eyes wandered elsewhere. Denying his shallow breaths and slightly quivering body, Jonah replied with a confident, “I’m doing great” as they travelled forwards quietly.

 “Oh my gosh. Not these stupid bugs again” Daniel complained, eyes bolting to all directions and arms swinging in weary irritation. “-hate that I didn’t bring bug spray,” he groaned. 

 “Daniel.” Jonah said gingerly. Daniel was so distracted by the hasty bugs that circled him, he didn’t notice the canoe’s persistent wobbling.

 “I swear I’m gonn-” His complaint was cut off by the crashing waves of the river washing over him as the boat completely toppled over. All the two boys could hear was the muffled laughter of their friends - perfectly dry and safe in their canoes. Jonah tried to shoot up to the surface of the river desperately, and with the help of Daniel beside him, he made it to the surface, to shore and then finally a decent length away from the river in good time. 

 “I’m never doing that again! I’m just gonna be scared of the ocean forever!” Jonah yelled breathily. 

 “Okay,” Daniel soothed gently, swallowing back his laughter as he walked past him. Jonah frowned at him before shifting his eyes back to the water. He watched peacefully as a soft breeze rippled the surface of the river. It danced along gracefully before hitting the rocks and pebbles on the shoreside. 

 Among the tall oak and pine trees, a pleasant shade had fallen where Jonah had been sitting, staring morosely at the water. Daniel padded across the grass and plunked himself beside Jonah, offering him a fresh, red towel. Jonah gratefully accepted and slung it over his shoulders, clutching it tightly around his body. “You, okay?” Daniel asked gently, biting back a chuckle. 

 Jonah turned to him, hiding his own laughter behind a supposably serious face. “Yeah.” He pushed his arm across his forehead tiredly. 

 “You’ll be alright.” Daniel assured. Just then, in perfect, comical timing, Corbyn emerged from the shore and tapped Daniel lightly on the shoulder. 

 “I guess I owe you ten bucks now.” He shrugged, unknowing of the conversation the two other boys just had. 

-----

“Okay, what’s next?” Y/n asked eagerly. 

 “The trail.” Daniel said simply. He looked behind his shoulder. “You can stay here if you’re not feeling up to it Jonah.” He assured lightly, a small smile playing on his lips. 

 “Uhh...no.” Jonah shut down quickly. “You just feel bad for earning ten bucks at my expense” He joked, glaring at Daniel teasingly. 

 “Okay then, if you’re all ready to go, let’s do it.” He suggested. 

The friend group were on their second adventure of the day and even though some of the boys were tired, they knew how much Daniel wanted to do this, especially for Y/n. They trekked through the summer heat in clusters as they conversed. Daniel draped his shirt over his shoulder and his hair sat all muddled on his head, flicking hard against his forehead as he walked. 

 Zach’s gaze caught something in the distance. In the dappled sunlight, amid the strong boughs, overgrown cabins scattered the dark areas of woods. The trees grew so tall, they veiled the sun’s light. He turned to Jack, tossing a sweaty arm around him. “You wanna mess with the guys?” He asked mischievously - not that he really needed to. 

 “Of course.” Jack responded with a chuckle. They were a few paces behind everyone else, so they quietly devised a plan. “K, i’ve got this” Jack said, clearing his throat and rolling up his sleeves. 

 “No, I've got this.” Zach corrected blankly. 

 “No. I’ve-” Jack started, before he was suddenly interrupted by Corbyn. 

 “You guys alright?” Corbyn asked gently with a light laugh. 

 Jack shuffled his feet closer to Corbyn a few paces ahead of him so he could hear better. He turned to Zach again. “Yeah, me and Zach were just talking about that cabin over there. Further in the distance” He asked, pointing to a random, bleak cabin. Zach merely sighed and nodded as he glanced at Corbyn. 

 Corbyn replied, “yeah? What about it?” He asked, slight hesitation laced in his voice. 

 “That’s my dad’s cabin. He bought it back in ‘97.” Jack said casually. 

 “Really?” Corbyn asked, matching Jack’s pace as he walked beside him. 

 “Yeah, he got it pretty cheap from the old owner.” 

 Corbyn peered into the distance, the archaic architecture and spoiled timber exterior didn’t go unnoticed, and he simply nodded. “Makes sense.” He chuckled. 

 “The guy caught his brother cheating with his wife…” He uttered eerily. Just then, Daniel and Y/n’s attention was caught by his fake story too. He continued, dropping his gaze to the brittle leaves that crunched beneath his feet. “He chased them out of the cabin and into the dark woods with a...” He paused for a second, searching for more ideas, “a machete and stabbed the dude three times. People say he’s still out there trying to find his wife, a sharp, bloody machete still in his hand.” He looked up to stunned faces looking back at him. “He could still be out here today.” Jack finished casually, continuing his onward stride through the trail. 

 Grayson scoffed, “Yeah right. You can’t tell me you guys really believe this.” He sneered. 

 “Y-yeah guys don’t be silly” Y/n said lightly, even though she was really shaken by it. She cleared her throat nervously before turning back to continue walking. 

 Grayson slowly approached Daniel from behind before uttering a gentle, “hey uhh, there’s not service here?” He questioned, holding up his phone to the sky with an outstretched arm. 

 “Oh yea. Sorry, I must’ve forgotten to mention it.” Daniel replied casually, turning back to the rocky path. 

 “Oh...okay” Grayson hid his slight uneasiness with a feigned grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 The walk was peaceful for the most part, filled with organic, simple conversation. The brown and dry ground had little patches of green peeking through the roots of flowers and low-lying bushes. Y/n broke the momentary silence first with a question.

"Where's my necklace?"

'What?" Grayson asked. 

 “My necklace.” Y/n repeated. “You know the gold one, with the little crescent moon sorta thing?”

 Grayson paused for a moment before replying with a tired “yeah, okay well when was the last time you saw it?”

 “I’ve had it on for the whole trip, until now I guess.” Her face was etched in concern as she looked around. “I can’t lose that Gray, Dani gave it to me” She whimpered. 

 Daniel’s head turned at the familiar sound of his nickname. “What’s going on?”

 “She lost that gold necklace or something.” Grayson said plainly as he continued walking. 

 “Wait-” Daniel gazed at Y/n seriously, “the one I gave you?”

“Yeah.”

 “Okay, uhh. Okay. It’s okay. We’ll find it. Don’t panic.” Daniel reassured, more to himself than her. 

 “Don’t panic? You literally look like you’re panicking right now Daniel.” Y/n teased lightly with a faint giggle. 

 “Uhh, okay guys!” He turned back to his bandmates ahead. “Y/n lost her necklace. We need to go find it.” He announced gravely, resting his hands on his hips. He turned back to Y/n, noticing her panicked look. "Don't worry, we'll find it" Daniel assured her gently. 

 "I hope so" Y/n said, worry written all over her face. 

 Zach fluttered about trying to find the necklace in unusual places. First his eyes roamed the precariously balanced boulders, then Jack’s hoodie that was tied around his waist and finally Jonah’s hat. He grasped Jonah's baseball cap from his head, peering into it solemnly. 

 "It's not in there," Jonah countered, snatching the hat back defiantly. 

 "Great, thanks Jonah" Zach said sarcastically before focusing back on finding Y/n’s gold chain.

 The sun settled around them, gushing warm, dark golden streams through the columns of tall trees. It splashed warmly from their faces to their feet as they tread through the woods back and forth. Daniel weaved in and out through the trees and bushes as seamlessly as a shuffled deck of cards, concentration.

 “Okay, you guys look over there,” Jonah said, pointing into the distance. “And the rest of us will go back down this way.” He suggested, and everyone agreed. 

 “Have you got any idea where it might be?” Grayson asked, glancing at Y/n. 

 “No, not a clue.” Y/n sighed worriedly, “It was around my neck like a minute ago” She dragged a hand over her face in frustration. 

 “Well, it obviously wasn’t if we’re still looking for it.” He muttered quietly. 

 “What?” Y/n asked gently. 

 “Nevermind.” Grayson walked past Y/n in the opposite direction angrily, but Y/n didn’t notice. 

 Grayson's groan of annoyance had Daniel averting his gaze to the boy beside him. “What’s wrong, man?” Daniel tried gently, slowing down to match Grayson’s pace. 

 “I just wanna find this stupid necklace” He huffed irritiatedly.

 “It’s not stupid,” Daniel returned quietly, swallowing back his hurt. “I’m sure we’ll find it soon.” He assured calmly. 

 “We better.” Grayson warned. 

 “And we will...” 

 “Yeah, sure” Grayson returned, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “This forest is so big. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack”.

 “If we all just focus, we should find it pretty easily.” Jack said reassuringly with a grin. Daniel nodded lightly in agreement. 

 “We’re literally just wasting time right now. I’m not even the one who gave it to her so why should I care?” Grayson glared at Daniel out of the corner of his eye. 

 “Because it’s important to Y/n.” Daniel glared at Grayson with utmost distaste. 

 Grayson only scoffed loudly. 

 Daniel stopped his movement and stood up straight. “Look, Y/n really wants to find it. If you were a good boyfriend, you wouldn’t be complaining right now.” He said seriously, storming further into the ever-darkening woods. He didn’t even think about the necklace anymore. It’s not just about the necklace. He thought. 

 “I’ve got more important things to do.” Grayson grumbled. 

 “Really? Cos you’ve sure been spending a lot of time on your phone” Daniel replied shortly. Grayson squirmed under Daniel’s blank gaze. He dropped his head and shuffled his feet nervously to hide his flushed, pink cheeks. Daniel took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Grayson's words stirred inside of him, and he felt his arms bend at the elbows and hands close into fists almost uncontrollably. He was so focused on maintaining his supposedly calm facade that he didn’t realise how far they were walking. 

 “Guys. Can we-” Jack huffed. He searched his mind wretchedly to try and stop their argument.

Grayson looked at Daniel, “It’s just work, my brother and I work together so it’s just a lot of back and forth you know,” He chuckled, a hint of a grin on his lips. 

“Like what? calls? Texts?” 

 “Guys.” Jack tried again gently. 

 Grayson paused for a moment before words stumbled out of his lips. “Y-yea. Calls and...stuff”

“I haven’t heard Ethan’s name come out of your mouth once this whole trip so far.”

 “What are you trying to say?” Grayson challenged. His tone was pugnacious, calculating at most. 

 “Guys!” Jack’s loud voice snapped the two other boys out of their argument, and they looked at him expectantly. “I think we’ve gone too far,” he said slowly. 

 “Great.” Grayson groaned. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? Seriously, don’t start this” Daniel responded tiredly, 

 “If you had just minded your own business then we wouldn’t be lost or whatever.”

 “This is my business. She’s my best friend.” Daniel replied without hesitation. 

 “Wait guys, don’t you fear” Jack said positively, pulling out a crumpled map from his back pocket. “I have a map.” His eyes darted from side to side as he stared at it. 

“It’s upside down.” Grayson said tiredly. 

“Oh. I knew that.” Jack chuckled, turning the map over to the right side before continuing. “Okay…. umm does anyone actually know how to read this?” He asked shyly, a giggle escaping his lips. He glanced back at the two boys beside him. Their deadpan faces and silence had him dropping his gaze to the map again. 

[lingotango]

Rules: Answer these 85 statements and tag ppl

hey look i did it on the same day that i saw the tag! @epunda thanks :D

THE LAST 1. drink: black tea 2. phone call: idk tbh, probs a call from work 3. text message: my dad 4. song you listened to: Makeba by Jain 5. time you cried: sometime last week 6. dated someone twice: haha v funny 7. kissed someone and regretted it: no 8. been cheated on: no 9. lost someone special: yes 10. been depressed: idk but last january all thru august was quite the low point for me 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: no

3 FAVOURITE COLOURS 12. maroon  13. navy blue 14. black

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU 15. made new friends: yes 16. fallen out of love: no 17. laughed until you cried: no 18. found out someone was talking about you: no 19. met someone who changed you: hELL YEAH omg and im oh SO thankful 20. found out who your friends are: YES but the feeling comes and goes its v weird? 21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: no

GENERAL: 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: all but like two--love ‘em all the same though <33 23. do you have any pets: no 24. do you want to change your name: hmm this is an especially tough one... i love my name but i do wish i had a simpler one cuz its just too difficult sometimes :/ 25. what did you do for your last birthday: ate bday cake with the fam  26. what time did you wake up: 7:53 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: reading  28. name something you can’t wait for: some fucking stability in my life 

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: like an hour ago  31. what are you listening to right now: Gold by Chet Faker 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: no 33. something that is getting on your nerves: stupid tumblr posts 34. most visited website: no idea 35. hair colour: dark dark brown 36. long or short hair: short but its growing ! 37. do you have a crush on someone: no 38. what do you like about yourself: i mean im pretty nice and patient with people but i also hate that cuz they can walk all over me

39. piercings: only ears 40. blood type: O negative 41. nickname: shar

42. relationship status: single 43. zodiac: scorpio 44. pronouns: she/her 45. favourite tv show: This is Us, Broadchurch, Friends 46. tattoos: nope 47. right or left handed: right 48. surgery: no 50. Sport: LOL 51. vacation: a few weeks in europe would be much appreciated 52. pair of trainers: wat

MORE GENERAL 53. eating: anything 54. drinking: water or tea 55. I’m about to: slerp/watch netflix till i fall asleep 56. waiting for: some quiet alone time thursday and friday 57. want: that damn stability yo 58. get married: yep ((if someone will take me)) 59. career: i used to know exactly but every day it seems that image gets more blurred (still shooting for lab sciences/medicine) ((i feel that “stop“))

WHICH IS BETTER: 60. hugs or kisses: both 61. lips or eyes: never paid particular attention to either? 62. shorter or taller: idc 63. older or younger: ideally not too much of either, there isnt much good rep with age gaps in my life  64. nice arms or nice stomach: idc 65. hookup or relationship: relationship 66. troublemaker or hesitant: something in the middle 

HAVE YOU EVER: 67. kissed a stranger: no 68. drank hard liquor: no 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: no 70. turned someone down: no 73. had your heart broken: no 74. been arrested: no 75. cried when someone died: yes 76. fallen for a friend: no

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 77. yourself: tbh. i dont know anymore 78. miracles: nuu 79. love at first sight: it makes for great films but no 81. kiss on the first date: why not 82. angels: nah

OTHER: 84. eye colour: dark brwon 85. favourite movie: Mommy, In Bruges, The Breakfast Club

I shall tagggg @francaisetanglais, @writingallnight, @not-quite-fluent, @linguafreund, @mio-cuore, @emokyl0-r3n, @mivolasvivi, @bonbonlanguage but yeah you dont have to since these are awfully specific questions and theres 85 of them lol

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest - Chapter Three: Clip 8

the edited version of the chapter will come up later tonight (also technically there are two clips)

master list previous

...

Vrijdag 22:32

When Robbe sat down for his typical Friday night stream, he had a plan. For starters, he was only going to stream for the usual three hours that he always did. No more. No less. After, he was going to study for an hour, look over notes for his test on Wednesday, and go to bed. Then, in the morning, he would wake up, have breakfast with the flatshare, and go skating with his friends. After that, he didn’t know. 

Robbe thought he was stronger. 

Once the clock neared 21:00, his chat thoroughly managed to convince him—aided by Moyo and Aaron, chanting over the Discord call—to stream for an additional hour. While the smarter part of Robbe’s brain had begged him to stick to the schedule in his head, he was having so much fun with his friends and the chat that he couldn’t help extending the time a little longer. And, as it neared 22:00, he couldn’t help but continue for ‘one more round’ which simply turned into five without blinking. Robbe was starting to wonder when it would end because he didn’t want to. 

Then, through the act of his phone lighting up, the universe decided to tell him to get off the stream.

earthlingoddity: It’s so lonely under the stars without you.

The message in every sense of the word screamed Sander. Yet, it made Robbe’s insides twist and turn with such a defined precision that it was elating. Freeing. It was bold and private, a confession for only the two of them, something that they shared. Something that Sander wanted to share with Robbe so openly and so quickly and so boldly. 

Even though the stream was running, Robbe couldn’t leave Sander without a response. As soon as he had hit send (the second time), he turned back to the stream, catching up on the donations and messages. It was practically second nature now. But, he still found himself watching for his screen to light up again.

sterkerdanijzer: Oh, yeah? How can I make it a little less lonely?

Sander’s next message was the final cannonball into Robbe’s intricate night schedule. Whatever ounce of want to look over his Bio notes, to get to bed on time, splintered into pieces on the ground at three simple little words that flashed on the screen.

earthlingoddity: Wanna join me?

Vrijdag 22:52

As soon as the invitation had come through, Robbe abruptly ended the stream and claimed that he needed to the studying that he had been neglecting. His chat had all wished him goodbye and good luck on his upcoming tests. Once the stream was ended, he practically hung up on his friends and tripped over his feet in his search for a pair of jeans. Once he had switched out his night-stream sweatpants, Robbe was shoving his feet into shoes and typing out a message to Sander about meeting him.

Sander replied with a wink emoji and then an address.

As Robbe stepped out into the hallway, he quietly shut his door and tiptoed toward the front door. Even though Zoë—and Senne—were the only ones home, he didn’t want to disturb them in his haste to meet Sander. As Robbe opened the door, he could hear the sounds of their movie sounding from the living room. Feeling like he was sneaking out past curfew, he tiptoed out the door and pulled it close behind him without a sound. Once the door was locked, Robbe practically sprinted to the elevator, impatiently pressing the button until it opened. 

The address that Sander sent him brought him to a warehouse or rather a whole street full of warehouses of all shapes and sizes. Nearly all the surrounding warehouses had their lights shut off and the only light that bathed the street was the harsh white light emanating from the street posts. Other than Robbe and a stray cat that darted into a dark alleyway, the street was empty.

Standing outside of the warehouse with the matching address, he balanced on one foot and looked around, searching for a sign of Sander. Or, at the very least, a clue of where to go. As he hopped off his bike, he spotted another in the shadows of the building and the neighboring one. It was a dark bike with dark handles but there was a bright red lightning bolt sticker on the bars. It was Sander’s. 

Stepping into the shadows, Robbe leaned his bike on the wall near his before he moved further into the alleyway in search of the other. It was short and badly lit. There was enough room for a dumpster and some breathing room, but aside from that, the alleyway was bare of anything else. In the end, it opened up onto the Scheldt and the dark night sky. Robbe stepped out of the alleyway and quickly found who he was looking for. 

Poised on the edge of the concrete, Sander looked like a stone statue, left there for others to stumble upon and gawk in awe. His bleach blond hair was ruffled by the light breeze and he was staring across the river with a focused gaze. His legs were dangled over the concrete, hovering high above the dark water below. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and a pair of denim jeans that made Robbe wonder if Sander had just gotten off work. As Robbe approached him, cautiously and nerves bouncing frantically in his gut, he accidentally kicked a bottle which made him jump more than it did Sander, who seemed unbothered. 

The endearing smile that bloomed across Sander’s face did little to calm the mild heart attack that Robbe had given himself. “Hey,” Sander greeted. Robbe moved closer to him and sat down on the edge of the canal with him. Their legs brushed flush together and a small smile formed over Sander’s lips. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here or I would’ve met you.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe said, smiling at him. “I managed to find you all by myself.” Sander chuckled, smiling over at him with a sheepish smile on his face. “Did you just feel like star-gazing tonight?” 

“Yeah,” Sander replied, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to Robbe. “Since I had the late shift and had to close up tonight, I thought I would come out and watch the stars a little before bed. Plus, if I went back to my apartment, it would be too quiet anyway. Noor’s in the Netherlands visiting family and, well—you know where Senne is.”

“How did you even find this place?” Robbe asked. 

“In high school, I used to sneak out and roam the city,” Sander said, shyly. “When I wasn’t in a good place, it always brought me comfort. I would search the city for graffiti art and document it all. It’s how I found this place and over a dozen more coves of hidden artistic treasures around the city.” Sander smiled, returning his eyes back to the water. “But, this place has been my favorite. There’s not a lot of lights to block out the stars and it’s peaceful this time of night because not a lot of people live here.”

“Yeah,” Robbe said, barely a whisper. Sander glanced over at him and Robbe felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment for being caught staring. Even as a bright smile formed over Sander’s face, Robbe found himself unable to look as his cheeks flushed brighter. “It does seem quite peaceful here.” 

Sander chuckled before turning back to the stars in front of him. 

Unable to keep still, Robbe turned to take in their surrounding. He had been so focused on finding Sander that he hadn’t taken in their surroundings. In addition, he knew that if he didn’t keep his eyes off Sander, he would fall into the same daze of staring until he was caught again. Though, Robbe had a feeling that Sander didn’t mind him staring a little too long. In fact, he was certain that he enjoyed it. 

The warehouse behind them was a simple warehouse with a large deep blue door. He had seen it many times before, of course, because his normal skatepark was on the other side of the river. But, the warehouse next to it, the one a little further back and hidden, was the one that caught his attention. For a second, he thought it was the trick of the light—or the shadows—but he realized there was something on the wall, harshly obscured due to the lack of light. 

“What is that?” Robbe questioned.

Sander turned to him. “Huh?” 

Unable to answer his question, Robbe rose to his feet. He moved away from Sander, who shuffled somewhere behind him. As he got closer to the building, he pulled his phone out and turned on his flashlight. Once the light was on and he reached the side of the building, he directed his phone toward it and gasped. 

It was a mural. 

