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magicshopaholic · 2 years

Text

Seoul (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: You and Namjoon meet in Seoul again, this time as exes.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Fluff, angst

Word count: 13.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, break-up, talk about parental issues, stress, infidelity, kissing

A/N: So... this got a little longer than expected. Some questions will be asked, many will be answered. A lot of holiday cheer and pretty Christmas lighting. But the best part about this fic has to be the fact that I haven't proofread it.

Set approximately nine months after Next Time but can be read standalone.

Tagging: @bbl32, @meirkive, @quarter-life-crisis2, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: “ghost” by parekh & singh

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

The last cloud floats away, and the sun peeks out apologetically. Bathed in light, the landscape looks like a colourful painting - a blue sky with a hint of purple, the edge of a green hill cutting it at an angle, and a winding road finishing it off. Visible in between two parallel rows of buildings, it feels like a glimpse of summer on a cold winter morning.

Kaya raises her phone to click a picture, ignoring her frozen fingers. This is Instagram-worthy, she decides - story only, even though she rarely posts anything else. She considers a caption for a brief moment, but it feels almost cruel to disturb the picture.

Over an hour later, when she’s in the car on her way home, her phone pings and she sees a reply to her story.

artisfolly [12:45] You’re in Seoul?

Kaya’s heart skips a beat. She suddenly realises why she’d felt the need to take a picture of that particular hill and it’s no surprise that he’s recognised it, too. His question is unexpected, though, and she can think of nothing to say but the obvious.

kaya_m [12:46] Yeah.

artisfolly [12:47] Why didn’t you tell me?

She stares at the screen, at a rare loss for words. She can’t fathom why he would ask her this, and the fact that they’re speaking to each other for the first time in nearly three months reduces her to simple honesty.

kaya_m [12:50] I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.

A beat passes. Kaya realises only a moment later how tightly she’s clutching her phone and forces her fingers to loosen up.

artisfolly [12:51] I always want to hear from you.

Another beat. Then –

artisfolly [12:51] Can we meet for coffee?

—

The city is already lit up and ready for the holidays. There’s the faint sound of instrumental carols from somewhere down the street as people enter and exit shops in a flurry, all bundled up in fashionable winter wear.

Namjoon still isn’t entirely sure why he picked this place to meet up. Gangnam just made sense because it was reasonably close by, but it’s also busy - it makes him feel less exposed somehow, although he isn’t fully sure what he’s trying to stay hidden from.

He glances at the menu of the coffee cart as he waits for her. Again, it wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d proposed to meet up for coffee, but his mind had gone blank when he’d tried to think of a place. For some reason, all he could think about was this small cart and the fact that it had a hazelnut drink. Around two hours ago, after nearly a whole day of thinking, he’d realised he couldn’t put it off anymore and texted Kaya with the location of the department store next door.

Namjoon exhaled, trying to ignore the low hum of anxiety in his stomach. A lot had happened in the last couple of days: a new track had been submitted for approval, their appearance at the AMAs in January was under review, he had a package that was currently stuck in customs - and then he’d found out his ex-girlfriend was back in Seoul. The anxiety is warranted, he decides.

It’s a few minutes past four pm when his phone buzzes. He feels a jolt in his stomach as he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey. I, uh… I think I’m at the location…” Kaya trails off, sounding unsure. “I can’t see Aldo, though.”

Namjoon swallows; the last time they’d spoken on the phone, she’d sounded very different. His heart skips an uncomfortable beat when he thinks about it.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Um, where are you right now?”

“I’m at…” She trails off again, and he pictures her looking around, eyes big and upward. “Okay, I just passed Zara.”

“Okay, just keep walking straight,” he tells her, turning to face the direction he knows she’s coming from. “You’ll see an auditorium kind of thing on your left -“

“There’s just a turn here.

“Yeah, no, you’ll have to cross the street. Be careful,” he adds automatically when he hears a car horn at her end.

She says nothing to that but stays on the line. “Okay, I think I see the auditorium… is that an auditorium?”

“Kind of, I guess. Street musicians, up and comers perform there and stuff.”

“That’s nice. Did you?”

“Still a stage I have yet to conquer. Can you see me?”

“Not yet. It’s pretty crowded. Is there an inflatable Santa near you?”

Namjoon turns slightly on the spot. “There’s a 3D Santa cut-out, if that’s what you’re referring to. There’s, like, three of them, though.” He bites back an unexpected chuckle when she swears under her breath. “Try to look for a banner with the directions to Santa’s Village.”

He can hear her stop in her tracks. “A banner? Everything’s written in Hangul, Joon. Oh, hang on, I think I see shoes - it might be Aldo…”

Namjoon nods wordlessly, trying to ignore his heart racing. He tries to look over the heads of the people on the street, hoping no one recognises him as he looks for Kaya - and spots her. She looks