In a large oblique circle located in the center of the brick wall, there was a depiction of a torrential ocean. The waves were large and massive, looking like they would crash into each other in a second’s notice. Above the ocean were deep gray clouds that poured heaps of rain onto the ocean below. The mural took up half of the building wall and Robbe couldn’t stop staring at it, shining his light over every piece of the mural, not wanting to miss a piece. 

There was the shuffle of boots behind him, but Robbe didn’t have to look to know that Sander was right behind him. “Do you like it?” Sander asked. 

There was something lingering in his voice that Robbe didn’t pinpoint. Pausing, Robbe turned to Sander, who was moving toward him with cautious steps and his hands buried deep in his pockets. He turned back to the mural in front of him, his eyes searching the dark blue paint and its torrential rain and overwhelming ocean waves. “I love it.” 

“Really?” Sander questioned. 

The artist was closer to Robbe now. He could feel the warm presence that Sander radiated just out of his reach. Robbe’s head spun out of control, twisting and churning like the depiction of the torrential downpour in front of him. Despite the fact that his heart might leap out of his chest if he talked, Robbe said, “Yes.” 

Sander let out a breath before he said, “I’m happy to hear that you like it.” His breath brushed against the shell of Robbe’s ear and he shivered unexpectedly at the feeling of him so close. Sander’s tattooed arm appeared over his shoulder and his right hand grasped Robbe’s hand which held the phone. His hand was warmer, larger, and the warmth flooded through his body unexpectedly. Gently, Sander moved his hand so the phone’s light was shining directly below the mural.

In the center of the light beam, there was a prominent black lightning bolt, outlined with a thin line of white along its right side. On its left, there was an almost unintelligible S and a similar-looking D was on its right. A realization clicked in Robbe’s head as he stared at the tag. Sander dropped his hand from around Robbe’s, his thumb swiping across his knuckles, and Robbe felt a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “You painted this.”

“Yeah,” Sander said. “One night, a few months ago, I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried so I snuck out and came here with a bag full of spray paint. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I had found a ladder that someone left and I started working. Once sunlight hit and Senne realized I was gone, he found me high on the ladder with spray paint covering my hands and exhausted. When he asked me what it meant, I couldn’t explain. It was just how I felt.”

“I get that.” 

Turning away from the mural, Robbe turned to Sander. But, he had underestimated how close the artist had gotten and the realization had knocked all of the wind out of his lungs. Sander was standing within reach, less than, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. His green eyes, which stood out from the dark shadows surrounding them, were focused solely on him and Robbe was positive that he looked like a gaping fish. 

It felt like Wednesday all over again, green eyes searching brown ones, brown ones searching green ones, in the darkness of the night sky. But, this time, Robbe was the one who purposely dropped his gaze to Sander’s lips and the artist immediately let out a shaky breath. He glanced back up at Sander, who had a vulnerable but determined look in his eyes, as their eyes locked together again.

Then, Sander took a step closer. 

With each agonizing second that Sander leaned closer, Robbe could feel his emotions churning in his stomach like the waves depicted on the wall behind him. They crashed against his skin in torrential waves, drowning him beneath their waves, and they collided in his skull like excited particles threatening to explode. His stomach was a fit of nerves and anticipation of what might come next—of what was coming next—of how much he wanted it to happen with every nerve and atom that existed in his body. Robbe tilted his head so their lips would easily slide together.

As their noses brushed together—as Robbe’s eyes fluttered close—as Sander’s warm hand cradled his jaw—as Robbe gripped onto his bicep, the waves shuttered to a stop and all the excited particles halted in midair, leaving only one thought in their wake as their lips grazed against each other: I want this. 

If the wait was like drowning, the kiss itself was like breaking the surface of the water, the waves reducing around him and taking a gigantic breath of fresh air. Sander’s large, warm hands cradled his jaw. In Sander’s gentle, warm grip, Robbe felt like he was something precious. Sander’s lips pressed against his own, barely there, gentle and sweet. Robbe felt like his head was spinning, his senses filled with the smell of Sander’s intoxicating cologne. But, even with his senses full of the intoxicating smell, Robbe felt like it wasn’t enough—he wanted Sander even closer. 

Sander pulled away, letting out a breath that ghosted across Robbe’s face, and he opened his eyes to look up at him. 

A beautiful smile was on Sander’s face and it was directed at him. It was by far the widest that Robbe had ever seen him smile and it looked like it could’ve split Sander’s face into two separate pieces. It made him look like a piece of artwork or a moment snapped in time. And, it was absolutely infectious. Robbe’s own lips pulled up in a smile as he stared at him. Robbe’s cheeks ached and he knew that his dimples were likely out. But, no matter how much it hurt, Robbe didn’t want to stop smiling and he didn’t think that he was capable of doing so.

“Fuck,” Sander said. His thumbs dragged across his cheekbones, dipping a little at the dimples on the edges of his lips, before tracing the path all over again. One of his hands moved back into the hair at the nap of Robbe’s neck, holding him there, tugging at the strands of his hair. Then, he whispered, a confession for Robbe and Robbe only, “You’re so beautiful.” 

“So are you,” Robbe whispered.

Robbe surged up toward him. He stood on his toes to kiss him again—to kiss him a third time—to kiss him as many times as Sander would want to. And, Sander was there, holding onto him tightly and ready to catch him, and met his kiss with eager force.

Their first kiss had been sweet and short. It was like they were testing the waters on it all, trying to see if it was something the other wanted. But, this kiss was hungry and desperate, like they couldn’t get close enough to satisfy their increasing desire. There wasn’t enough time in the world so Sander kissed him with everything that he had and Robbe tried to pull Sander closer and closer until there was no room in between them. Their lips moved in an uncoordinated fashion, half reacting to the other, as they tried to learn their lips. Robbe tried to mesmerize this moment with Sander’s fingers in his hair and Robbe clinging to the black fabric of his t-shirt desperately. 

Sander’s kiss slowed a little, but not enough to separate their lips. Then, he moved, taking one step and the other, and Robbe tilted along with him, clinging desperately to his shoulders like a koala that was unable to let go. But, Robbe couldn’t help it and he didn’t think Sander minded. He did not want to separate from the softness of Sander’s lips or the eagerness of his kiss. Sander’s hand was tight on his hip, guiding him on where he wanted him to go, before Robbe felt his back press against the wall—the wall with the mural—before Sander’s kiss returned in full force. 

Sander leaned further against Robbe, nearly putting all of his weight on him. His hands tugged on the strands of Robbe’s hair and kissed him harder and faster. Robbe let out a sigh and tried to match Sander’s overwhelming, intoxicating intensity. He arched into the kiss before wrapping one arm around Sander’s shoulder. He tugged Sander closer and he came willingly, stepping forward and crowding Robbe against the wall. Robbe dug his fingers into the blond strands of his hair and Sander sighed between their lips.

They broke the kiss, half panting into each other’s mouth, trying to regain their breath. They were quiet and still, simply holding onto each other and relishing in each other’s presence. Then, a giggle escaped from Robbe’s mouth and Sander let out a laugh before moving to close the distance again. Their lips slotted together like they never separated. 

[elysianrey]

 let me take your coat (and this weight off your shoulders)

He first notices her after his Thursday afternoon therapy session with Dr. Raynor. 

His brain begins to automatically profile her as it does with most people he interacts with these days. Short. At least 5’3”. Petite frame. Shoulder length, brown hair. Soft features. Brown eyes. Mid 30s. Jittery legs. Twisting fingers.

Old habits die hard, he supposes. 

She’s sitting in the waiting area of the mental health facility, eyes briefly meeting as his footsteps fall past her chair on his way out of the office. 

She looks familiar. 

Her eyes echo the same sentiment of recognition, which causes an uneasy feeling to creep into the pit of his stomach. His fingers tighten around the small leather notebook in his jacket pocket. The moment is broken as he shifts his attention back to the polished flooring. 

His gloved hand pushes the door open, leaving the brunette woman alone. 

+

 He spends the evening rifling through the pages of his notebook. His mind shuffles through the faces like an old film roll. Then he hits replay after his initial check. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 Again. 

 He combs his fingers through his hair as he leans against the wall of his apartment. He lets out a small sigh of relief. 

 No connections to her are in the book. 

 +

 It becomes a habit for him every Thursday.

 Leave Dr. Raynor’s office. Walk through the lobby. Make eye contact with the brunette woman, whom he still can’t seem to place. Consider acknowledging her with a grin. Decide against it. Look down at the ground. Leave the facility. 

 He realizes he’s capable of acting more- human? Normal? Like an actual functioning adult in the twenty-first century. Dr. Raynor kindly reminds him of it every session, and yet, the creeping feeling of self-doubt never fails to get the better of him. 

 Yesterday. 

 Today. 

 And probably tomorrow. 

 +

 She’s not in the waiting area the following Thursday. 

 His feet pick up their pace to exit the facility that day, seeing as he has no real reason to take his time. His chest twinges in disappointment, despite having no good reason to. He doesn’t even know her name. In fact, the only real thing he knows about her is that she meets with a therapist on Thursday afternoons. Like him. 

 Which meant she was working through some stuff. Like him. 

 As he approaches the door, his eyes focused on the ground, the force of a body slamming into him nearly knocks him on his ass. His hands instinctively rise to steady the person apparently in a rush today. Then his breath catches upon realizing who is standing between his outstretched arms. 

 Her eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks puffy, and when she lifts her head to apologize, she suddenly begins to aggressively wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Embarrassment mixing with the despair she is clearly experiencing. 

 He stammers. “I—are you ok—?”

 Before he can finish his question, she pulls back and cuts him off. “I’m so sorry—I really have to—“ 

 She stumbles around him and disappears past the receptionist and down the hall without another word, leaving him feeling confused and concerned all at the same time. 

 +

 He spends the next week worrying about her. 

 It’s better than worrying about his own demons. 

 Strangely, it gives his brain a small sense of relief.

 +

 Dr. Raynor has to reschedule for Friday. 

 He leaves flowers at the receptionist desk and tells them they’re for the brunette woman who comes in at 3. 

 He hopes she gets them. 

 +

 She’s approaching him before he has the chance to register her appearance in the lobby. Her small, yet self-assured frame blocks his exit to the double doors. She’s speaking and he immediately picks up that she uses her hands to get her point across. 

 “Hi. I just want to apologize for what happened a couple weeks ago. I hope I didn’t cause too much damage to—,” her right hand does a sweeping motion across his chest. “Anyway... my name is Jane. Jane Foster.” The woman extends her hand, eyes finally meeting his directly. 

 She’s nervous. Hesitant. 

 He takes it in his gloved, vibranium hand and gives it a gentle shake. “James. And don’t worry about it.” She smiles and he returns the effort out of politeness. 

 She drops his hand and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “Well, it was nice to meet you James. I better head—“ She finishes her sentence by pointing in the opposite direction, toward the hallway of therapist offices. 

 He gives her a nod, stepping out of her way. Jane starts past him and before she can get too far, the words slip out of his mouth. 

 “Would you want to maybe grab a drink sometime?” James can’t help but inwardly cringe at the awkward bluntness in the question, however there’s no going back now. 

 Jane turns and bites down on her lower lip. “Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah that would be nice.”

 +

 James sits on his makeshift bed in his apartment living room, scrolling through the contacts on his phone list. Sam. Shuri. Dr. Raynor. Clint. His apartment manager. 

 And now Jane Foster. 

 Dr. Raynor wasn’t kidding when she chastised him for only having ten contacts. At least he had added one name to his list. 

 They were meeting tonight at 8 pm. She suggested a small, trendy downtown bar that had a bizarre name he couldn’t prounounce. He wonders if this date was going to be like all the others. 

 Fake. Stiff. Unbearable. 

 A small part of him tries to insist that Jane is different. Sure, he can’t logically reason how he knows this, yet he can’t shake the feeling she is different in some way to the other women he’s met since his return. 

 +

 He’s right. 

 She’s unlike anyone woman he’s ever met in the twenty-first century. 

 It’s not hard to get Jane talking about herself, and once he does, he spends nearly the rest of the evening listening to her talk about her work with space. 

 He learns she’s an astrophysicist and she’s in New York working at the Simons Foundation. She disappeared during The Blip too and now she’s trying to make up for the 5 years she lost. Jane’s passion for learning more about the universe captivates him. She shares some of the theories she has about other universes that may exist and he’s left in awe as she paints pictures into his mind of periwinkle planets, alien lifeforms, and methods of possibly meeting them. 

 She doesn’t get the chance to ask him many questions, which is a relief.

 Her laughter is light, the alcohol clearly easing the weight of the world that she wears like a prisoner around her shoulders. He doesn’t know what she was like before whatever shit got to her, but he enjoys seeing Jane this way. Carefree. 

 He asks if he can see her again. 

 She says yes. 

 +

 She texts him about an upcoming Celestial event. A telescope will allow you to see Saturn’s rings and moons all night if the sky is clear. 

 He buys a telescope and sets it up on the roof of his apartment building and spends hours watching Saturn from his point on Earth. It makes him feel like a small speck in comparison to everything beyond this planet. He wants to find out more of what this life has to offer before it’s too late and it reminds him of his effort of making amends for his past sins. 

 Clearly he still has a lot of work to do. 

 +

 She admits that she did some digging and she knows who he really is on their third date. He supposes he’s not too surprised at her inquisitiveness, but her declaration suddenly makes him feel entirely exposed and vulnerable. 

 They’re sitting in the corner of a quiet coffee shop and James eyes the nearest exit because his chest is contracting and the air is not meeting his lungs like it should. His heart hammers in his chest as hard as his metal fist did against the cryogenic cage Hyrda imprisoned him in time and time again. 

 “I have a friend who is pretty skilled at finding out about people,” she continues lowly, toying at the ceramic coffee cup. “I just—didn’t feel right lying to you about it. You looked familiar when I saw you in Dr. Raynor’s office that first day.”

 He tries to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “No, I understand. So I guess you know I’m pretty messed up then?” He had never personally seen his own file, however it wasn’t hard to imagine what it contained. 

 Jane let out a breathy laugh, as if she couldn’t quite believe what he said. “Aren’t we all, James?”

 +

 The weather is nice enough to start meeting in Central Park and they begin taking strolls around the park during her lunch breaks every day. They play a game where he gets to ask her a question about her past and then she gets to ask him a question about his past and they have to answer honestly. Maybe it’s reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Raynor, yet James is willing to open up because Jane is too, and he recognizes it’s not easy for either of them. 

 Sometimes they only get through one question, the memories being too painful, and in those moments, their fingers tentatively find the others. It’s reassuring, this insignificant brush of skin against glove, and James suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing the gloves. It’s been too long since he’s felt the touch of another against his bare skin. 

 He decides to take the right one off when he’s with her. James makes sure he’s standing on her left side for their walks and his heart flips in his chest when she unexpectedly intertwines her fingers with his. She gives him a squeeze and he returns it, an actual smile ghosting the corners of his lips.

 Maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him or maybe it’s just the sun, but he swears he sees a faint blush creeping up her fair cheeks.

 +

 She invites him over to the apartment the foundation is paying rent for after her therapy session. Jane insists that she is more than capable of making something for the both of them that tops the usual take out they have a habit of settling for when they hang out together. So he can’t help but let out a chuckle and a teasing comment when he walks into a smoking kitchen and the fire alarm beeping wildly while a flustered Jane is scrambling to turn off the oven where a blackened chicken resides. 

 They end up ordering their usual take out.

 At the end of their sushi dinner, Jane sets her empty container on the coffee table in front of them and leans back into the armchair, tucking her feet beneath her. She’s oddly quiet and he stares from his spot across on the couch. Her brown eyes gaze distantly out the wall-length windows, her brilliant brain lost in thought. 

 He doesn’t mind the silence, of course, yet he feels a tug to pull her back from wherever she’s gone off to. “Do you ever dance?”

 Her lips curve upward. “Only if you count when I’m by myself and I have the radio blaring.” 

 James smiles at the mental image of a goofy Jane, throwing her arms and legs about in no particular rhythm. “Back in the 40s, I was known around the town for my swing dancing moves,” he informs her casually with a cock of his eyebrow. 

 She laughs, shooting him a mock expression of awe. “James Buchanan Barnes, I had no idea you were such a man of many talents.” 

 He nonchalantly shrugs and then practically bounces off the couch, extending his concealed, left hand to her. “It’s time you learn a move or two today, Ms. Foster.” 

 They rearrange some of Jane’s furniture around to make an adequate amount of space that won’t end in destruction. He begins by teaching her the basic steps, leading her slowly through each one until she insists she’s ready to go on to the next. He finds it ironic that out of all the damage Hydra did to his brain, he can still remember one of his favorite weekend activities from when he was a young man. Well, he’s still pretty young compared to his friends who were with him at the time. 

 If he’s being honest, Jane was born with two left feet, but she is determined to try regardless of her uncoordinated legs. By the end of the night, he gives her the name of a song to play on her Bluetooth speakers and they’re dancing away, Jane doing her best to keep up with the beat and James laughing every time she steps on his feet again. 

 He’s convinced he could stay in this moment forever. 

 +

 She surprises him by taking them to a jazz and swing dance club. 

 He swears he’s in love with her by the end of the evening. 

 He kisses her for the first time when they’re standing on the doorstep of her apartment. 

 +

 James is leaving Dr. Raynor’s office, ready to get as far away as possible from the head spinning forest wallpaper he’s stuck in front of every session when her words stop him in his tracks. 

 “You’re helping her, you know.” 

 He’s never said her name when they discuss her in his sessions. He assumed Jane saw Dr. Raynor too, seeing as she was connected to the superhero world, yet she’s never told him and he’s never asked. 

 He looks over his shoulder at the older woman, his hand still on the doorknob. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

 +

 He has not made love to someone since before he was drafted into the war so when an evening of drinking and card games turns into take off one article of clothing every time you lose a game, James begins to sweat. He has a feeling he knows where this is leading when she’s seated on top of him, clad in only her undergarments, her hips grinding into his mercilessly. 

 It turns out she’s not a very good card player. 

 His mouth is connected to her neck, breathing a trail of wet kisses up to her ear where he bites down softly on the tip of her earlobe and she lets out a tiny whimper that nearly ends him then and there. 

 Her hands wander under the hem of his long-sleeved shirt and he freezes when she starts to tug the material upward. She senses his apparent discomfort and stops, looking down at him. 

 She’s picked up on the fact that he’s sensitive about the metal arm. “Sorry,” she whispers. “If you don’t want to take it off that’s—“

 He knows he’s ready. He knows it’s time to stop living in fear about what others will think of the hideous seam binding the vibranium to flesh. “No, I do. Just give me a second.”

 He sits up and she shifts off of him, unsure of his next move. It takes her by surprise when he sweeps her off the ground in a single motion, carrying her to the bedroom and placing her carefully on the mattress. His hands go to either side of the hem of his shirt and he tugs it off, standing bare chested before her, his silver dog tags resting against the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. 

 She stares, drinking him all in. The defined muscle. The trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his underwear. The scars from years of battling ‘the enemy.’ Then finally, his metal arm, the leather glove still secure on his left hand. Jane rises to her knees, taking both of his hands and tugging him closer to which he does not oblige. 

 He wants her desperately. Wants to put his mouth all over her. Wants to hear her say his name. Wants to feel every inch of her on his skin. 

 “May I?” she asks, glancing down, fingers ghosting his skin. He nods and suddenly she’s running her fingers over his chest and her fingers sear, burning him, making him feel more alive than he’s felt in the past 80 years. 

 He allows her to touch every inch of him, noting how she studies the outer workings of his arm in true Jane-fashion, and when she decides to replace her fingers with her lips instead upon reaching the seam of his shoulder and arm, he lets out a moan. James is certain this woman will be the end of him. 

 He loses himself in her in more than one way that night. When she takes him, he begs her to call him ‘Bucky’ because he’s tired of acting like the name of a man he never had been in the first place. 

 He falls asleep that night to the memory of her voice whimpering ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky,’ ‘Bucky’ as if it were a prayer on her lips. 

 There are no nightmares. 

 +

 Dr. Raynor comments on his unusual openness at their next session. 

 She doesn’t even have to threaten him with the notebook that day. 

 +

 “Vulnerability is the essence of connection and connection is the essence of existence.” - Leo Christopher 

 +

 Longing. 

Rusted. 

Seventeen.

Daybreak. 

Furnace. 

Nine.

Benign. 

Homecoming.

One. 

Freight car. 

 The string of phrases are weaving their way into his skull and he’s trapped. There’s no escape from their cruel entrapment. He must obey. He was engineered to carry out the missions. No, he doesn’t want to obey. Fight back. Fighting makes it worse. Fighting means pain until he can fight no longer. 

 Obey. Must obey. The mission. See that it’s carried out to completion. No witnesses. No survivors.

 Bucky jolts awake in her bed, beads of sweat pooling across his brow. He’s gasping for breath and everything that’s touching him only makes his heart beat faster. He yanks the blankets off of him and sinks down against the wall facing the bed, trying to take in his surroundings and focus on what’s real. Hydra can no longer control him. He is no longer their puppet. 

 He pulls on the dog tags around his neck, using them as something to stabilize his unstable mind. His eyes slide open and he sees her sitting up in bed, watching him silently, her brow twisted in concern. 

 “Just a bad dream,” he comments quietly, inhaling through his nose, pausing, and exhaling through his mouth. 

 She remains unmoving for a moment. 

 “I get them too. Sometimes it feels like the aether is still inside me. Controlling my mind. Forcing me to bend to its wishes.” He’s only heard bits and pieces of her time on Asgard, Thor and Loki’s home planet. It’s still strange to think about the life that exists beyond Earth. 

 He wants to tell her more about Hydra, but he doesn’t. 

 “Think I’m going to stay down here for a little longer. Is it weird that I find the floor softer than the bed?” 

 “We all have our ways of coping,” she muses with a half smile. 

 He wonders what hers happen to be. 

 +

 They spend many nights together watching the starry sky from his apartment rooftop. Jane sits between his arms, pointing out the major constellations, sharing ancient stories of how they got their names. 

 Bucky listens to her words, her voice, drift through the close space they occupy. His eyes grow heavy with tiredness, his chin resting on the crown of her head. 

 He could listen to her talk about space until the end of time. 

 +

 “Are you ever going to answer him?” Jane inquires casually, settling down beside him on the couch. She grabs a blanket and tosses it over their legs. 

 She doesn’t have to say his name to know whose she’s referring to. His name appears on his phone screen nearly every day. “Maybe,” he responds indifferently. 

 Jane gives him a look that tells him she’s not going to let this one go. “He’s clearly worried about you. How hard would it be just to update him about how things are going?”

 He wants to answer with ‘nearly impossible,’ however he has a feeling she won’t drop it if he lets the words slip.

 “Just think about it, okay?” Jane must have picked up on the fact it was going to be a losing battle. 

 He nods. 

 +

 “You sent the flowers that day in the office, didn’t you?” Her breath catches sharply when he bites down on her inner thigh, then immediately tends to the bite with his lips, moving them closer and closer to his objective. 

 “Yes,” he reveals, that day in the office, far from what he’s currently fixated on. She whimpers his name once he finds his source. 

 +

 He can’t remember the last name he’s felt this angry. Bucky paces back and forth in his apartment, trying to calm down, trying to think rationally. 

 She’s leaving. 

 She’s going back to London. 

 Her work in New York was only temporary and she has no choice but to go home to continue her research with her colleagues. 

 The time he assumed they had left together has vanished. She promises they will keep in touch. She’s only a phone call away. 

 It’s not the same though. 

 It’s not the same.

 +

 “You’ve helped, you know,” she murmurs, nestled cozily in his arms. Her fingers play with his dog tags while he stares at shadows on her ceiling bedroom, trying with all his might to will her to stay if he just never lets her out of his grasp. 

 His eyebrows knit together. “Helped create more problems in your life?” he teases and she retaliates by giving the dog tags a tug. 

 “When I came back to New York, all I wanted was to be able to talk to someone about the shit life has thrown at me. That’s part of the reason I started seeing Dr. Raynor,” she admits, nuzzling deeper into his hold. “You listened and you cared, Bucky. I don’t know what I’m going to do in London without someone who actually gets it.”

 He wonders the same thing. 

 +

 On the day she leaves, he finally decides to text Sam back. 

 She was right. 

 Sam was worried about him. 

 He chooses honesty over the typical response of ‘I’m fine’ for once. 

 I’ve had better days, he writes. He’ll tell Sam more about it when they see each other again. 

 +

 It’s a Thursday afternoon when he sees him sitting in the chair next to her old spot. 

 He’s about his height (Bucky’s taller, of course). Black hair, cut close to his head. Brown eyes. And a smug smile that makes him want to punch it right off his face with his metal fist. 

 Sam rises from his seat and goes in for a hug. “Long time, no see, grandpa,” he jokes, pulling back and poking him in the chest. 

 Bucky rolls his eyes, a grin breaking across his face. “Yeah, yeah. Missed you too,” he says, pushing him away and starting toward the doors. 

 “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. But it might have to wait until after we take care of business,” Sam states, trailing after him. 

 He wants to protest. Sam’s the last one he wants to talk about the events of the past few months with, but he’s got no one else left. 

 Bucky figures he’ll have to settle for him. 

 For now. 

[threeletterslife]

06 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity, kissing/making out, the yikes of being friendzoned

→ wordcount: 5.7k

You've never really thought about it before but now you realize that teachers do have a life outside of school.

They don't just sleep under their big, teacher desks at night and pop up in the morning right before the first bell rings. You know now that teachers, although with so much authority and intellect, are just humans—they have feelings, they have a life and they can also be your friend.

You beam as you look at your teacher as he lectures. A friend he was...

Your eyes shift up and down Jimin's figure and man, was it too sweet for your eyes. He's so good looking. Actually, even that was an understatement.

Your teacher's tight, white button-up shirt fits his figure just perfectly as his tie sit handsomely on his broad chest. His black jeans look strained on his muscular legs, and your eyes start moving up to settle specifically on his thighs. Goddamn.

Jimin pushes up his glasses (that he only wears in a classroom setting) and that motion draws you in to study his ethereal face. Your breath hitches as you marvel at his wide, almond eyes, adorable nose and those soft, plump lips. So beautiful, so surreal, so...

"Y/N? Y/N. Y/N!"

You jump a foot in the air. "Huh, what?" you shout, startled out of your mind. You know you probably sound like some twelve-year-old caught with porn and you mentally scold yourself for sounding so off-guard.

It gets worse when everyone in your math class laughs at you and you can feel your cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

"I asked you a question," Jimin says as he points to a problem on the board.

You've always noticed that your teacher never ever cuts you slack for being his friend; he doesn't show favoritism, preferring to treat everyone quite equally, no matter how bad someone might take an L on his test. You always thought that was honorable of him, but now, you kind of wished he'd leave you alone to die in your ocean of humiliation.

Palms already sweaty from all the unwanted attention on you, your eyes shake as you squint at the problem. It's hard to focus on the numbers. "Oh shit," you mutter under your breath, but you've always been a loud mutterer.

Everyone laughs again.

Uneasy sparks blaze in your stomach. You hate how everyone is watching you, waiting and listening for anything out of place to ridicule your every move.

But you take a deep breath and the math problem seems to clear up in your vision. It's an easy one, thank god.

"22 pi over 7," you squeak quickly, ducking your head under.

"Hm? Speak a little louder, Y/N," Jimin says as he adjusts his glasses, craning his neck towards you as if he couldn't hear you.

Goddammit, Jimin.

"22 pi over 7!" you yell in the stupidest and shakiest voice ever to be heard by mankind.

Finally, the fire in your stomach burns out when Jimin nods. "Correct," he chuckles slightly, his eyes glinting a bit. " Try not to daydream too much, Y/N. Even geniuses need to pay attention."

The fire is back and hotter than ever, except it's not only in your stomach, it's everywhere in your body. So. Fucking. Humiliating.

Trying to cool yourself, you set your head down on the desk, looking at your shoes as if those dirty, black Watt Star Converse were something actually worth looking at for more than half a millisecond.

Damn. I used to never get distracted... What the fuck is wrong with me?

After school, you trudge to your math teacher's classroom, still embarrassed about the incident earlier. When you walk in, Jimin's erasing the whiteboard, his back facing you.

As quietly and quickly as possible, you set your stuff down at your desk in the front of the classroom and sit. I will not initiate conversation. He's gonna hate me for getting distracted during class.

But when your teacher turns around, he laughs warmly, eyes scrunching up in the way that you love most.

"Y/N, why so quiet today?"

You flinch. "Oh, uh, no reason." You always sound so suspicious when you lie to Jimin.

"C'mon, you look disturbed," your friend says as he sets the whiteboard eraser down, abandoning it to walk towards you. "What's the matter?"

Oh, you know, just simply embarrassed that I think my friend, my teacher is hot and got fucking distracted over his goddamn body during his class.

But you can't say that.

"Oh, um..." you trail off, racking your brain for a good excuse. But as smart as you are academically, you're as stupid as a guppy when it comes to making plausible excuses. "I'm on my period."

You cringe the moment the words leave your mouth. Why, Y/N, why the fuck—

You want to crawl in a hole when Jimin raises his eyebrows in question. "Oh," he says. You swear you see his face flush pink as he turns his back towards you again, walking towards his messy desk. "Did it start today?" he asks.

Okay, what now?

Now it's your turn to flush pink; you didn't think Jimin would ask questions about your fake female problems. "Uh, yeah," you lie. "The cramps distracted me." Feigning pain, you try to convincingly grasp your stomach.

Jimin looks up at you from his desk, his silky black hair falling loosely over his twinkling eyes. To your surprise, he's smiling. "It isn't the first time I heard that excuse, Y/N. I know what you're really like on your period, remember?"

Well, shit. You did remember, you had just hoped he didn't... But it was your darn luck that he did. What did you expect from your intelligent teacher?

Face steaming, you huff. "Oh, whatever!"

Jimin only laughs, his eyes nearly disappearing as his full lips open up to a breathtakingly beautiful smile. You gulp. There's no doubt about it.

You're crushing on your teacher; he's much more of a distraction than your period will ever be.

"Operation help Ji—I mean, Mr. Park starts now!" you announce as the members of your math club cheer loudly.

"I don't know what kind of fucked up nasty humans were mean to our teacher, but we're totally gonna show them!" Nicole declares, Sarah and August agreeing aggressively by her side.

"But the question is... how?" Jungkook asks shyly, scooting closer to you.

Very aware of his movement, you slightly squirm, but pretend nothing happened. "I was thinking of a math tutoring club? For anyone who wants tutoring or is failing the class," you say. "And that way, if asshole parents complain again, we'll be able to say that Mr. Park did everything he could to help them—he has a fucking club dedicated to passing his class!"

"Ingenius as usual," August laughs.

"And when would we start this club?" Sarah asks.

You grin, your eyes sparkling with ambition. "If we can, tomorrow."

"No, no, no!" you practically scream, hitting your favorite pencil against a packet of math problems aggressively. "For the last time, you can't divide x to get an answer! You're gonna lose solutions! Do you want to lose solutions? Do you want to lose that A?"

The teen you're tutoring looks about ready to cry but you honestly feel no remorse. She had been constantly checking her goddamn text messages, giggling over quite inappropriate texts about Jimin. It makes you sick.

If she thinks Jimin's so fucking hot, why doesn't she at least try to be good at math?

"Hey, hey, Y/N, calm down," a familiar, silvery voice calls.

Jungkook.

"I'm trying!" you protest, flinging up your hands.

Jungkook laughs, sliding into the chair next to you and looking at the girl you were tutoring.

"What are you having trouble with?" he asks the girl in such a silky, smooth voice that if someone told you he was an angel, you'd believe them.

"Everything!" the dumb girl wails.

You roll your eyes.

"Hey, hey, then let's start from the very beginning, okay?" Jungkook soothes, smiling softly.

Goddamn, I wish I was that patient.

You just start to zone out as Jungkook literally reteaches this girl how to factor. You honestly wonder how she even passed elementary school. But then again, you have to admit you're a little jealous that this girl has so many friends to text. Yet you'd rather be smart than be popular—that's just how you roll.

You pause. But it's not like you don't have friends. You just don't have that many. And I actually like all the friends I have for once...

You don't remember falling asleep when a large, warm hand gently shakes you awake. Your groggy eyes open to see Jungkook, a goofy smile plastered on his face. "Tired, Y/N?" he chuckles.

The girl he's tutoring rolls her eyes. "Hmph. She yells at me for checking my messages but she does something even more unproductive," she grumbles.

Oh no. You did not just wake up to deal with attitude. You're not gonna have it. "Excuse me, but while I'm out here mastering linear algebra, you don't even know how to factor. Guess you had one too many hours of texting, huh?" you snap.

"Dayum," Jungkook mutters under his breath. He casually holds his hand out for a high-five, which you do, extremely dramatically.

"For your information, I know how to factor now," the girl huffs.

"For your information, that's a required skill for fifth graders," you bite back. "In addition—"

"As hilarious as this is," Jungkook interrupts, placing a hand on your arm, "You should calm down. It's a tutoring session, not a roasting session."

You sigh as the girl practically drools over your friend.

"Sure, Jungkook, sweetie. Thank you so much for your help so far," she giggles, flirtingly twirling her hair with her slender finger.

"Yeah, whatever," you reply as you feel Jungkook's hand slipping off your arm, the warm heat now gone.

Jungkook goes back to teaching the girl, oblivious of her seducing attempts. You roll your eyes as you look around the tutoring club—the turnout was better than you expected, honestly. For the first time in a classroom, however, you feel lost. You're not the best at teaching, (to be exact, you're the worst). Your patience is shorter than your height, (which is saying a lot), but everyone else in the math club seems to be teaching naturals.

Feeling a little guilty you can't do much to help out, you start to play with your pencil, twirling it around and doing cool tricks that you've accumulated over the years. But of course three minutes in, your hand loses grip of your writing utensil and it flings off, hitting the ground and starts rolling away from you.

Sighing irritably because you have to physically move to go get it, you stand up from your chair, crawling on the floor to reach your pencil. "Found you, you idiot," you tell your blue oxi-gel when you hear a light laugh coming from above you.

Facing forward, you come face-to-face with a pair of knees covered with smooth, black material. Looking up, you see your teacher smiling down at you.

"Were you actually talking to your pencil?" he teases, face set with a brilliant grin.

"I... uh..."

"God, what is this?" Jimin asks as he looks around his classroom filled with students. "Y/N, are you organizing a cult?" he whispers with a full grin plastered on his face.

"What no!" you protest as Jimin helps you stand up. "It was kinda supposed to be a surprise but..."

"It's a math tutoring club," Jungkook chimes in. "We're helping students reach that A, you know?"

"You guys made a tutoring club for me?" your teacher says, placing a hand to his heart. "I'm about to burst into tears."

You chuckle at Jimin's dramatized actions. "Well, no one deserves mistreatment. Ahem, especially not body objectification," you say as you glare at the girl Jungkook's tutoring. She rolls her eyes.

"Awww," Jimin coos. "You guys are amazing. You know what? We're ordering pizza, my treat!"

People cheer so loud your ears physically hurt.

You sigh out, clutching your full stomach as you slide into the shotgun seat of Jimin's nice car. "Damn... Since we already ate, does that mean we're not eating dinner at your house tonight?"

Jimin chuckles lowly. "Why? Wanted to go to my house?"

Your cheeks blush red as you shake your head aggressively. "No! I was just saying..."

"Well, I mean, we didn't have dessert yet, didn't we?" Jimin suggests, smiling. His fingers softly brush against yours as he reaches for your seatbelt, buckling it for you. "You always forget to wear your seatbelt, Y/N," he laughs. "You never know when I might fuck up on the road."

"Hmph!" you say, crossing your arms over your rapidly being chest. "Stop babying me! I was gonna put it on this time!"

"That's what you say every time," Jimin chuckles as he starts his car with a press of a button. "Now, cupcakes or brownies?"

"Huh? Um, cupcakes?"

"Great! We'll stop by the market to get some ingredients. We're going to learn how to bake!"

Oh no. Why did that sound like a disaster waiting to happen?

But surprisingly, it was a miracle waiting to happen. You stuff your face with aesthetic, black frosting, occasionally biting at the soft, plush bread. "To think we can bake cupcakes but not cook ramen right the first time," you chuckle.

"To be fair, we actually used directions," Jimin says, neatly slicing up his cupcake to eat piece by piece.

You scrunch your nose. "You look like a prince who's too snooty to eat with his own two hands."

"Or maybe I want to be hygienic? You know, unlike you," Jimin teases as you huff in response. Jimin pokes at you, making you turn to him in exasperation.

"What?" you sigh.

"I dunno... I never really got a chance to thank you..."

You raise your eyebrows, thoroughly confused. "I mean, but it was a team effort..." you try to say modestly. "Besides, I didn't do much of the teaching. I mean can you believe this girl didn't know how to fac—"

Jimin rushes in for a hug, knocking the wind out of you—you lose all train of thought, you lose your voice and all sense of functionality. All you can hear is your heart beating wildly in your chest and Jimin's steady breaths against your ear.

"Y/N... Thank you," he whispers, gripping you tighter. "I know it was you who came up with the idea. And I just—I'm so touched. When I told you my problems, I only expected you to listen, maybe, I don't know, sympathize? But you took my problems and found a solution, putting it into action. No one's ever done that for me before... I don't even know what to say..." your teacher trails off, still hugging you tightly. "I'm emotional, I know... But I almost broke down crying when I saw you and your friends hosting this club... all for me."

Your brain turns into mush at Jimin's heartfelt confession, and you can't help but hug him back, burying your face into his shoulder. Words can't seem to make it past your mouth—you can't afford to ruin the moment by saying something completely stupid.

But that's when you feel it. The rapid thumping of a heart. Except it's not yours—it's beating faster than yours.

It's Jimin's.

You walk into Jimin's class slightly earlier than usual, your phone pressed against your ear as you bob your head up and down, staying silent for a few seconds and then talking away.

"I know, I know, I miss you too, Jin," you say just as you slide into your comfortable seat, slipping your backpack off your aching shoulder.

"Yeah, I know, I love you too. Of course, I'm still alive!" you huff, rolling your eyes. "And no! I didn't burn the house down... yet. No, we don't eat ramen daily—we eat it every other day," you protest.

You're quiet again as Jin gives you a piece of his mind.

"Yes, I know ramen's bad for me," you sigh. "Fine. We'll try to make salad or something today. Mhm. Yeah. Yes, I'm in his class right now. No, Jin! I can't just hand my phone over to him, are you out of your mind? You can call him on his phone at some other time."

You sigh loudly as your cousin rambles on the phone. "Wait. What?!" you suddenly shriek, causing a few early-comers in the class to stare at you in shellshock. Quickly lowering your head in embarrassment, you aggressively grasp your phone with both hands. "What do you mean you're going to be away for another month?" you whisper angrily. "Are you serious? Why does the drama team have to be so good?"

Jin chuckles on the line as you pout. "I know, congrats and all but you've been away for too long. Stop teasing me, I just miss you!" you huff.

Your cousin attempts to explain himself as you sit through it all, nodding your head occasionally. "Okay, then," you say in a sad, defeated tone. "I guess, good luck... Anyways, I've got a test this period, gotta fly." You pause, frowning. "Of course I studied! Who do you think I am?! Yeah, well thanks, I'm pretty confident. Mhm. Yeah. Have fun. Love you too. Yup. Bye." Smiling softly, you end the call with your cousin, slipping your phone into your backpack to replace it with your lucky pencil and eraser. There, now you're completely ready for the math test.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jimin, watching you. When he catches your sight, he gives you a small smile paired with a discreet thumbs-up. Your heart flutters.

Gosh darn diddly dang.

Ever since that night you felt his heart beating wildly in his chest, you can't help but wonder if maybe, possibly, hopefully, you're not in a one-sided crush. It was pretty plausible Jimin had always been so caring because he liked you back—either that or he majorly friendzoned you.

The annoying school bell blares, throwing you out of your thoughts, and as if exactly on cue, your teacher stands up from his desk, taking graceful steps to the front of the class. He clears his throat to gain the attention of still-rowdy students. "I hope everybody's prepared," Jimin says as he shifts from the weight of stacked tests. "If you studied polar curves as I said, you'll be fine for the unit test."

A low murmur fills the class as your peers start to panic.

"What the fuck is a polar curve?"

"Shit, I don't even know what unit this is!"

"Definite integrals, you shithead."

"Well goddamn, I'm gonna fail again."

You cock your head. Yeah, definite integrals might be challenging at first, but they weren't hard—it just required a lot of practice. But something told you most of your classmates didn't even know how to spell 'practice.'

As Jimin passes the tests out, you hear students groan from their first glance of questions.

"No noise, no talking!" your friend reminds his students. "If you need extra scratch paper, pencils or erasers, they're up here in the front; you know the drill. Good luck to you all!"

But you can barely hear your teacher as you're already racing to finish up a problem on the exam. You've figured long ago that Jimin's test questions were always in order from hardest to easiest—which explains why most kids rarely finish. You, on the other hand, learned to immediately flip over your tests and work your way from the back to front.

You don't hear anything, nor do you see anything except for the all too familiar graphs and curves printed out on white paper. Your favorite pencil flies across the exam faster than your mile time, and soon, you're finished.

Wiping your sweaty and cramped hands on your jeans, you look up at the clock in the front of the classroom. You've finished at least twenty minutes early. You sigh softly. I don't feel like checking answers.

Almost instinctively, your eyes glance at your teacher's desk—it was starting to become a habit to look at him. But also, you wanted to see if he was grading the math tests from earlier periods. Except, he most clearly wasn't.

Why? Because he was looking at you. And your eyes meet. Electricity courses through your veins and you swear your heart stops beating for a few seconds. You can't hold the gaze as you quickly turn your head, releasing a breath you didn't know you had held.

Goddamn. Now, this is awkward.

Trying to shake off the awkwardness, you take a small breath and grip your pencil in your hands again. Maybe it's time to check answers.

Except—except, you can see out of the corner of your eye, your teacher still watching you. It wasn't a creepy stare though, no. It was like a handsome prince lovingly admiring his beautiful princess. Well, you were no beautiful princess, and though Jimin might be handsome, he was no prince. But still. His gaze made you feel... secure and even admired. Your heart flutters in your chest.

Why is he watching me?

You're too scared of the answer to even possibly ponder it.

So, sighing quietly, you use all your willpower to pretend like your teacher is not watching you as you cross your legs and tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You give your lucky pencil a nice squeeze. It's time to check answers.

"Did you know you frown when you concentrate?" Jimin asks as he does the dishes, diligently washing a bowl that had been previously filled with a healthy salad.

You sit on the kitchen counter, making some tea as you cock your head. From all that watching, he would know all of my stupid behaviors when it comes to test-taking. But you feign ignorance. "How would you know?"

"Well, not to sound weird but sometimes I watch my students take their tests," Jimin says as he dries his wet hands on a nearby towel, then sauntering over to sit next to you on the kitchen counter.

Your heart falls. So I'm not special. He watches everyone.

"No, not all of my students... I only ever watch you," your teacher admits as he scratches the back of his neck in what seems like slight embarrassment.

Your heart leaps in your chest. You don't know how to pirouette, twirl, turn, but your heart was surely doing it at the moment. Was this it? Was he confessing? Were you not in a one-sided crush?

"It's because I care for you," he starts awkwardly. "I mean, don't you tend to watch things you care for? Just to see if they're alright? I dunno..."

Ohohoho, you have no idea.

You nod enthusiastically. "Mhm, of course." Your lips stretch out into a large smile—you're unable to control it. You feel warmer than the cup of tea in your hands. "So you truly care for me?" you tease slightly, casually nudging Jimin.

He nudges you back, laughing. "Of course, Y/N, you're like a best friend to me."

Your eye twitches slightly, your smiles wavers and vanishes and you don't feel as warm anymore.

Well shit, you were friendzoned.

Smiling in accomplishment, you stretch back from your seat, mentally celebrating the finishing of your homework. Your blasted teachers had given you some extra weekend work, but jokes on them, you finished it all in—you glance at your watch—seven hours.

Wait a minute. Seven hours?! You do a double-take, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and polishing the glass of your watch. The delicate, silver hands still pointed all signs that it was indeed, 10 pm.

Well fuck. I've literally been at school seven more hours than I should've. I've been at school for practically 15 hours! That's more than half of the hours in a day—I spent approximately 63% of the whole day at school!!! And even worse, I mISSED DINNER!

You take deep breaths to calm yourself, immediately looking up to see—no surprise—Jimin working hard at his desk. His eyebrows were scrunched up cutely, and he was biting his pink lips in concentration. The sight of him instantaneously calms you down.

But then you notice Jimin looks frustrated, stressed even. You always admire him for taking care of his own problems, yet sometimes you wish he'd learn to burden others with his dilemmas.

Slowly and quietly, you creep up behind your teacher, looking over his shoulder. "Need any help, Mr. Park?" you whisper in his ear, a small, teasing smile plastered on your lips.

Jimin jumps slightly, turning around to look at you. His serious look is replaced with a reciprocated bright smile. He flutters his eyelashes and runs his fingers through his silky hair, refusing to break eye contact with you. "Oh c'mon no one's around," he says, chuckling. "Jimin will do."

"Yeah, no shit no one's around," you pout slightly, casually placing your chin on Jimin's shoulder. Ever since he majorly friendzoned you, you have to admit it was easier to have physical contact—though your heart beats wildly in your chest every time the two of you touch.

"Hmm..." your teacher hums, twirling his red correcting pen. "It'll take just a bit more... Is our little Y/N bored?" he asks as he reaches out to mockingly pat your head.

You groan dramatically.

"What time is it?" Jimin asks absentmindedly, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

"10," you mutter lazily, wanting to doze off with your face up against Jimin's warm neck.

"WHAT?!" your teacher shouts, shifting suddenly to grasp your arms and bring your whole body in front of him. He even tugs you forward, closer to him. Your heart is already having its own mini explosions, not being able to comprehend such closeness from your ultimate crush.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this late, Y/N?" Jimin cries. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I made you wait so long! God, I lost track of time!"

You just shrug, although a bit surprised at his outburst. At this moment, you're just worried Jimin'll hear the aggressive thumping of your poor heart—it can't take this anymore. You're definitely not built for unrequited love. "It's all good," you say, trying to smile calmly. "It's no big deal, really."

Apparently, your stomach thinks otherwise as it lets loose a large growl, much to your horrification. "Oops," you whisper.

At that, Jimin runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Fuck, we've been here for seven hours, Y/N, it is a big deal!" He grabs both of your hands, taking you by surprise. "We skipped dinner! I swear to god, Jin will kill me if he found out!"

You giggle. It was slightly amusing to watch Jimin fret so much. "What if we don't tell him?" you whisper mischievously, leaning forward. You're trying so, so hard not to scream in the utter joy that your crush is literally holding your hands right now.

Nope, I'm not going to acknowledge that at all, you tell yourself dutifully.

Now you're waiting for Jimin to answer, to say something funny, or witty as usual. Yet, he doesn't. Instead, he's actually quite silent—it doesn't seem normal. You take a peek at his face to make sure he doesn't look sick or anything, or maybe it was just a dumb excuse you made up to check his ethereal features out.

That turned out to be a big mistake.

You peer into Jimin's eyes, only to catch them looking at your lips. His eyes flutter back up to yours, and now the two of you are staring at each other. Your eyes speak a language only the two of you can understand.

His eyes tell you to inch closer to him, to part your lips.

Your eyes tell him to tug you into his lap, an all too familiar action. He doesn't let go of your hands.

You can feel his breath, hear his breath.

Hell, you can hear his heart. And you're not mistaken—you swear on your own life that you hear the quickened pounding.

And still, you're staring right into his soft, but slightly hooded eyes—never breaking contact. You're so close. So, so close to him, the closest you've ever been.

He slowly, tantalizingly slowly leans in, almost to give you a chance to back out. Oh, hell no. You're staying.

His beautiful, breathtaking face is so close that your eyes are almost crossing to meet his. Then, he closes his eyes just as he closes the minuscule gap between the two of you.

Your lips meet.

You don't know how something can go by so quickly and slowly at the same time. Each movement of your connected mouths is so languid, so relaxed, yet quick, but victorious fireworks are exploding behind you.

Straddling Jimin, you feel his body heat, your bare legs chafing against the smooth material of his slacks. It's so close to heaven that it is.

He works his magic, lips pulling and parting at the precise moments, his tongue finding its way into your waiting mouth. You can barely function from the heat of the moment, but you realize that you are glad he doesn't taste like beer this time.

Jimin sweetly squeezes your hands that are encompassed in his, leaning back slightly for both of you to breathe. Immediately, your eyes are open, and they lock onto his. But as if in a time restraint, both of you hurriedly shut your eyes again and lean in to meet each other's lips once more.

It's euphoric, really.

And for the first time in your life, you get to feel what physical affection is like. This one's not a lustful, drunken kiss, it's so much more than that. You put your heart in this, and you hope Jimin did the same. It surely felt like it.

With one last, sweet and soft, lingering kiss, your teacher, crush and friend leisurely pulls away. You almost lean forward to follow his lips—you guess you miss them on yours that much.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting Jimin's hooded ones.

Goddamn. You don't know how to feel, what to say, what to do, what to think. Your hands are still tightly enclosed in his.

"Oh..." you breathe out, hoping Jimin would say something for you, anything. But he doesn't. He remains silent. It's so not like him.

Regret starts to pour into your body, coursing through your veins. It feels like poison. You can feel yourself wilt, as you realize—it was still one-sided, Jimin had merely been caught up in the heat of the moment, again.

"Fuck," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "Fuck," you say louder, tears starting to well up in your eyes. Jimin loosens his grip on your hands, and you slide them away, the warmth all gone. You search for your teacher's face for anything, any sign that he was okay with what both of you had just done. But again, nothing.

"Oh my god. What have we done?" you mutter, looking down and away. You were yet to slide away from Jimin's lap, but you couldn't bear to move away from that sort of comforting warmth.

"Shit, Y/N," Jimin breathes. It's the first phrase he says after the... well, kiss. "I'm so sorry," he mutters, his hand fluttering around your face to cup your cheek, but you flinch away. Goddammit, Y/N, why?

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Y/N," Jimin whispers, he tugs his hand back to his chest. "It was a mistake! I didn't mean it. Oh god, don't tell Jin." He notices you're still on his lap and jumps up, making you fall down onto the cold, classroom floor—you're too shocked to react much. "God, I'm so sorry!" He tries to help you up, but you shake your head and stand up on your own.

"Y/N. I'm so sorry. It was a mistake," Jimin repeats. "It really was."

Your head is spinning, and you don't know what to say, or do, for that matter. "Then, a mistake it was," you finally manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "Can we go now?"

I made out with him again. And he wasn't even drunk this time.

You repeatedly have that thought, over and over and over again. You can't seem to get the feeling, the sounds, the sight out of your head. You'd given your all into that little kiss, but Jimin deemed it was merely 'a mistake.'

That didn't hurt at all, nope, not at all.

You're quite good at lying to yourself. Because you know that hurt you a lot. God, I'm so humiliated. You just want to roll up in a small ball and throw yourself into a deep, dark corner. But you can't. Unfortunately, that shit is only figurative.

Sighing, you take a slight peek at Jimin in the driver's seat. His face is completely emotionless, which makes you worry.

We just ruined a perfectly good friendship, goddammit.

You're dropped off at your house; no words are exchanged between you and Jimin, you don't even turn back to give him a parting wave (like you usually do). Unlocking your front door, you quickly walk inside, slumping down to the floor immediately. With your back leaning heavily against the door, you bury your face in your hands.

Things had been going so well. Life had been going so well.

Now it seemed like you lost your best friend—who knows what more you might lose?

—previous | next

—masterlist

[farfromtommy]

could never be just friends (Peter Parker x reader) *request*

request: Hi Nic! I’m new to your page and it’s so cool! ♥️ May I request a Peter Parker x reader where they’re very obviously pining after each other? While their hanging out they somehow end up messing with each other and she pulls Peter’s beanie over his eyes and when she realizes how close they are she goes in for the kiss? Something with a really fluffy Peter reaction? I’m sorry if this is too detailed! Thank you for your time and consideration! 💗💕♥️💘💙

A/N: Anon!!! Thank you for this request! I wrote the first draft of this and it just wasn't 100% there. I wanted to add some drama and stuff. I don’t really know how to explain what I was thinking when I rewrote it, but I hope you don't mind I added some things to it. I loved the concept and wanted to see where else I could take it. I loved writing it I hope you enjoy reading it!!!

Warnings: brief mention of family member death, fluff 

Word Count: 2,400

masterlist

You and Peter had been studying for a test all week and well into the weekend and it was getting the better of you two. By Sunday night you were both ready for the test to be over with and never go back to school ever again. Peter had tried to keep everything lighthearted and fun, but the stress of needing to pass your exam had been taking over everything and you couldn’t enjoy the time you were spending with him.

You considered each other friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You met Peter when you started at Midtown your sophomore year of high school. You were paired with MJ when you came in midyear to show you around and get you used to the place. You grew quite close to her in those days and ended up sticking by her side.

She introduced you to her friends during lunch and you were immediately welcomed to the group. Ned and Peter were obviously very close to each other, just like you and MJ were. Your ragtag group of friends made high school more bearable and knowing they had your back made everything just a little bit easier.

Although you and Peter were not super close, you always seemed to be drawn together. You couldn’t understand why. There was something about him that made the air around you just a little bit sweeter. You had noticed him getting super nervous around you after a couple of weeks of knowing him. He got nervous when you and MJ walked up to him and Ned in the hallway and became a stuttering mess when you started talking to him.

Even more so when your chemistry teacher paired you two up in class to complete the midterm review guide together. He suggested he go to your place to complete the review so you didn’t have to walk home alone if your session went well into the night. Your heart swelled at how considerate and sweet he was.

“Of course, I don’t think my aunt will mind.” You slightly smiled at him.

Every single day that week you and Peter quietly walked side by side to your house. You both tried to strike up conversations but they always just seemed to die down after a couple of words. Why were you so weird around him suddenly? This hadn’t been the first time you and him hung out without the rest of the group. Maybe he could sense your nervousness and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not as he could ever make you feel uncomfortable.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and walked in with Peter right behind you. You threw your bag down on the floor and headed straight for the kitchen. He apprehensively followed, eyes darting everywhere around the place.

“You can set your stuff down anywhere, make yourself at home.” You said grabbing 2 cups from the cupboard. He nodded at you and set his bag next to the coffee table. He continued to look around, admiring all of the photos scattered around the room. He scanned over some of them, being able to pick you out of a few of them. His eyes were drawn to a specific one, set in a blue frame on the mantle.

It was you, by the looks of it fairly recently, and a woman who he assumed was the aunt you always talked about. There was a birthday cake on the table set in the middle of your dining room, who he assumed was your aunt sitting in a chair behind it, and you hugging her from behind. The brightest smile on both of your faces. He had never seen you smile like that in person. He always imagined how beautiful you looked smiling like that. It made his heart race and his palms sweat.

“That’s me and my Aunt Kim on her birthday a couple of months ago. I’m pretty sure it’s the best picture of just the two of us.”

He jumped back a little at the sound of your voice coming from the kitchen. You walked up to him and handed him a glass of water and sat down on the couch.

“It’s a really nice picture, you both look really happy.” He said accepting the glass and sitting down next to you, his eyes still glued to the frame.

“Yeah, it’s probably the first time we have been since moving here. The move was hard on both of us, but we depend on each other to get each other through the bad days and to make sure we’re enjoying the good days.” You spoke quietly, eyes landing on the frame as well. “After everything that happened back home we just really needed to start over and regain a sense of normalcy again.” You sighed and set your glass down.

“Where did you live before?” He asked quietly.

“Right outside of Chicago. My parents and I moved around a lot when I was a kid but we lived there the longest. It where we lived before the accident.” Your voice trailed off at the end. His eyes shot over to you as soon as the words left your mouth and just stared at you. He was curious about why you moved here and what had happened to make you and your aunt pack up your lives and move to Queens. You could feel his hesitation and took a deep breath before you kept talking.

“Uh, my parents were in a car wreck about a year ago. Drunk driver, killed on impact. My aunt and uncle moved into my house with me and got full custody of me. 3 months later my uncle was rushed to the hospital after he passed out at work. He had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball and he was rushed into surgery but it was too late. So after losing my parents and basically my second dad and Kim losing her sister and husband within months of each other, we decided to leave everything behind and move here. She found a good job and I tested into Midtown with flying colors. Now we’re here.” You said, somehow keeping it together. You had let a tear or two rolls down your face but didn’t completely lose it as you would have a couple of months ago.

“Okay okay, enough of the pity party. We got work to do.” You chuckled and stood up to grab your things and go to the dining room. You saw that Peter was still stuck in his spot, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t scare you off did I, Parker? Thought it would be a solid ice breaker for us before we spend the next week together working on this packet.” You looked over at him.

“No! All good. Just… absorbing. Let’s get to work, shall we?” He smiled lightly at you and met you at the table.

After opening up to Peter about what had happened, your friendship began to take a turn. You seemed more connected to each other than before. He had eventually told you about what had happened to his parents and his uncle and that he lived with his Aunt May. It took your breath away how your lives seemingly took similar paths. No wonder you felt connected to him. Maybe the universe put you in each other's lives for a reason.

The afternoon walks to your apartment started to become more intimate. Your talks usually about parts of your lives you never talked about with anyone. You started to get nervous around Peter. Racing heart, clammy hands, those god awful butterflies in the pit of your stomach. He made you feel things you never felt for him.

You noticed things about Peter you hadn’t before. The crinkles he got by his eyes when he smiled or laughed. The freckles that dotted his face. The way he stuck his tongue out from between his lips when he was concentrating on his work, or when you were deep in conversation and he gave you his full undivided attention. The way his curls sat on his head and looked so soft and oh-so-touchable, it made you want to run your fingers through them, and the way they sporadically poked out from the beanie he was wearing. God, that beanie.

It absolutely drove you nuts. Especially on the very last day of your study sessions, the night before your review packet was due. It made you sad that this was the last day since you and Peter had spent every waking moment with each other. Since the beginning of the week, you were with him all day at school, working on the review every free moment you had, and then he was with you from the end of school to well after dark. He had brought you and Kim breakfast Saturday morning on his way to your place and you had breakfast made for him when he got to yours on Sunday.

But that goddamn beanie made it nearly impossible for you to be happy about the review being done, or about how ridiculously prepared you were for the test the next day. You were still stressed about the test and sad about not having Peter around after school anymore. 

Kim was always working, she was always gone before you got home from school, and she was home well after you went to sleep for the night. Usually, she was home on the weekends but you were so wrapped up with Peter she decided to pick up some shifts for the weekend.

It was nearly 8 pm on Sunday and you and Peter were sitting on your couch watching reruns of old sitcoms. You had finished the review a couple of hours ago but neither of you were ready to say goodbye to each other just yet. You knew that you would keep seeing each other at school but it wouldn’t be the same to not see you 12 hours a day each day. 

You were sat on either end of the couch, your backs on respective sides and your legs meeting in the middle of it. You had a giant fluffy blanket draped across the two of you, covering the mess of intertwined legs hidden underneath.

You blushed at the though at the sweetness in such a simple gesture. You brought the edge of the blanket up to cover your smile and blushing cheeks, but not going unnoticed by Peter. Suddenly a pillow was thrown at you, startling you.

“What are you smiling at over there, Y/N?” He cheekily asked you. He was so in tune with you, he always knew when you were sad or nervous or even a tad flustered. It was unreal how you just couldn’t hide your whatever you were feeling from him.

“Nothing, Parker. I don’t know why you had to throw a pillow at me to ask me that.” You sarcastically said to him, throwing the pillow back at him with force. He scoffed in amusement and he had an evil look in his eye.

He shot up from his seated position and immediately began attacked you with a pillow. He was hovering over you, his knees on either side of your knees, effectively pinning you down on the couch. You giggled in amusement as you continued to be pelted with the pillow. You somehow sat up and ripped the pillow from his hands, shocking him. You reached up to his head and pulled the beanie as far down his face as you could, covering his eyes and most of his nose.

“How childish. Pulling my beanie down my face? Really? That was your best move?” He laughed, slumping down on the couch. He just leaned his head back and continued laughing as you grabbed his hands in yours so he couldn’t push the material back where it belonged. He kept struggling against your grip. You continued to giggle as he struggled to regain control of the situation he started. With no luck of winning, he slumped against your body, deadweight completely on top of you.

“Petey, what are you doing?” You giggled out, losing breath as his larger frame completely covered you.

“Petey? Is that your new nickname for me?” His head-turning in what he assumed was your general direction. You realized what you had said and just stayed quiet at his comment. “Petey got your tongue, angel?” He smirked, knowing what an effect the name would give you. You immediately turned a deep shade of red and tried to hide how rattled you were at the nickname, even if he couldn’t see you.

You looked up at him and studied every part of his face you could see. “Petey?” You whispered.

“Yes, angel?” He murmured back.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” You asked shyly. His breath hitched in his throat, looking for the words to say.

“I’d probably kiss you back.”

You immediately put your hands on the back of his head and pulled him down to you, your lips joining in a loving kiss. He brought one of his hands to cup your cheek, intensifying the kiss as much as he could. 

You ripped the beanie off his head and ran your fingers through those brown locks you adored so much. He smiled a bit into the kiss. You pulled away and rested your forehead onto his, needing to catch your breath. Every emotion swelling through your body was poured into that kiss.

“Wow.” You gasped out.

“Wow? That’s all you have to say? We just made every rom-com look like a pile of flaming garbage. Not even a “holy shit Peter what a mind-blowing, earth-shattering kiss that was. Let's keep doing it?” He jokingly said.

You pulled back and just stared at him. You didn’t even register his sarcasm and just continued to gaze into his eyes.

“No smartass comment back, angel? Did I break you? Was it that good?” He smirked.

“Oh stop talking and blow my mind and shatter the earth with another kiss, Parker!” You met his lips again with force, thoroughly shutting him up. You both continued to pour everything you had in you into that kiss and knew that you weren’t going to stop.

“I knew we were never going to be able to be just friends.” He said as he pulled away from you slightly, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

[jacks-jester]

Arthur

[Arthur Fleck x Soulmate! Reader]

Words: 2,698

Warnings: Some slight angst, Arthur being self loathing 

A/N~ This is my first time writing for Arthur so hopefully I did a decent job portraying him. He’s such a complex character whom I relate to and empathize with greatly so the thought of tackling him in my writing was always a bit scary. I love him with everything I have so hopefully that shone through in my writing. I plan on writing more of him in the future so I should become better at writing him as time goes on. Enjoy~

Arthur

A name written in simple font on her wrist, a name of regal yet simple elegance, a name not too common in Gotham, a name y/n had traced a least a hundred times since it appeared on her wrist at the age of sixteen, a name and person the girl had come to love with her entire being despite never meeting the person behind the name. Y/n knew whomever this person was, there was already nothing she wouldn’t do for them. She couldn't help the feeling of pure, childish giddiness she was flooded with every time she caught a glance of the name.

It had been 8 years since that name had appeared on her arm, the inscription not fading in the slightest since the day it had appeared. Y/n would describe herself as an average person, with average looks, living in below average conditions. She hated, despised, loathed Gotham and all the people within it. This city was the type that crushed hopes, crushed dreams, and crushed the people searching for an escape. Gotham wasn’t a place where you simply left, once you were in Gotham you were stuck- well unless you were part of the elite few. 

Some days y/n was surprised she even made it through, everyday sapping more and more energy from her. Every day was the same routine for her, surrounded by the same toxic and selfish people who inhabited the city. Wake up, brush your teeth, get dressed, maybe eat breakfast if you had the time, catch the bus, work a 12 hour shift, take the bus home, ignore the catcallers and harassers during the ride, get home, eat dinner if there’s any food in the fridge, sleep, repeat.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

You cursed yourself lightly as you got into the bus, you had missed your normal bus so you had to take the next available one. Your body ached profusely as you took your seat in the worn out, rotting cushions of the city bus. Despite the disgusting conditions of the bus seats, even they felt comfortable in comparison to the long day of work you had just finished. Your muscles were bunched and tired, straining with every tiny movement you made as you adjusted yourself in the seat. You couldn’t help it as you leaned against the bus window, your body lurching ever so slightly as the bus began moving away from the bus stop. 

You had unintentionally zoned out for most of the ride, your eyes only flicking away from the window at the sound of a child laughing happily across the isle from where you sat. Laughter was something that was becoming more and more rare in Gotham so the sound immediately drew you out of your own mind. You couldn’t help the soft smile that made its way to your lips as you took in the sight before you. A man was playfully playing with a child who sat in front of him, making different faces to evoke laughter from the small kid.

The man seemed ethereal, pure, everything someone would never expect to find in Gotham. His hair was a shade of almond brain, small areas of hair turning honey in color. The late evening sun reflected of his irises which were the most beautiful shade of emerald, his skin was pale but suited his complexion perfectly, he was lanky and thin, his clothes hung off of him but made his form that much more endearing. He had deep-set lines around his mouth and eyes, as though he had smiled and laughed more in his lifetime than most people in Gotham could imagine. There were small patches of greasepaint that clung to the sharp edges of his face, though they made him seem that much more surreal and beautiful in the golden sunlight.

Your attention was taken away from the man as a sharp voice rang out from in front of him. You watched with silent confusion as the woman shouted annoyances at the man who had only been trying to play with her kid, which she so clearly ignored. When he tried replying she only yelled once more, causing the man to visibly deflate in front of your eyes, his hands bunching up in his lap. You watched him for a moment as a frown formed on his face, coughs beginning to emit from the his throat before pained laughter began bubbling up from inside of him. It was clear he was trying to force the laughs back, his whole body tense as he tried covering his mouth.

Your eyes were glued to him, concern lacing your gaze as the woman began shouting at him again which only seemed to worsen the panic he was experiencing. You watched as he fumbled helplessly for something within his mustard jacket, eventually producing a small laminated card which he handed to the woman. The woman glanced at the card for moment before tossing it to the side, the small piece of parchment and plastic fluttering down to the floor- landing right beside your feet.

You didn’t hesitate for a moment before picking up the small card, reading the print which explained the condition the stranger had. You could feel annoyance run through you as you read the last bit of the card, KINDLY RETURN THIS CARD. You let out a sigh picking up your work bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way to sit beside the man whose pained laughter resonated through the bus. You hesitated a moment as you took him in: his eyes were pinched shut, mouth clamped over his mouth, body hunched as his body shook from the forced laughter. 

Eventually reaching out you gently tapped him, holding the card out. “I believe this is yours?”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Arthurs day had been a long one, between a shift at Haha’s and a session with his social worker, he was exhausted. He found himself gently rubbing the writing on his wrist as he sat on the city bus, his body raked by painful laughs after a stressful encounter with the woman sitting in front of him. The writing on his wrist was slightly raised from the skin around it, the black ink writing out the name of his soulmate. Arthur didn’t believe in that stuff, he was thirty-five and still hadn’t found his one. Most people found their soulmates within 5 years of the name appearing: he had been waiting nineteen, nearly twenty years to find his. He supposed it was just his luck, or his soulmate was avoiding him after finding out what a sad excuse of a man he was. Either way it only reaffirmed that his life was a tragedy, everything always going wrong for him.

He could feel the familiar burn in his lung as laughter continued to bubble out of his throat at an alarming rate, his throat turning sore and hoarse as the laughter persisted. Arthur tried his best to ground himself as he gently thumbed the lettering on his arm, his eyes closing securely as his other hand clasped over his mouth to no avail. He was shocked when he felt the seat next to him shift slightly, a soft tap on his arming following soon afterwards. His eyes hesitantly flicked open, quickly meeting gentle e/c eyes which swam with warmth and empathy. He tried his best to suppress his laughter, embarrassment flooding him because of his predicament. 

Arthur did his best to force out a thank you, his shaky hand reaching out and taking his card from the young girl that sat beside him. He mindlessly shoved the card back into his pocket, his breathing labored though his laughs slowly lessened, eventually only a few spare chuckles coming out. His nervous gaze eventually flitted up to the girl sitting next to him, expecting to find a harsh or uncertain gaze. He was surprised when he noticed the friendly smile on her lips, her gaze not seeming uncomfortable in the slightest. He mustered out a small quiet sorry to the girl as he composed himself, his leg bumping up and down anxiously.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Y/n found herself smiling softly at the man who sat before her, his breathing evening out as the laughter subsided, eventually dying down completely. “No need to apologize.” She looked at him for a moment, noting the anxious bumping of his leg as he averted his gaze away from her. “Are you alright?” Arthur couldn’t help the dry, quiet laugh that escaped his lips out her question. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was alright these days, though the attention she was giving him felt nice, for once someone looked at him as though he was a real person worth conversing with and worrying about. He nodded, his fingers still brushing the name on his wrist. 

Y/n grinned at him, nodding in response to his answer. She sat there for a moment her gaze landing on him as they sat in a comfortable silence. She watched as the bus finally approached her stop, the girl hesitantly standing to get off. Something magnetic drew her to the man she had just met, her whole body craving being next to him for a reason unbeknownst to her. She let out a sigh, tossing a smile Arthur's way. She held her hand out to him gently, “It was nice to meet you, I hope we’ll run into each other again...” She let out a small laugh at the realization she had just come across. “I just realized I never got your name.”

Arthur looked up to her for a moment, confusion in his eyes as his brows furrowed. She wanted to see him again, and for the first time he could tell she was genuine when she spoke. He couldn’t understand why this complete stranger had decided to sit beside him, be kind to him, and go as far as to try and befriend him. He held his hand out and shook hers lightly. “I-I’m Arthur. Arthur Fleck.” Y/n could feel her heart freeze up, her vision tunneling as his words met her ears. She knew there were more people named Arthur, but something about his whole persona pulled her in, his name reaffirming her craving for this stranger. 

She eventually refocused, her eyes meeting his as she decided to speak up. She spoke her next words carefully, hoping to catch any reaction she could from the man sitting before her. “Arthur. I like it, it suits you. I’m y/n.” His response was almost immediate: his hand tensed around hers, his eyes becoming laced with alarm and confusion, his throat closing up as he could feel another laughter attack brimming within him. This had to be some sick joke, right? She saw his name, she had to of, he didn’t have a soulmate, he didn’t deserve one. All these thoughts rushed through his head as he reeled from the information just given to him.

Y/n felt her nerves stand up as laughter began bubbling from his throat once again, the laughter picking up in volume as his breathing became erratic from sheer panic. Her attention was pulled away as she heard the yelling of the bus driver, “Last call. You back there quiet down or get off the bus.” She swore to herself as she looked to the quaking man before her, his shoulders shaking due to the laughter fit. She gently placed her hand under his arm, urging him to stand. “Come on Arthur.” She felt him stand up alongside her, though she doubted he knew exactly what he was doing.

It didn’t take long for them to exit the bus, the two of them taking a seat on the bus stop bench, Arthur trying his best to calm himself down. Y/n’s hand was gently placed on his back, comforting stroking up and down as she quietly spoke reassuring words to him. In all honesty, she had no clue what she was doing or if it was helping, but she wanted desperately to help him. After several minutes of pained breathing and laughter, Arthur was able to calm himself down, though his mind was still reeling at the words he had just heard escape the young girls mouth.

Y/n eventually pulled her hand away, fiddling with her fingers as she tried distracting herself from the seriousness of what had just happened. She had met her soulmate, after 8 years of waiting for this day. She let out a small laugh, trying to calm the uneasy silence surrounding the two of them. “You know, I thought my soulmate had to be avoiding me or something. I’m well over the five year mark, I assume its the same for you.” Arthur looked at her nervously, his eyes flicking over her as he caught his breath, after a moment he took to shaking his head. He returned to his previous position: his body hunched, his face buried in his hands, his foot tapping sporadically. “I-I don’t have one. I c-can’t.”

Y/n could hear what he had said, her smile falling as well as her excitement. She sat there quietly for a moment, her gaze occasionally flicking to the man beside her. She pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan gently, revealing the black print on her left wrist. She hesitated for a moment before moving her wrist towards him, “This is your name, isn’t it?” She watched closely as his head lifted up ever so slightly, his expression being that of a kicked puppy. She watched as his eyes focused in on her wrist. He didn’t think as he reached and gently touched the lettering on her wrist, wanting to ensure himself it was really there, not just his imagination.

Y/n couldn’t help herself as she smiled softly, his touch sending an electric pulse through her. Everything about this, about him, felt right. Y/n reached her right hand up, gently cupping Arthurs jaw, making him look at her. She grinned warmly as she made eye contact with him, “I’ve waited a long time to meet you Arthur.” She watched as his disbelief and nervous expression morphed into one of understanding and awe. For the first time Arthur truly felt seen, she was looking at him- not through him, not past him, truly at him. Arthur swore it was the best feeling in the world, her warm smile was quickly becoming his new favorite thing. “You’re real?” He asked the question more to himself than her, but she answered regardless. “Promise.”

He watched her for a moment more before feeling his lips quirk into a small, real, smile. His eyes were quickly filling with tears, though these were the happy kind, the ones that weren’t painful as they cascaded down your cheeks, instead acting as a reminder that this is real and good. Y/n smiled his finger gently brushing over his cheekbone as he looked into her eyes. Eventually Arthur did the first thing that came to his mind, pulling the smaller girl into a tight embrace. Y/n smiled gently as her eyes closed, her arms enveloping the skinny man she’d come to recognize as her One. His embrace was inviting and comfortable and everything she had dreamed it would be when the moment came.

She smiled gently at him as they pulled apart, his green gaze meeting her own, the two lost in each others eyes. “Arthur, if you don’t have any plans for the night... Would you like to come to my place?” He looked to her for a moment before nodding, “I’d like that.” Y/n smiled as he agreed, her smile widening into a grin. “Great! I’m just up the street a ways but we’re within walking distance.” Without another word, the two were walking down the street towards her apartment, no words uttered between the two. They couldn’t tell what lied ahead, and there were many things still yet to discover and discuss, but for now they were taking the moments as they came. It was rare anyone in Gotham got a break, or a happy moment so they were set on enjoying it while it lasted.

END NOTE~ I’m still not entirely happy with how this turned out. I feel like I didn’t entirely capture Arthur in this, seeing as he’s a very complex character. I wasn’t sure how to end it so apologies for the abrupt ending. If anyone has pointers for Arthur and how to write him, the criticism and help would be appreciated.

[sparklydreamies]

Stray Kids 8 Part Series ~ (2) Lee Minho: Pride is Sinful

Group: Stray Kids

Member: Lee Minho

Genre: Light angst + hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5,300+

Summary: Accepting help from his younger brothers is hard for Minho, but it may be necessary in the case of an injury. 

Stray Kids 8 Part Series MASTERLIST

A/n: Hi guys!! This story was kind of inspired by Minho during Stray Kids’ survival show days, and the times when he said he shouldn’t need their help since he was older ;-; It kind of gave me the idea to create a story where Minho begins feeling prideful, but ultimately realizes that he can lean on others as well! Also, LEE MINHO IS MY BIAS AND I FEEL SO BAD WRITING ABOUT HIM LIKE THIS :( 

“You have to make sure that your legs and back are straight when you land.”

Lee Minho is a dancer. Nothing in his life gave him the beautiful, euphoric feeling that he got when he moved effortlessly around the stage. Nothing was as satisfying as the feeling of the air hitting the thin layer of sweat on his face. Nothing felt more right than the feeling of his heart pounding and blood rushing through his body. 

Even as a child, Minho had never thought of himself as extraordinary in any way. Compared to his friends who were undeniably smart, funny, or good-looking, Minho had always thought he was rather average. Never nearly as good as others, let alone better. 

He was always told it was better that he thought that way. Pride was sinful, and according to his parents, an ugly trait for a young boy to have. They would tell him that being too prideful meant being arrogant and cocky. 

Maybe that was the reason he couldn’t take compliments without denying them. Never accepting any sort of praise without belittling himself. Maybe it was also the reason he was such a damn perfectionist. He never felt like he was good enough to be comfortable. 

That was, until he began dancing. 

To Minho, dancing wasn’t just his hobby. It was his lifestyle. He ate, slept and breathed dance. When he fell, he got back up. In some respect, the only time that Minho felt vaguely better than people was when he was dancing. 

It wasn’t wrong of him to want to be the best at something. This was what he was passionate about, which meant there should be no harm in wanting to improve and be special. Pride may be a sin, but ambition is the key to success. And what is ambition without acknowledgment of how far you have come and how hard you have worked? If anything, his ambition was only helping the team.

And for a while, his determination was doing nothing but pushing him to be the best he could be. That was, until it pushed him too far. 

Choreography practice had ended a few hours ago, and yet Minho told himself he was going to run through the routine a few more times. A few more times, and then he would leave. 

Minho had been exhausting every kink out of the choreography for days straight. As Minho watched the way his body contorted awkwardly in front of the mirror, he began to worry about his progress. 

Earlier that day, he had watched how Hyunjin led the team through a full practice effortlessly, the years of dancing skills shining through with the way that his body became fluid, accenting the music perfectly and hitting every beat. It was quite mesmerizing to watch. However when Minho saw himself attempt at the same routine of twists and steps, he found it was much different. 

It shouldn’t bother him that Hyunjin was catching on faster than he was; Hyunjin was the team’s dance leader after all. Of course he was going to be the best off the bat. 

But Minho was the oldest dancer in the team. He knew that it was immature and futile to feel resentment towards the other members who are working hard on their own, but his pride and ambition seemed to get the better of him. 

During the day’s practice, Hyunjin had spent his precious time teaching Minho how to safely practice the killing part in the song, which was a jump-slash-spin type move that Minho was having trouble grasping. 

The younger man had done nothing but show Minho how to practice it so that the team could benefit, however as much as Minho’s mind denied it, it felt so condescending. Minho could handle himself, why was Hyunjin acting like the hyung? Why was he acting like he was better than Minho? Hyunjin was already the visual of the group, why did he have to be the best at dancing too?

Minho had always thought that dancing was his thing. The thing that made him special. It wasn’t wrong to want to be the best. It wasn’t wrong to want to succeed. It wasn’t wrong to feel jealous. 

Minho grunted in frustration as he counted his steps again, using his emotions to push himself harder, promising himself that he would show Hyunjin how he can handle his own problems. 

The music was pounding Minho’s eardrums at a sonic volume, almost mocking how he was unable to monitor the beats well enough. The sound alone was enough to drive him mad. 

Countless tries after countless tries, Minho launched himself into the air, twisting his body and snapping his joints in seemingly the same way that he remembered Hyunjin showing him. Yet, as he carefully watched his body in the mirror, it was still too awkward and stiff. The muscles in his thighs were in excruciating pain as he willed himself to jump again and again, repeating the same mistakes. 

Why was he even a dancer? Hyunjin was a more fluid and swift dancer, Felix was more charismatic and memorable, but what was Minho? Every day that he spent exhausting himself just trying to keep up with the others was another day where he felt unworthy of his career. 

It should not be this hard to be mediocre. 

And anyways, it wasn’t as if Minho could ask anybody for help. As soon as he asks for help in the field that he was supposed to be good in, people will start questioning his abilities. Maybe the boys would spare him the judgement because he is their friend, but how could he be sure? He was supposed to be the oldest dancer that helps the younger boys learn and grow, and yet here he is, practicing the same move over and over again for hours on end. 

If anything, Minho’s moves were only deteriorating in quality as time went on. His movements were sloppier and less precise. He wasn’t paying attention to anything that Hyunjin had told him earlier. His mind kept drifting away from the task at hand, which was practically automatic at this point. Minho wasn’t focusing on his footwork and where his weight was placed. His head was pounding and he felt hot all over his body, yet he couldn’t tell if it was from the hours of dancing or the frustration. He felt like he wanted to rip his hair out, or his skin off, or scream at the top of his lungs, but he just kept jumping and twirling and twisting and leaping and spinning until he found himself falling towards the ground. 

Minho let out a loud yelp as his hands shot out to try and break his fall as best as they could. Shooting pain spiked up the bone in his forearms as he let himself fall slack on the cool studio floor.

Panic had set into Minho’s mind as he had heard it before the adrenaline in his brain had let him feel it. The sickening pop sound that had come from landing on his left ankle at a weird position. 

Minho sat up frantically and suddenly felt the god awful pain in his foot. He cried out a little bit when he tried to move it a little bit. 

Of course he had to fuck up his ankle. 

Without touching his foot, Minho worked to untie his shoelaces and stretch his sneaker out as wide as he could so he could inspect his injury. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he could already feel the muscle begin to swell. 

Minho took a deep breath and whimpered a little bit as he slowly inched his sneaker off of his injured foot, wincing at the tenderness of the ankle. 

He sighed in relief as the sneaker slid off of his foot, and he rolled his pant leg up. Minho was relieved when he saw that the visual damage was minuscule, only resulting in a bit of swelling and slight bruising. Minho’s trembling fingers moved to press down on the skin lightly, gasping at the explosion of pain. 

Timidly, Minho shifted to stand on his injured foot. His overworked muscles were trembling as he faintly transferred his weight from his right foot to his left. There was no pain for the first second, but as he slowly pressed on the tender foot, a shooting pain flared up his leg. 

Minho cried out in frustration as he sat himself back down to the ground, burying his face into his hands. Hot, unwanted tears began to escape his eyes and wet the skin of his palms. 

There was no reason for him to cry, so why was he still sniveling like a child? Minho sniffled a few times before wiping his tears onto the back of his hand. 

The clock suspended high up on the studio’s wall read 10:47. Minho swore to himself when he remembered he promised Chan to be home before 10:30. 

Minho took a shaky breath as he stretched the discarded sneaker out as much as he could, already wincing at the thought of restricting his aching foot in it. 

By the sickening mess of raw, swollen flesh that rested at the bottom of his leg, Minho figured that the injury was a sprain. Sprained limbs are not uncommon for dancers, but they could be dangerous. 

It was about 11:00 in the evening when Minho hobbled into the dorm, fully expecting the scolding he was about to endure from Chan. Surprisingly, the space seemed fairly quiet, save for the faint sounds of video games coming from Felix and Hyunjin’s shared room. The dorm still smelled like whatever Changbin had brought for supper, which seemingly lured Minho right into the kitchen. 

Minho heated up some of the take out that was left in the fridge for him, sighing as he found himself an ice pack for his ankle. 

He ate with his leg propped up on another chair, covered with ice. Although it felt uncomfortable, it also felt oddly nice. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Chan slurred as he stumbled into the kitchen. 

Minho moved his leg from the chair to underneath the table. His ice pack fell onto the floor with a soft thud, but Chan seemed to not notice it. This must have been some sort of reflex; almost like Minho’s mind rejected the idea of anybody knowing about his injury. Especially not their leader, who had an abundance of other problems and issues that he has to deal with. 

“I was practicing and lost track of time, I’m sorry.” Minho explained, returning his attention to the noodles that were starting to cool off in his bowl. Chan sighed and sat down at the table. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Chan said, “I was starting to get a little bit worried.”

Minho scoffed at the older boy. “You know I can take care of myself, you don’t have to worry.” 

Minho saw Chan smile tiredly behind his fingers. It wasn’t until Chan looked up that Minho saw the dark bags underneath the other’s eyes. Chan had lines of worry stretched across his forehead, his hair was messy and looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while, and his eyes looked exhausted. 

Minho knew about Chan’s habit of putting the team’s success above his own health, and he knew about how dangerous it could be. Judging by the rough looking pile of a leader sitting across from him, he could guess that Chan hadn’t slept in a while.

“You look like a sick old man,” Minho cautiously jokes, leaning across the table to push on Chan’s shoulders. Minho winced slightly as he put some more pressure on his ankle. Luckily, the tired leader didn’t notice a thing. “You should go to sleep,”

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” Chan said, cracking a wide smile at the younger. 

Minho giggled at him. “With the way you look right now, that day will come sooner than you thought.”

Chan gave an amused huff towards Minho. He rubbed his dark eyes, and leaned forward in his seat, resting his head on his hands. “I thought you knew me, Minho,” he said with a small chuckle. 

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t overwork yourself,” Minho retorted, eating some of the noodles Changbin bought, “you look like a zombie.” 

“Changbin and I spent all last night in the studio,” Chan yawned, “I had to pull him home because he passed out at the desk,” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Minho said. 

“By the way,” Chan shifted in his seat, “how is the choreo coming? I noticed you were having some difficulty today,”

Minho felt a weight crash on him. Chan was giving up his sleep and sanity to help the team, and Minho isn’t even able to keep up his own workload without breaking himself. 

“Uhm,” he started, shifting his gaze back down to his noodles to look unbothered, “it’s coming along. I’ve almost got it down, I think,”

“Just take care of yourself too, okay?” Chan asked, his aura becoming a little bit more serious, “we can’t have you injured right before a comeback,”

That was it. Minho felt his anxiety build at that one sentence. If Chan only knew the irony of that statement. There was literally an ice pack beneath the table to soothe an injury that might prevent Minho from making any progress with his improvements, and yet Chan didn’t know a thing. 

Minho played his dread off with a little chuckle. It felt too awkward, and he was sure that the leader knew something was up. Yet, being the tired and clueless boy that he was, Chan didn’t notice anything. 

“Well it’s kind of late, and I can barely keep my eyes focused anymore,” Chan stated, getting up from his seat, “I’m going to go to bed. Make sure you get some sleep soon, okay?”

Minho hummed a yes before Chan bid another goodnight, leaving Minho to finish his food and shower before heading to bed. 

What was he going to do? The logical thing would be to tell Chan or a manager or someone that he accidentally hurt himself, but he was too damn prideful. It would be embarrassing to admit to Hyunjin that he ignored the advice he gave him, or to let Chan down by taking a break to heal his foot. He didn’t want his company, members, or fans to think that he was fragile or weak.

If it was any other member, Minho wouldn’t hesitate to suggest time off for healing, but he couldn’t admit to needing the same thing. 

The next day, Minho woke up feeling even more soreness in his ankle than he had before. He was sure that it was a sprain, which conflicted him. He didn’t know if he should tell somebody and risk giving up practice and work until it healed. Then again, if he didn’t say anything, he risked causing an even worse injury. 

Minho made his way to the kitchen, trying to walk as normally as possible with the aching feeling spreading up his leg. If he could make it to the kitchen and snag some painkillers without anybody noticing, he might be able to soothe the pain enough to make it through the day. 

Without anybody in the kitchen, Minho limped over to the cabinet above the coffee machine, where the boys kept all of their medicine and bandages. For good measure, he pocketed the bottle just in case he felt more pain later. 

“G’morning,” Felix grunted, stumbling into the kitchen towards the coffee pot. 

“Morning, Lix.” Minho ruffled the kid’s messy bed-head before looking for something to eat. “Did you sleep well?” 

Felix gave a small nod as he poured himself a cup of completely black coffee. Felix looked very tired; Minho assumed it was probably from playing video games all night like usual. 

“You should take better care of your health, Lix.” Minho said. “Spending eight hours playing computer games is bad for your brain.” Minho sat down at the kitchen table with a granola bar in his hand. 

Felix chuckled and sat down too, “Maybe for you, but I’ve adapted myself to spending hours online.” 

Before Minho could scold him any more, he was interrupted by Hyunjin yawning as he walked through the door. He was dressed in his usual workout clothes, which surprised Minho, since they didn’t have choreography practice again until the next day. 

“Good morning,” Hyunjin said, seating himself down beside Felix.

“Morning,” Minho said, “are you going to the gym today?” 

Hyunjin shook his head. “I was thinking maybe we could go work on your move? You and I? Chan told me you didn’t get home until late last night.” 

Minho felt the anxiety build in his chest. How could he say no to practice? He knows that he isn’t that good and therefore shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to improve. But on the other hand, Hyunjin had taught him how to be safe while training, and he ignored the advice. He could barely walk on his ankle properly; Hyunjin would know something was up immediately. 

“Also Felix, you have to cool it with the games, you kept me up all night with those stupid little gunshot noises.” Hyunjin complained. “So we’ll leave in twenty?” 

Maybe it was a reflex or an instinct, or maybe Minho was just used to agreeing to practice time when offered, but before he had the chance to figure out a way out of it, the older boy was agreeing to working one-on-one with Hyunjin on their day off from practice. 

A while back, Jisung had twisted his ankle badly. He was out running, and hit a crack in the pavement. It wasn’t that bad of an injury, but for good measure, he had bought himself some support socks. 

Minho excused himself away from the table, trying to walk as naturally as possible, yet feeling what felt like the eyes of a hundred people burned into the back of his head. 

Minho sifted through Jisung’s sock drawer before finally pulling out the black and silver support socks from the very back, where they had been discarded and forgotten about ever since Jisung healed from the incident. 

Wincing, he carefully pulled the stiff fabric over his foot, almost letting a noise out when it moved his ankle. Once he stood up from the bed he was perched on, he took a few test strides. He was surprised at the way that the expensive fiber backed up his muscle. 

Minho quickly changed into some fresh workout clothes, and met Hyunjin by the door. 

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked, already opening the door. 

Minho hummed a yes and followed the boy out. The two of them made their way out of the dorms and down the street towards the studio. Minho was trying to distract himself with the uncomfortable pressure on his injured foot, and contemplated telling Hyunjin about it. Yet, as they walked, he began to worry again about his progress. Isn’t it natural for an idol to push through injuries for their careers? 

“So how did practicing it on your own feel yesterday?” Hyunjin asked as they walked, Minho trying his best to look as normal as he could, thanking god that he had the socks to help. 

“Uh,” he started, “it wasn’t bad, I think I’m improving,” 

Out of the corner of Minho’s eyes, he saw Hyunjin smile. It seemed unlike a smile of amusement, but more like a smile of fondness. 

“You improve everyday, Minho.” Hyunjin said, “You’re a hard worker. I know you’re going to get it,” 

Minho scoffed at Hyunjin before he could register it and stop himself. Hyunjin bumped his shoulders as they walked. Minho winced at the pain that sprouted from his foot, but kept moving nonetheless. 

“Don’t make that noise, you’re doing fine,” Hyunjin assured. Minho hated the way that he wanted so desperately to argue with Hyunjin because he can’t take compliments well. “It seems tough because you’re not getting it right away, but that’s what I’m helping you for,” the younger boy smiled brightly as they walked.

Minho was so happy knowing that he has a team of brothers that are willing to help him whenever he needs it. As much as he knew that he was lucky to have Hyunjin, he still felt that heavy pang of unnecessary jealousy. His mind was screaming at him to resent Hyunjin for making him feel inferior. 

“Thanks,” Minho said rather quietly, wanting to change the subject or end the conversation quickly before he felt even more awkward. 

“Ah don’t be like that,” Hyunjin sighed as he opened the company door for Minho. Minho made a confused noise as he passed the younger. “Just accept my help.”

Even though Hyunjin’s words made him sound upset, he was still speaking in a rather calm and light-hearted voice. It made Minho undeniably angry. 

“I am accepting your help, that’s why I’m here,” Minho countered, “let’s just practice, okay?” Minho was walking slightly ahead of Hyunjin on their way to the dance studios, when he stumbled slightly. He must have put pressure on a weird part of his ankle, because he felt a new wave of soreness in his bone. 

“Hold on, are you limping?” Hyunjin suddenly asked. Hyunjin instinctively grabbed onto the older’s arm, trying to help him regain his balance. 

Minho shook Hyunjin’s hand off of him, trying to play it off as easily as possible. “I just stepped on something,” he said, but Hyunjin was not easily fooled. 

“No it wasn’t that. You’re walking weird, Minho. Come over here,” Hyunjin gestured, leading Minho towards the practice room. 

“I swear I’m okay,” Minho awkwardly laughed. The dread of his ignorant mistake set into his chest when he realized he was found out. Hyunjin wasn’t an easy member to fool about anything. 

Hyunjin was staring at Minho with hawk-like eyes. “There’s something wrong and you’re not telling me,”

Minho avoided Hyunjin’s gaze by moving towards the bench at the side of the room, where he normally changed into his workout shoes. “I already said it’s nothing,” he sighed. He started taking the shoe off of his uninjured foot, feeling a little bit nervous to take his left one off in front of Hyunjin. 

Even after Minho thought he ended the conversation, Hyunjin still stared at him skeptically. Hyunjin knew that something was up, and Minho couldn’t hide his foolishness from him any more than he already has. 

Mentally groaning, Minho reached down to his left ankle, and untied the laces. Hyunjin sat down at the bench directly beside Minho so that he could change his shoes as well. Minho stretched the shoe out as much as he could to avoid the pulling motion on his sensitive flesh. He could not hide the way that his face contorted ever so slightly from the discomfort. 

“Mhm,” Hyunjin hummed. “Let’s take a couple laps around the room to warm up, okay?” he suggested, practically springing out from his seat, light feet bouncing him with ease. 

By now, it was a game of cat and mouse. Hyunjin was the cat trying so desperately to catch Minho, who was trying to escape the other’s claws. Hyunjin already knew what was up, yet of course, he wanted to force Minho to confess. 

Minho huffed as he rose himself from his seat, trying to give Hyunjin nothing to worry about. “You want to run?” he asked, walking away from Hyunjin, “Fine.” he said. Minho took off in a light jog down the side of the practice room. He was cringing with the amount of stress it put on his leg, yet he focused himself on remaining stone-faced. Damn all of these mirrors. 

Behind him, he heard Hyunjin take off in a jog as well, catching up to Minho fairly quickly. 

“I say we should do this every time we practice, don’t you think so, Minho?” Hyunjin teased. It made a pang of anger burst in Minho’s head.

Minho kept running and running, trying to keep up with Hyunjin’s slightly increasing pace, putting one foot in front of the other over and over and over again, until--

“Fuck!” Minho yelped after he landed himself weirdly on his left ankle. He fell to the floor with a thud, and clutched his leg to his chest. The pain of the fall mixed with the embarrassment of Hyunjin’s gaze made him so frustrated that he let out a growl like noise. 

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Hyunjin asked, crouching so that he could examine Minho. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and full of worry. 

Minho groaned out a “Yeah,” as he moved his trembling fingers to untie his shoelaces. Stretching the material once again, he slipped it off of his foot, wincing at the pull. 

“No you’re not, oh my god,” Hyunjin’s hands were fidgeting. He wasn’t quite sure what he should do to help Minho. He watched as Minho rolled up his pant leg, exposing a ball of swollen and bruised flesh. “Is it sprained?” he asked, reaching his arm out before pulling it back, not wanting to touch what he figured was a very tender and painful limb. 

“What the fuck does it look like?” Minho growled. The hostility in his voice took Hyunjin aback. 

“Well c’mon, we’ll call someone and get it checked out,” 

“No,” Minho ran his fingers through his hair as he felt the frustration bubble in his chest. 

“What do you mean, no?” Hyunjin looked concerned, to say the least. As calm as he tried to seem on the outside, his eyes gave away his panicked state, and he was as pale as a ghost. 

“I mean I don’t need to get it checked out!” Minho said in such an exasperated tone that it made Hyunjin cower like a dog. 

Minho shifted onto his right foot to push himself up off of the ground. It felt degrading to sit like that with his younger brother crouching beside him. 

“Woah, what are you doing?” Hyunjin asked, “And... Why are you so hostile today? I think that you should have someone look at it. What if it gets worse?” he said, as he stood up as well, grabbing onto Minho’s arm to keep his balance. 

Annoyance clouded Minho when Hyunjin put that hand on his arm. In a harsh movement, he yanked away from his brother’s grip. 

“Just fuck off!” Minho yelled. 

Hyunjin was so shocked that he couldn’t think of anything to say back. He saw Minho’s eyes begin to fill with tears of frustration. 

Minho was upset beyond his control. On a normal occasion, he would never say these things to any of the members. But as Hyunjin remained calm, acting mature, Minho felt anger pile up and fog his mind.

Minho grabbed his hair, trying to ground himself. He was trying to keep himself from flying off the handle at Hyunjin. 

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you should figure it out before you talk to me like that,” Hyunjin said, a quiet tone contrasting to the loud outburst that the older boy created. 

Minho snapped his head around. “Will you stop treating me like that?” 

“Like what?”

“Like you’re my hyung!” Minho shouted. 

Realization dawned on Hyunjin. He chuckled dryly to himself. “I get it.” he whispered coldly. His expression was like ice, and his gaze was overwhelming to Minho. “You’re so mad because you’re too immature to take criticism. Not just that,” he said, his voice slightly rising in intensity, “but you can’t handle the fact that you can learn from someone younger than you,” he accused. 

Minho was outraged. He wanted to scream at Hyunjin and rip his hair out, but what was the point? Hyunjin was right. No matter how well he knew that, he couldn’t admit it. He couldn’t let Hyunjin win. 

“You have such a goddamn age superiority complex that you can’t accept help from someone younger than you, isn’t that right?” Hyunjin asked, stepping forwards. 

Minho took a step backwards from the boy, only to cry out in pain again and fall to the ground. This time though, Hyunjin didn’t crouch down. 

“All I’ve been doing these past few days is help you because you’re my friend, and that’s what friends do,” he said. 

Minho felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment as he realized he was sitting while Hyunjin was towering over him. He felt that there was a power imbalance, yet he didn’t deserve to try and even it out. He was childish and petty. Minho felt guilty for everything, which only contributed to the pool of unshed tears in his eyes that refused to be blinked away. 

With a lowered head, Minho whispered “I’m sorry.” 

There was a brief beat of silence before Hyunjin finally sighed in exasperation as he crouched down again. 

“I just...” Minho sniffed and took a breath, finally feeling a hot tear run down his cheek. “I just want... to do well. And I’m jealous.” 

“You can’t be jealous of people like this, it’s not healthy,” Hyunjin said. 

“Yeah I know, but...” Minho dabbed his eyes with the hem of his shirt, not wanting his face to be all red and puffy, “I am the one who was supposed to help you. I was supposed to help you, and Felix, and Jisung, and Jeongin and everyone else, but all I’m doing is being a fucking child.” 

Hyunjin brought his hand out to rub circles into Minho’s back. Minho wanted to push him away, not deserving the comfort of his friend, but he couldn’t help the way he leaned into the touch. 

“I don’t know what’s going on inside your head to make you think that you can’t tell us when you’re injured or having a hard time, but I hope that you can find it in you to believe me when I say that...” Hyunjin paused, only starting again when Minho raised his head and they made eye contact, “you are talented, and you are special. Nobody thinks anything less than that.” 

Minho’s mind was telling him no. it was telling him that Hyunjin was lying, and that he shouldn’t believe what he said. Minho was an awful dancer and didn’t belong in the team. 

Yet, seeing the emotions in Hyunjin’s eyes, Minho felt himself beginning to believe it just a bit. 

“I’m sorry I exploded,” he murmured. 

Hyunjin gave him a gentle side hug. “Although it was shitty, I know you’re just stressed. The Lee Minho I know wouldn’t do this.”

Minho took a second to appreciate the lovely boy beside him. The boy that is more mature than his hyung. 

“I’m an awful friend, aren’t I?” Minho asked. 

Hyunjin chuckled softly. “Just a little bit,” he said, before pulling Minho’s head towards his chest. 

Minho sighed as he lolled himself towards Hyunjin. For once, it was nice to not have to be the hyung. It was kind of nice to not have to show his strong side. 

“I let my pride get the best of me,” Minho whispered. 

“I could tell that,” Hyunjin was rubbing soothing patterns on Minho’s hip, “just don’t let it happen again, okay?” 

Minho nodded against his shirt. 

“Hyunjin?” he asked, “Do you think... that you could take me to get my ankle looked at?” 

Hyunjin pressed his face against Minho’s head. Minho looked up into the mirror in front of them to see himself, red-eyed and puffy faced, curled up against Hyunjin, who had a lovely smile on his face. 

Again, it wasn’t an amused smile, but instead, it was a smile of fondness. A smile that one friend would give to another after they’ve settled a rather childish argument. 

“I was planning on taking you anyways.” 

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: Smut

A/N:  As promised, a whole chapter of smut (of the fluffiest kind)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5] [PART 6]  [PART 7]  [PART 8]  [PART 9]  [PART 10]  [PART 11]  [PART 12]  [PART 13]

Part 14 

At Last 

The soft twilight outside his office window forced Jack to turn on his desk lamp.  The pile of transfer reports he had been working on since early afternoon was almost complete.  He found himself sad to see several of the young trainees go, but Kingsman was in desperate need of agents and he was proud to send them over.  They’ll thrive under Tequila, he thought.

Once the last report was finished and signed off, he sat back and stretched.  The cracking of his neck felt good.  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before putting them back on.  He sat for a bit, lost in thought, when his phone buzzed.  He picked it up and realized he had a text.

‘Hungry? I’m starting dinner’

‘Yep. I’ll be up soon.’

‘Good. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

He put his phone in his pocket as he stood up.  His eyes lingered on the front of his desk where he nearly fucked Shirley this afternoon.  He had been so fucking close and even though he “took care of it” like Shirl told him to, it wasn’t enough, not when she had been there and wanting him so damn bad. Rubbing his hands over his face, he groaned at the memory.

You’re going home to her, stupid, move already, he told himself. After gathering up the reports to drop off, he turned off the light and shut the office door.  He popped into Brandy’s empty office and left the files on her desk with a note attached and sent a text to follow up.  Getting into the elevator, he turned off his phone and impatiently tapped his toes as he rode to the eighth floor.  Shirley moved in with him about year after her return and coming home to her was always the best part of his day.

When he opened the door, he found the house quiet.  The kitchen table was set, and it certainly smelled like something was cooking, but he didn’t see Shirley anywhere.  He hung his hat on the hook next to the door and dropped his keys in the holder.  He stepped over to the table and there was his named scrawled on a note.  He opened it.

Appetizers in the bedroom  ~M

The grin bloomed on his face as he set it down and walked down the hallway. He found the door ajar and when he opened it, his breath was taken away.  Only the nightstand lights were on, putting the room in a soft glow.  In the middle of the bed sat Shirley, her hair down around her shoulders and propped up against the pillows.  Her legs were stretched out before her, feet bare, and she had her arms laying gently beside her torso.  She wore the dress.

“Hello, cowboy.”  Her voice was soft and practically purred.  He could see her eyes darken at the sight of him and he was certain his was doing the same thing.  He stood in the doorway and took off his boots and then his jacket and belt before finally removing his shirt.  He stood there in just his pants.

“Hello.”

She didn’t move as he walked across the room to the end of the bed. She held her hand out to him and he crawled across to her.  When he reached her, he laid flush against her body, propping himself on his forearms to look at her.  She brought her arms around his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I thought you were making dinner.”

“I did, it won’t be ready for a few hours.”  She grinned at him and he grinned back before gently placing his lips on hers.  The kiss was soft and sweet at first but as he shifted and placed one of his hands on her hip, he grew more heated.  She responded by opening her mouth and darting out her tongue.  He opened for her and they deepened the kiss.  He grew hard at her panting breaths.

His thumb traced lazy circles on her hip, and she began to shift as her body responded to the two front stimulation she was experiencing.  She moved her arms under his to grasp his back and her legs opened wider to accommodate him.  She felt her core grow heavier and she ready for him.  She hadn’t realized how much she had missed this, and it was making her lightheaded.

Jack broke off the kiss to pepper her jaw and then her neck with soft pecks of his lips.  The gentleness in which he touched her combined with the soft hairs of his mustache tickled her and she giggled before drawing up her shoulders in an automatic response. He grinned against her skin but kept going slowly across her collarbone and then down to her cleavage.  He glanced up at her to find her staring at him with hooded eyes.  They both remember the last time they were in a similar position.

He pulled at the dress’ neckline to kiss further down when he realized she wore no bra.  She smiled at the way his eyes brows shot up and moaned as his eyes seemed to grow darker with lust.  His hand reached down to untie the belt of the dress and the neckline gaped open. He pulled it wider and her breasts spilt out.  He moaned. This is exactly what he wanted, the feel of this dress against his skin and her exposed to his look and touch. He bent his head down and gently kissed each breast.  Shirley pulled her hands from his back and laced her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, Jack. . .”  She breathed, hips jerking at the spikes of heavy pleasure deep within her when he began sucking on her nipple.  They were always so sensitive, and Jack knew it.  Nothing else he could do to her would turn her on as fast as playing with her breasts.  He brought his hand up from her hip to play with her other nipple and her body curled into him.  Her moans were coming deep from her throat as he kissed along her chest and lapped at the other nipple.

When he gently bit down on the one and pinched the other, she cried out suddenly.  Her hips jerked against him and he realized she came.  She dropped back on the pillows slightly dazed, her orgasm catching her by surprise.  She started to laugh, albeit shaky, and looked down at him.  He smiled at her.

“Well that was unexpected.”  She said, drawing a breath and then another as his hand moved from her breast down to her stomach.  His smile was smug, but when he dipped his hands under her dress to find her with no underwear, it was her turn to look smug.

“Marigold, you’re killing me here.”  He groaned and he could feel his cock twitched at the wetness of her heat.  “You feel so good, love.”

“Jack, you gotta touch me.”  She mumbled as his thumb found her clit and began making slow circles.  The sensitivity from her first orgasm meant that she felt everything, and it was almost overwhelming.  She rested her head against his and their heavy breaths mingled with each other.  Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation and before she could open them, she could feel him shift away from her body and move downwards.

He kissed between her breasts again and then every few inches pressed his lips against her torso, letting the fabric of the dress tickle them.  As he moved, his hands gently pulled the dress higher on Shirley’s hips until she was exposed to him.  He continued to kiss down, planting one more just below her belly button.  He laid his cheek on the springy curls on her mound and closed his eyes.  He felt her fingers lightly drag through his hair.

He turned his face and pressed his nose briefly against her before he pulled back and yanked her down the bed, so she was flat against the mattress. The dress bunched up under her bust, pushing her breasts higher up.  Shirley widened her legs and drew them up to let Jack move his shoulders under her thighs. She brought her hands down to the back of his head when he laid back down.

Before she could react, he pressed his face down into her mound and dragged his tongue up her slit.  Her back arched off the bed and she cried out.  Before her hips had a chance to move, he used his right forearm to hold her down.  He began to lick her earnestly, focusing on her clit.  The sensations she would normally feel were heightened by her first orgasm and she practically sobbed when he stuck his finger inside of her and began pumping in and out.  When he added a second finger, she knew she was done for.

The tightness in her stomach pulled impossibly tighter and she practically saw stars when she came the second time.  Her sobs sounded ripped from her throat and her hips jerked almost violently.  The death grip she had on his hair must have hurt him, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he remained still until she collapsed back into the pillows, panting heavily.

Jack smiled and felt a twinge of pride knowing he alone made her feel like this.  Her flushed face, swollen lips, and the little twitches of her hips – all him. He was rock hard and felt that he could have come right there just looking at her.  She looked at him, her eyes slightly glazed over and full of lust. He raised him self up and stretched out over her.  When his pants bushed against her clit, her hips jerked against his erection.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she brought her hands to his face. Shirley couldn’t believe she came twice already, and her body practically hummed from the joy of it. She let her fingertips lightly trace his cheeks and chin, where she could feel the stubble already forming. She brushed a thumb against his chin and then down his throat.  

She brought both hands down and against his shoulders.  Shirley clutched at them briefly before she pulled her lips from his. He looked at her with such longing and she knew her face must look the same.  She pushed against him and off her.  As she maneuvered him onto his back, she pushed herself to her knees.

“Marigold, you don’t have to do this.”  He said quietly.

“Oh, but I want to.”  Jack settled back, slightly propped up on the pillows, a reversal from where he found her the first time.  She reached down to unbutton his pants and together they got them off him, along with his boxer briefs.  She dropped them to the side of the bed and then straddled him.  Jack swallowed hard when he saw her – this vision, the woman he loved – sitting on him, encased in that damned dress and looking at him wantonly.

Shirley felt intoxicated, she hadn’t been this free and open with him in years.  Seeing him looking at her with such lust, it made her core clench in want.  She was of the rare variety that could never feel comfortable giving a blow job no matter how lusty she felt.  She wasn’t sure if it was the sheer ridiculous look of it or her terrible gag reflex, but if Jack resented not have her mouth on his cock, he never let on to her.  On rare occasions in the past, she’d lick up his cock, maybe pressing a kiss on the tip, but that’s about as far as she’d go.  Instead, she worked to make her hand jobs spectacular.  He loved her hands after all.

She settled herself on his thighs, widening her legs more than normal to allow the dress to hang down and hide her from his sight.  Jack could feel her heat against him and brought his hands to her hips and bit down on his lower lip.  His eyes fluttered shut as her nails gently scraped up his cock and when she reached the sensitive head, he felt his hips jerk in time with his gasp.

She smoothed the bead of precum around his head and quietly spit into her hand.  Using both hands she gently grabbed his cock and began to move her hands around it. Her grip was firm and unrelenting, working him up and down.  His hooded eyes watched her when she suddenly smiled and removed them.  He groaned at the loss of her heat, but gasped when he realized what she going to do.  She was pulling at the skirt of her dress and he could see a flash of her nudity underneath. She draped the skirt over his cock and the soft brushed cotton rubbed against him as she put her hands back into place over the fabric.

“Oh fuck, Marigold, fuck!” His groans were loud and the veins in his neck jutted out.  She merely smiled.

The tension in his belly increased and he found himself slowly fucking her hands, relishing the feel of the fabric rubbing against him.  She grinned when he tightened the grip on her hips after she moved one hand lower to fondle his balls.  Shirley could see the ripple of muscles under his stomach as she increased her speed.  As he got louder with his moans, she bent down to kiss along his chest, flicking her tongue against one nipple and then the other.

“Fuck, Marigold, I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”  He gritted the words out and he was certain his grip on her hips would leave bruises tomorrow.

“No more?”

“I want to come inside you, love, not in your hand.”  He wasn’t sure how he was even able to form words anymore, his brain felt like mush.  For a moment after she removed her hands and the skirt, he almost regretted his words, until he opened his eyes and watched as she lifted herself up and grasped his cock at the base.  He helped guide her down on him and he watched her as her eyes fluttered shut.

Yes, she thought, this is what I needed.  His thickness filled her completely and for a moment, she didn’t move just to feel him stretch her out.  She wasn’t sure if it was her newfound freedom or the length of time since they last made love that made her so sensitive, but she was here for it. Slowly she lifted her hips and he hiss loudly at the movement.  She brought them back down slowly and she opened her eyes to look into his.  As she slowly began to ride him, Jack sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Oh Jack.”  She said as she looped her arms around his neck and bowed her head down to touch his.

“Marigold, god,” he rasped.  “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Soon feeling her wasn’t enough, he began to rock his hips in time with her and soon they picked up speed.  With her breasts bouncing in front of him, he couldn’t resist taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking on it.  She cried out and curled into him.  Her hips stuttered at the sensation, but his kept up the pace.

“Jack, I’m going to come.”  She whispered in his ear.  “Make me come, baby, again.”

He groaned at her words and moved his hips upward faster.  He buried his face into her neck and dropped his hands to her ass to move her on his dick.  He could feel his orgasm rising and he wasn’t sure if he could be gentle with her.

“Jack, fuck me.  Harder.”

His control snapped and he drove into her with almost animalistic force. Her cries became louder and he was sure everyone in the goddamn building could hear his moans.  Suddenly, Shirley went rigid and he knew her orgasm hit her. She screamed, tightening her grip on his shoulders.  Her core clamped down on his cock and he growled as he began to come in her. Their shared orgasm seemed to last forever but eventually he fell backwards, and she collapsed on top of him. They couldn’t hear anything else but their collective hearts pounding in their chests.  He wrapped his arm around her and held her close.

Soon their breathing returned to normal and he withdrew from her.  They laid there a bit longer before Shirley propped her head up on his chest and looked at him.  The contentment on his face thrilled her and she smiled broadly.

“What’s that smile for, moonshine?” He asked lazily as his fingers traced abstract patterns over her back.

“That was a pretty good appetizer.”  She giggled as he began to laugh loudly along with her.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Four of Swords

Destiel, 7.1k, M, Ao3 link

Super happy I can finally share what me and my amazing partner, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, cooked up for the @supernaturaltropecelebration

Hope you all enjoy! (story below, but if you go to ao3 there’ll be pretty pictures - I definintely recommend viewing them and showing love to the artist!)

The Four of Swords, in the present position, means you don't want to interact with the rest of the world. Because of stress, you need to spend some time with yourself - unhealthy always being 'on'. That the healthiest thing to do is to escape.

Dean might crave escape, but it's not something he thinks he can have. Something he deserves, even. After his and Sam's most recent hunt, this cancerous feeling has grown heavy and weighs him down. He cannot escape on his own, as best he tries.

Luckily a guardian 'former angel' angel swoops in at his lowest. Helps pick up the pieces as best he can and lovingly put them back together. But he can only do so much. The rest is up to Dean.

Can Dean take those final steps, say those final words, and finally free himself?

        His leg bounces, foot playing with the pedal while forcing the speedometer past its limits. Fingers squeeze the wheel tight enough he knows will leave permanent indents in the leather. Dean feels, more acutely than ever, how small his car’s interior is. Her cabin walls closing in around like the Death Star’s trash compacter. Aided by Sam’s ever-present stare, weighted by all the questions Dean will not let him ask. Forbade with a shake of his head and a rough flick of the ignition.

        The sun creeps past the horizon, morning rudely greeting them. Beams of light pierce the glass, its glare interfering with his driving. Dean swings a heavy paw up towards the visor and pulls down, hard. It blocks most of the sun but gives Dean a worse distraction.

        His gaze strays from the road to the tiny mirror embedded within the visor. Bounces around the borders of his face, studying the features and additions. Green eyes burdened with purplish bags. Dirt smudged around his hairline, disappearing into his short, mussed locks. Scratches peppered his cheeks like freckles, and the dried blood around his lips looks almost comical. Like he overlined them with an ugly shade of lipstick, clownlike and surreal.

        “You’re drifting.”

        Sam tugs the wheel closer, straightening their car. Dean wills back the discomfort of having Sam’s hand covering his. Of the memory, hours ago, where their layered hands held different context. Pushing. Praying. Reaching for a spark of Dean that nearly drowned and was lost forever. He shakes his head, focusing on the road again. “Thanks,” he says once his brother’s hand drifted away.

        They reach the Bunker minutes later, Dean parking between the green Hudson and silver Chrysler. Both collecting dust. Dean checks his phone – 8:34 a.m. 3 missed calls, 8 unanswered texts. He swipes for the message thread, not reading any of the grey bubbles and typing a simple message. Back. Then Dean drops it in an empty cupholder and lays his head on the wheel.

        Exhaustion drips along his bones like slime, filling the spaces between joints. His muscles broadcast their pain in full stereo, working in tandem with his brain. Each twinge a reminder of what happened. What he did and what he almost became.

        Someone howls. It is far, but familiar. It sounds like – home? Belonging? Right? More noise, this time closer. Snarling. Snarling and growling. His jaw shudders and bends, reforming. A fire crackles under his skin, urging him forward. Follow the call. Follow the scent. Smell that, hear that, it is all so… pure. Free. You are free. Trust your instincts.

        “Fuck,” he hisses. Dean presses his dirty nails into his palms, a reminder of their usual bluntness. Definitely not sharp enough to pierce the skin. He can’t hurt anyone else with them. “Fuck…”

        Sam shifts at his side, hovering. Worrying. “Dean –“

        “Not now, Sammy,” he says. Dean sucks in a large breath, fixing his armor. Raises his head off the steering wheel, staring out the window. “I’m not ready, not yet.” He wasn’t ready when they watched the barn disappear behind them, burning, smoke drifting into the starless night. When they stopped at the motel so Sam could collect their stuff while Dean idled in the parking lot. When Sam exploded halfway between Denver and Cheyenne, drool wet on his chin, and still unprepared when he apologized minutes later.

        He didn’t deserve his damned forgiveness.

        “Just…” Dean breathes, shivering, “go.”

        The car door opens and shuts with soft clicks. Dean watches his brother stumble over half-asleep legs to the exit, Sam’s gait heavy and awkward. He pauses under the archway. His head tilts slowly right, and Dean tears his eyes from the rearview mirror. Dean counts the beats of his heart, waiting. After thirty he checks the rearview and Sam is gone.

        Flinging himself out the car, Dean falls on hands and knees while his stomach revolts. He coughs, splutters, and heaves with all the force he can muster. There’s not a lot in his stomach but it surges up, splattering against the floor. Mixes with the blood and dirty already staining his fingers. His nausea passes the crest and recedes, body nearly purged. He spits into the bile, running his tongue over the waxy film coating his teeth. Gross, but not enough. The taste lingers.

        Right there. Follow the fear, the rapid breathing – babumbabumbabumbabum. There is sweetness in victory, in the thrill of chasing. No escape, only death. Screams cut short when you tear through the throat. Chestnut fur matted with blood, goes down smooth. Delicious. Filling.

        Dean winces at the mess. “Not cleaning that up,” he says, “at least not now.” With his remaining strength, Dean drags his body up. Leans on his car for a moment, then walks away with the door still open and with bags in the trunk. He cannot remember if he left the key in the ignition, nor does he care if he did.

        There are more pressing matters that need attending.

        He wanders with intention, drifting past rows of doors until he reaches the shower room. Dean turns, slowing to a shuffle and then a full stop once halfway inside. Head bowed, he focuses on the contrast between his mud-caked boots and the pristine tiles ruined by his intrusion. Squints and sees a twig lodged in the loop of his lace. Looks closer and sees a small pawprint left immortalized on the material.

        In one bite the head tears completely off, blood spurting up from the severed neck. Sprays his face while he chews. Dean smiles, teeth catching the droplets and licking them clean off. He greedily stuffs the rest of its small body into his mouth, then licks his hands. Uncurling from the forest floor, he continues on. There is a call he needs to answer.

        Dean hears the twig snap while clawing at the laces. He throws his left boot to the side, followed by his right. Peels his socks off and does the same. The second round of dizziness descends as the cool floor coaxes a more measured response from him. Sighing, Dean closes his eyes and continues stripping.

        Even blind, Dean knows what he throws away. A yellow plaid button-down ripped across the back. Brown t-shirt crusty with dried blood all over the front. Jeans camouflaged in various stains, held up by a belt that worked in saving him from succumbing. And underwear that, while clean, were rather unwanted in the moment.

        Goosepimples rise along the blades of his shoulders, rushing up his neck and over his back. Dean shakes, crosses his arms and tucks his chin against his chest. “Come on,” he says, bouncing on his feet, “In and out… you’ll feel much better.” He steps forward and then returns to where he was. “You’ll feel better and clean and – and like yourself again.”

        “This is who you were truly meant to be…” His voice purrs, sparks firing off pleasurably in his brain. A rough tongue licks up his neck, and Dean nuzzles the hand petting his cheek. “Who we were always meant to be… give into your instincts, my pet. Give into yourself…”

        “Dean what are – oh! I’m sorry!” He whips around and finds Cas standing in the doorway. Hands squeezing the towel, eyes trained upwards and not ahead like they must have been moments ago. The blush on his cheeks clueing him in. “I thought, when you said you were home, you’d be in bed…”

        Dean rakes his gaze over the other man’s body. At the scruff in serious need of shaving, unkempt along his jaw and overrunning his neck. The oversized t-shirt, tie-dyed in various shades of oranges, reds, and yellows. A graphic from a Led Zeppelin album ironed on from a collection Dean found at a garage sale, given over because the angel reminded him of Cas. His shirt’s hem overhangs and covers half of the shorts he wears, hairy calves fully on display.

        A year into humanity and Dean marvels at how he stays so heavenly.

        “No,” he says, “don’t feel much like sleeping…” Then Dean drifts his focus away from the other man and back to the shower stalls. Empty and waiting. In a few seconds he could wash the entirety of yesterday into the drains, dirtied water swirling at his feet. Scrape any trace of the wildness with soap and scalding, hot water. Keep at it, until the knot in his chest unraveled finally.

        Dean stiffens. Someone brushed his arm. Cas squeezes, whispering, “Are you going to shower?”

        He nods. Steps forward, and again. And collapses at the mouth of the shower, scrabbling for the curtain and ripping it from the rod. Dean gasps, the harsh sound echoing in the room, and curls in on himself. The cheap plastic crinkles and sticks to his skin, blanketing his thighs. One of the metal rings completely tore and now digs into his stomach. Cas calls for him, but his voice is distant.

        “We can start anew once your transformation is complete. I can hear it inside you, Dean. There’s a killer in there waiting to be unchained. Let me free you from the prison society forced you in, allow your true self to roam, empowered in its glory and righteousness. You’ll be my right hand in my new pack. All that’s left, is for you to break the final lock…”

        “Dean, Dean I need you to say something,” Cas presses a warm hand into his back, kneading the clammy skin. “Please… I know not to hope for anything good but at least tell me you’re here, with me.”

        “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I’m… I’m here.” More of a reminder than an answer. Dean blinks, leaving the acrid stench of death for faint, lemon cleanser. Shadows and dim lighting for humming fluorescents. False promises for strong foundations. “I’m here,” Dean says again, sliding his hand from the curtains to Cas’s, the other hanging at his side. Squeezes at his wrist. “Thanks.”

        “It’s no problem,” Cas huffs, sizing Dean up. He shrinks under his gaze, conscious of how he must look. “Do you want to –“

        “No.”

        Cas nods, as if expecting it. “You want to clean yourself up?” Dean shrugs. He clucks, fingers skimming his hairline on a wide rub. “Look as if you’ve glued yourself to the underside of your car and had Sam drive across any backroads he found.” The joke inspires Dean’s dimples to appear, and Cas’s overly proud smile forces a small chuckle. “Are you able to stand?”

        “I think I can manage…” Dean winces, the plastic shower curtain peeling off him. Cas keeps his face steady, not even a flicker of interest in peeking as it falls, when Dean exposes himself. A superficial wound. Fortunately Cas’s hand on his back and the other, now holding his, stay and help him up. He wobbles on shaky legs but won’t fail. “Thanks.”

        “No problem,” Cas tells him, thumb tickling his pulse point, “do you want me to give you privacy?”

        He swallows his tongue. Or rather, something living inside his throat snatches it and prevents him from speaking. Dean glances at the shower, dread crawling forth once more. The scant space between him and the handle stretches, vision tunneling. He wants nothing more, if only the thought of it didn’t paralyze him. Cas murmurs at his side. “What?” he chokes out.

        “I might have an idea,” Cas says, “that is… if you’re okay with me seeing you like… like this?”

        Dean raises a wry brow. “Does it matter?” he asks, “You already have.”

        “Just being polite…” Cas moves away from him, Dean following for a beat until he stops himself. The other man looks to the door, than at him. He scoops his forgotten towel, dumped on the floor at some point in the past few minutes, and offers it to him. “Here.”

        “Like I said, Cas –“

        “I know,” he interrupts, “but I doubt you want to walk the halls like that, where at any point Sam could stumble on you and… assume.” A hell of an assumption. Favorable too, he thinks. Dean blushes and bites his lip. He accepts the towel, lazily wrapping it around his waist. Not bothering to tuck it, holding it with his hands so they wouldn’t hang without purpose. Cas finally dips his gaze towards his crotch and relaxes. “Okay,” he says, “follow me.”

        They leave the shower room, Dean practically hitting Cas’s heels with how closely he trails the other man. Enough that he could swing his arm and accidentally brush his hip. He won’t, though the possibility is tempting.

        It’s not a far enough walk for that.

        Cas turns the corner and leads Dean to the second door on the right. “I found this awhile back, early on in our stay here and carried it to this room one day when you were out.” He opens it for him, gesturing inside with a lackluster flourish. “Glad I did, don’t know how I would have managed without my angel strength.”

        Dean steps inside, searching. There is not much waiting for him. Smaller than most rooms, he can imagine it being a closet with ease. Spots the tiny holes where screws must have been. Hidden in the outlines of where shelves once were. “Didn’t know you were handy.”

        “I learn fast.”

        “I’ll say,” Dean says, “plumbing’s a bitch to do.” He smirks at the large, stainless steel faucet. There’s another outline underneath against the wall that marks where a sink used to be. Removed so the porcelain, clawfoot tub can rest. “You take baths?”

        “When I can,” Cas tells him, “I find it very healing. Even when I could mend broken bones and turn jagged cuts into flawless, smooth skin with my grace, I found myself drifting here every now and then, sitting for a soak.”

        Dean taps at the rim of the bathtub, pouting. “And you brought me here, thinking I want to…” He doesn’t finish, instead studying the other man. Watches how the innocent question rocks the boat of his good intentions. Cas pouts, folds his arms and scuffs his toe on the floor. Dean softens, “Thank you.”

        “…You’re welcome,” he shifts, turning his back, “Now, do you want to get in? I find that when you twist the handle on the right, the water is warmer.”

        He waits. Panic rises, thinking Cas might leave. Worse that he can’t find it in him to ask that he stay. But then Cas settles, staring at the closed door. Dean smiles and starts the faucet.

        When the bathtub is halfway full Dean climbs in. His knees poke from up out of the water, too tall to stretch his legs. He slides in further, so the water laps at his chin and more leg is on display. Already it fogs over, a filmy layer swirling on the surface. Dean cups some of the water and splashes it on his face, all too aware of much red drips. “I’m as decent as I can be,” he calls, splashing.

        Cas sighs. “How does it feel?”

        “S’nice,” he shrugs, “Not that I get to do this often but…” Dean sees Cas walk over, grabbing at a nearby bucket. “What are you doing?”

        “Helping,” Cas says, dropping the bucket. He kneels, presenting a washcloth and a soap bar he must have pulled from below.

        “Aw, no Cas,” Dean starts, sliding into a low crouch. Braced on the edges of the bathtub. “You don’t have to –“

        “Please, Dean,” Cas whispers. Two fingers rest over his knuckles, feather light and barely there. “Let me do this for you… after what you must have gone through…”

        Dean will not break his staring contest with his navel, sure that if he glanced in Cas’s direction another episode like the one in the shower room will happen. “Fine,” he mutters, plopping back into the tub and spraying Cas with a few errant drops. “If you want, go right ahead.” His arms encircle his knees, stricken expression hidden. Sitting in the center of the bathtub, Dean never felt so small.

        Cas carries on wordlessly. Runs the soap under the faucet before turning it off. It’s filled to about a few inches from the rim, any sudden movement able to cause a good spill. Which is why Cas talks him through the steps. Like a skittish animal, provoked at the tiniest snap of a twig or rustling leaves.

        Defenseless. Unaware. Fattening itself for the lucky prey that happens across it. His lips peel back for his teeth to appear, spit dripping from them. His fingers lead him forward, nails glinting when the moonlight breaks through the foliage and hits them. One clumsy step and what sounds like a gunshot echoes in his ears. It stops. Then it sprints off. So does he, a fraction of a second later. The chase begun. He huffs, he smiles, he growls. Hungry.

        Dean hisses when the cloth rubs over a badly healed wound, reopening it. “Sorry,” Cas says, dabbing the spot again and pouring some water from a cupped hand over the skin. “I didn’t see – I’m so sorry.”

        “It’s okay, Cas.” He offers a wobbly smile, shrugging. “It’s okay.”

        Cas grimaces, Dean staring on the thin, chapped line. Better than blue spotlights running across his face. Soon his lips smooth into something more neutral, and Cas resets.

        He focuses on how the washcloth feels, Cas lathering soap across him. Doesn’t fight when he grabs Dean’s arm and holds it up, running the fabric over and leaving soap bubbles in its track. There’s a jagged cut slashed across his knuckles from a misplaced lunge. Cas, prepared, gently dabs at it. His hold is firm and touch careful.

        Too careful. Too caring. The special treatment makes his skin crawl. Dean winces again as Cas drags the washcloth along his shoulder blades and onto his other arm. “Sensitive?” Cas asks, because he notices. Add too observant, too. “Days like these make me miss my powers.”

        Dean snorts, “So you could fly on out of here without any problems?” That escapes easier than he would like. He curses under breath, sneaking a peek at Cas. Like Dean expected, Cas’s expression makes his heart sink into his stomach. “Shit, sorry…”

        “I don’t need wings to ‘fly on out of here’,” he says, “if I wanted, I could get on a plane tomorrow.” Cas finishes lathering his arm and soaps his chest. Rubs the washcloth over and over his tattoo. Its ink vibrating erratically because of his words, the possibility, and Cas’s closeness “The operative term being wanted. What I want right now is… well, I want you to not feel any pain.”

        But he should. It’s all he should feel. Dean deserves the pain. For yesterday, what he almost did. For now, what he callously said to Cas. For years and years of causing so much hurt and enjoying it and taking pride in it. He should drown in all this pain. Instead he has an angel bathing him in kindness.

        He tries every day to be better than his darkest moment. When he and Cas stared across at each other, fully ruptured. Dean throwing more dynamite into the divide until the ground crumbled beneath their feet and the landscape of their relationship was unrecognizable. After Purgatory he made a promise. His pain should remain with him, not forced into the hands of others.

        Some days they wriggle, others they slip. Dean tries every day. If only every day, he succeeded.

        Cas washes his face, leaning half over the tub so there’s barely a breath of space between them. A simple turn and their noses brush together. He cannot do more than breath, sharp puffs out his mouth. Sometimes muffled when Cas wipes at the dried blood marking the skin around it.

        It’s too much.

        “I almost killed Sam.” Cas pauses, frozen at the corner of Dean’s lips. Some of the soap drips into his mouth, and he can taste it. “Yesterday, on the hunt I… I almost killed him.”

        His brain steams ahead, thinking how Cas might wish for the plane ticket now that he knows. Imagines him dropping the washcloth into his hands and leaving without a word. Again, wiping his hands of Dean’s garbage and climbing out the hole before any more shovels in to bury him.

        Instead Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, smiling. “Tell me what happened.”

        His walls crumble immediately. Dean savors the touch while he begins his story. Cas already knew the beginning – driving into a town beset by murders, where killers left heartless bodies for the police. Rolled in with the script memorized, asking all the right questions. Found the pack’s den and attacked. “We said we got all of them,” Dean sighs, ducking his head, “but that wasn’t the whole truth.”

        The leader escaped. They only realized it when counting the bodies, battle too confusing that losing track of one werewolf in a dozen was unavoidable. Risky in their line of work, but a quick perimeter search kicked up no trace of him. Dean and Sam closed the case, driving off to the motel and licking their wounds.

        “I was careless, or… or I don’t know, didn’t think much of it but…” Dean holds his arm up and looks at it. There’s no mark on the skin, but he traces the bite from memory. “Got me when I wasn’t looking. By the time I knew what was happening it was like I… like something had come over me. I heard howling and I tore off after it. Sam coming back to an empty motel room with a broken lock.”

        If he stays too long in his memories, he will lose himself in them again. Racing through the woods with newfound agility and grace. Jumping, launching himself over fallen trees and boulders. What it felt like ripping apart the first woodland creature he crossed paths with. The soapy taste in his mouth turns sour.

        “The leader was crazy… had this whole philosophy that I believed because he said it and all I could think was how much I trusted him. Thinking was too difficult while all fanged out and slobbering and – and so when he said to trust my ‘instincts’ I… I bared my neck. His instincts were my instincts. By that point Sammy snuck in, and – well protect is a pretty strong instinct.”

        Sam plead, rallying all his strength so Dean’s claws wouldn’t eviscerate him. Dean straddled his brother, raging. Spat on him while gnawing for his neck. The last werewolf cheering Dean on. “Free yourself of your human burdens and join me in total freedom!” he sang, “Eat of his heart and you will be mine forever!”

        “You don’t want this Dean,” Sam said, struggling. The syringe nearby looking damaged but not completely broken. “I know you. Fight him!”

        Dean growled, “Want… want free… want blood!”

        Sam sneered, tightening his grip on Dean’s wrists. He shifted and kicked Dean off. Dean flipped, landing on his back. They both scrambled upright, not wasting any time. With misguided fury Dean pounced for Sam, his brother twisting at the right second. Their fight continued in that fashion. Sam dodging Dean’s attacks, the latter growing more frustrated and sloppier.

        Exactly what Sam planned.

        Dean dove and smacked into a wall, knocking the breath from him. Stunned, Sam dove for his belt and slipped it over some exposed pipe. Not knowing any better, lost within the wolf, Dean struggled helplessly until brute strength won.

        By the time Dean ripped the pipe from the wall Sam killed his sire. Injected Dean with the cure when he scurried towards the corpse and mourned. When all traces of his bite left Dean’s system, he mourned again. Sam standing overhead, watching, unable to lay a hand on his shoulder lest Dean bite at it in his familiar defensiveness.

        “So Sam is fine?”

        He bristles at the placid tone. Unbothered. Like Dean mentioned some off-hand piece of gossip that he happened across while scrolling through his phone. “Yeah,” Dean says harshly, “but I… I almost did him in. Nearly ate his heart before skipping off with some werewolf Charles Manson to start another werewolf cult and...”

        Cas raises a brow. “And?”

        Processing the events aloud help him realize how wildly he overreacted. How Sam clearly held no anger towards him for being on the menu. How there’s no reason for the inky sadness clinging to his heart and soul that makes him feel bad.

        Except it’s there, and having no reason makes it even worse.

        “And…” he fumbles, “And I think I’m getting too old for this.” Dean huffs, sinking against the bathtub while Cas continues petting him. “I’ve been doing this for what? Nearly forty years? That was how it’s going to end… Because I let that werewolf creep bite me and nearly turn me into his slave? Kind of makes everything I said about free will look like I pulled it from my ass.”

        Cas chuckles, laying the washcloth on the porcelain rim. He pulls back, laying both arms along the edge and resting on it. Smirking, “No one will call you a hypocrite because you were under the influence of a werewolf bite.”

        “Yeah, but…” Dean sighs, “I’m supposed to be better than this.”

        “If I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth – from you – is that sometimes we have our off days,” Cas says, “We have to forgive ourselves for them.”

        “Maybe if I tripped and scratched Baby’s paint or-or took a risk on some leftovers I don’t remember, sure,” he scoffs, “but when it comes to hunts… an off day can easily become my last day. Hunters don’t get off days. Heroes don’t… don’t…” He digs his nails into his knee, willing away the waterfall hovering around the edges of his eyes.

        “Well, as true as that is, the fact you were able to see the sun rise means yesterday definitely wasn’t your last day.” The faint traces of humor in his tone barely lifts the corners of Dean’s mouth. Cas sighs. A few droplets splashing at Dean’s exposed leg, his hand now gently splashing the water. “I stand by what I said. Yes, you could’ve been more observant during your battle. And more conscious of your injuries. Then neither you nor Sam would still carry what should have been a simple hunt on your shoulders.” Mentioning it makes his shoulders sag further. “But then again, I could be beating myself for staying here watching Netflix while you and Sam got your hands dirty –“

        “You kidding, Cas?” Dean bursts in, brows furrowed, “The Hell should you feel bad for?”

        “A third set of eyes could’ve seen the werewolf escape – or stop him before he did… make sure you were checked over for serious injuries…” His fingers circle lazily, Cas’s mouth tugged down in a way that unsettles Dean’s stomach.

        Dean sits straighter, glaring at the other man. “You needed the rest, Cas. After that ghoul tore your back up something fierce in Missoula? Even if you knew you could do something, I’d still have kept you –“ The tirade cuts short, Cas’s prideful smirk stealing the words from him. He sinks into the water, so low that water hides his burning cheeks. Adjusts by fully removing his legs from the bathtub, bracing his feet on the wall. Faucet between them.

        Cas chuckles, rustling Dean’s hair. “See. Hindsight is only good for the future, to learn from our mistakes. Time is better spent in the present. Accepting that you did the best you could and… glad there are people who care about you, who will do anything to see you feel better.”

        Dean looks up at Cas, the overhead bulb shining. Mimicking the effect of a halo. He lifts his chin enough to free his mouth. “I don’t know how you can put up with my stubborn ass.” I don’t know why I deserve you.

        “I recall you calling my ass stubborn many times.” I don’t deserve you.

        They always end up circling the drain. Never quite going in, a piece of hair clogging the passage. Right now, with Cas petting Dean’s hair and gazing into his eyes, Dean exposed under him in more ways than one, it cannot get any more tender. It’s still not enough.

        At the top of the peak, you can only go off. They never jump.

        Dean knew his reasons. When it felt like they could, there was never enough time. Something more pressing to deal with, a battle to fight. Always promising that when the moment was right, Dean would do something. But then when those moments came Dean and Cas were never there for them. Kept apart by circumstance, by death, by each other. Compelling. Dramatic. Completely frustrating.

        But then Chuck vanished, he and Amara – light and darkness, creation and destruction – becoming one. Becoming entirely new. Blinked off into somewhere that Dean doesn’t care knowing about. As long as, on their way out, they cut the strings hanging over their heads.

        It seemed like it. Life went on, as normal. Monsters needed hunting and beer needed drinking. Except there wasn’t anything more.

        Hell stayed relatively calm with Rowena reorganizing it. Jack, seated on the throne of Heaven, brought a righteous humanity in his leadership. Even Billie took a holiday.

        When the dust settled, Dean was ready for Cas to be on his way, too. One was offered.

        “Are you sure?” Jack asked, eyes still aglow. Hand raised inches from Cas’s bloodied head. “I can give it all back to you. Give you more… you’d be the most powerful angel in my new Heaven. You can help me make it even better than it was.”

        “Thank you, but… I think it’s time you left the nest, Jack,” Cas smiled, stepping back from him. “Heaven is in capable hands because they’re yours… I… we trust that you can do this without us.”

        Jack nodded, light snuffed. He dove into Cas’s arms, then, hugging him. Then Sam, and finally Dean. “I’ll visit when I can,” he promised, trying not to cry.

        Dean coughed, swiping a finger under his eye. “Soon!” he barked, “I don’t want to see you when I’m eighty!” Their laughter was bittersweet. Fully bitter when Jack disappeared with a flap.

        Sam scuffed the ground, turning. “So,” he said, “what do we do now?” He scanned the area, Dean tracking the same space alongside him. At the scorched earth, barely recognizable from when they arrived. Green drained away and left lifeless, with a few serious scorch marks in certain areas. Like the one near a cracked mausoleum, where Chuck threw Cas. Where he held him by the neck and spit serious venom. Where he drained the little angel grace he had left and made him human again.

        Cas clears his throat, drawing their attention. “After a shower and a change of clothes,” he said, “I think some sort of celebration. At home.”

        Dean’s heart skipped over itself. “Home,” he repeated, “Yeah, I like that.”

        Cas chose and chose again, and his choice never wavered. It was Earth. It was humanity. It was him, and it was home.

        “Why are you staring at me like that?” Cas asks, frowning, “what are you thinking?”

        Dean rises somewhat. “I love you.” He would rather he weren’t naked, nor shaken from a hunt. And a forgotten supply closet with a dirty bathtub in it is hardly the number one place for a confession. But waiting for perfection screwed him over so many times.

        “Oh,” Cas relaxes against the bathtub, sinking his hand back into the water, “is that all?”

        Or maybe he should have kept waiting. Dean pouts, “I love you.”

        “I know. You’re repeating yourself.”

        “No, like…” he drags a wet hand over his face, “I love you. Like, I love you love you.”

        Cas chuckles, light and carefree. Lines around his eyes crinkling in delight. “I know, Dean. I know.”

        Dean gapes, chin slapping the surface of his bath. “You have?” Spurred into action by Cas’s growing laughter, Dean sinks his legs into the tub and sits up again. “For real?” The other man nods. “How long?”

        Cas shrugs, “Awhile.”

        “Why didn’t you say anything?”

        Joy retreats from Cas’s expression, leaving him somewhat guarded. He breaks with Dean’s stare. His hand glides through water and finds Dean’s leg. Strokes it. “I thought nothing needed to be said.”

        Dean raises a brow, clicking his tongue. “So you were happy with…”

        “I was content.”

        He frowns, courage leaping up inside his chest and banishing the lingering traces of sadness and self-pity clinging inside his chest. “Well, I wasn’t,” Dean says. Waits for Cas to look at him again. “Do you know how many times we sat together and I wanted to hold your hand, but didn’t? Roll over on my bed and wake up next to you only to remember that you were down the hall? Sit in a diner and-and when the waitress came by I could say, ‘I’ll have this and my boyfriend will have that’ but was only able to order for myself? I won’t even mention the amount of times I wanted to kiss you because at this point I’ve lost count…”

        Cas squeezes Dean’s thigh, lips stretched wide in a tight grin. “You want all of that?”

        “And more. A hell of a lot more.”

        “Then… late is better than never, I suppose.”

        Dean blinks, “What?”

        He resumes stroking his leg, smiling so openly all his teeth are on display. “I’m saying,” he continues, “that if you want to do all that, I find myself being… amenable. We can even start now.”

        “Are you sure?” Dean asks, too experienced with his luck that he knows he needs more. “Is this what you want? You said you were –“

        “Content,” he says, “But not happy. Doing all of what you described – and more – will make me very happy.”

        Dean smiles, “Really?”

        “Ecstatic.” It’s so deadpan, so blasé, and completely incongruent with the mood of the room that Dean cannot stop the snort escaping from his lips. Followed by hiccupped giggles and, finally, laughter that echoes in the tiny space. Joined by Cas, their voices swell to fill the room. Until Dean snatches Cas’s collar with his wet fist and drags him in for a kiss. Closes his eyes and savors the taste of the other man, taking note of every sensation he guessed right and scribbling over what he got wrong with the parts he never could have imagined.

        In the midst of their makeout session, when Cas presses their foreheads together and laughs about not needing a shower after all. Because Dean hauled him into the bathtub with him despite protests, water leaking onto the floor. When he can, without guilt, lose himself in Cas’s eyes, Dean remembers the werewolf from yesterday. Remembers what he thought freedom meant, and how the monster hadn’t the first clue what it actually was.

        Freedom is not power. Freedom is being yourself. Freedom is the ability to show others the deepest parts of yourself and have them stay and love you for it. Freedom is acceptance.

        Freedom is the way Cas’s fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. Freedom is Cas pressing lazy kisses against his cheek. Freedom is the way their feet knock into each other on the edge of the porcelain bathtub.

        Dean, for the first time in his life, feels free.

Epilogue:

        Midnight is a terrible hour to crave bacon. Time cannot stop Dean’s watering mouth or his growling stomach. He disentangled himself from Cas and blindly pieced together an outfit that, in the hallway’s clinical lighting, included his cowboy pajama bottoms, Cas’s dried shirt, and his robe. Dean shrugs and carries on his way towards the kitchen, hoping for a quick trip.

        Seeing Sam hunched over at the table crushes that idea. He perks up at Dean’s entrance, faltering. Rises for a second before thinking better, instead fiddling with his coffee mug. “Dean.”

        “…Sam.” Unsure, Dean’s own hands run rampant. Closes the robe and hides Cas’s shirt, tying a neat, little bow and securing it tighter. Then he unravels it and lets the robe swing open like curtains. “What’re you doing up?”

        He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore. You?”

        “Hungry.” Dean winces, the image of Sam struggling underneath him flashing into view. It fades almost as instantly as it arrived, replaced with a more annoyed looking brother. Mouth pulled taut like a bowstring, aimed and ready. Dean glances at the mug for safety. “You make enough for the class?”

        “Check the pot.”

        Shuffling over he sees more than enough coffee inside for him. So, he pulls out two mugs and prepares them. Three teaspoons of sugar in one, four tablespoons in the other. A dash of milk on the left, because Cas thinks it muddies the taste of the coffee. “Thanks.”

        “Dean…”

        His tone draws a quiet sigh from Dean. Settles the hunger that dominated his stomach and replaces it with a slight nausea. “Sam,” he says, “can you not…”

        “We need to talk about it,” Sam continues, “Please, Dean, I –“

        “We will.”

        Sam pauses, stunned. Dean turns around and tamps down the laugh bubbling up. Hard given how rare Sam’s jaw drops so far. In the blink of an eye Sam shakes his surprise off. “What?”

        “We will,” Dean repeats, leaning on the counter, “I promise. I just… I’m not ready, yet.”

        It’s not the best answer. Sam doubts him, evident by the gleam in his eye. And the follow up, “Are you ever gonna be ready?”

        His eyes never strayed from Dean’s face. If he dropped his gaze a few inches Sam would see Cas’s shirt. But he didn’t. Dean can rewrap the robe and pretend it’s not on him.

        Except Dean hadn’t the urge. Instead he draws attention to it, rubbing the hem between his fingers. “Hopefully soon… Cas and I had a good talk and – and well, maybe in the morning I might be okay enough that we can sit and talk about it, or whatever…”

        Sam finally looks at his shirt. Then at Dean with a subtle awe. He braces for an onslaught of feelings, exactly what Dean tried avoiding. Why he thought using Cas as a distraction from talking about those was a moment of delirium. Dean sips at his mug, hiding ruddy cheeks behind the rim.

        Thankfully Sam says nothing. Instead mirroring his sip. “Okay.”

        “Okay?”

        “Okay.”

        Dean nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. There’s kindness in how Sam offers the escape tunnel, even though so much is brewing under the surface. A rarity that Dean never expected. He should take it.

        But there’s more. Dean figures ripping the band-aid off all at once is better than peeling it and feeling every single hair torn from his arm.

        “I think I’m gonna stop hunting,” he says. Sam spits a mouthful of coffee into his mug, choking. “For a while,” Dean quickly explains, “Like, maybe a few months?”

        Coughing, Sam wipes at his lips. “Is this because of the werewolf hunt?”

        “Yes?” Dean says, “No – I mean… Look, it’s not because I’m too scared to get back into the game because of what happened but I am kind of… skittish?” He frowns, staring at the light brown pool in his hands. “Like I’m running on empty and… and I don’t think I have enough in the tank. That’s what happened yesterday, but thank God there was a little more in yours to get me to the next rest stop! Who knows what might happen on the next one so I… I’m making the adult decision and taking myself out of the game before the big loss.” Dean gulps at his coffee, throat suddenly dry. “But not forever,” he adds, “Long enough to sort things out… do the stuff we said we were gonna do when the Chuck mess ended. Maybe go on a road trip or, ah… give Cas a proper first date –“

        “First date?” Sam croaks, a tiny snort escaping, “Think you two’ve past that by a few years. Third honeymoon, maybe.”

        Dean rolls his eyes. “Yuck it up… but I’m not the only one who can use this opportunity to focus on important things… things that you’ve been neglecting… when’s the last time you and Eileen had any quality time together?” Sam answers with a blush. “Thought so… at least I’ve had two honeymoons, or so you think.”

        “Shut up,” Sam huffs, drinking his coffee again. His gaze drifts from Dean over to the door, and the fluster drains off his face. Replaced with a more gleeful expression, lips curling. “Hey Cas,” he sings, “how’s it going?”

        Dean accepts all the awkward energy Sam shed. His grip on the coffee mug falters when he sees Cas. Dressed in a stolen pair of sweatpants and nothing else. “Sam, Dean,” he yawns, shuffling closer. Cas squints at the untouched mug on the counter, “Is this for me?”

        “Yeah,” Dean says, handing it over, “just the way you like.” Cas purrs, kissing Dean’s cheek before sipping. Sam's chuckles accompany his approval. “It wasn’t too much of a problem…”

        “So, Cas,” Sam starts, “what got you out of bed?”

        Cas scratches his head and presses against Dean. Slides an arm around Dean’s waist. “Pee,” he says, “and then I noticed Dean wasn’t there so…” If Cas didn’t drive the point home clear enough Dean would worry after his brother’s intelligence. He feels Cas’s chin rest on his shoulder. “Why did you get up?”

        Dean gestures at the stove. “Hungry.”

        “Hmm… I can eat.” Cas taps on Dean’s stomach, pushing off. He moves and joins Sam at the table. “Whatever you were going to make yourself, make double?”

        “Triple?” Sam adds, “All this talk of food is making me hungry.”

        “Yeah, yeah…” Dean flicks the stove on, dropping the pan on the active burner. His hunger returned, aided by the easy conversation flowing between the three. Cas settles across from Sam asking a question about something he read. The conversation quickly devolves into nerd speak, Dean throwing quips in every few seconds.

        He lays a strip of bacon down, and then another one. And another one. Greases a second pan and cracks an egg on the surface, tossing one half of the shell at Sam and the next half at Cas. They retaliate by pelting him when he retreats to the refrigerator for more bacon. Dean doesn’t care that they hit, nor that he steps on one and has to spend time between the eggs frying and the bacon cooking to pick pieces of eggshell off his heel. What he cares about sits giggling at the table, watching while he cleans.

        Dean is happy.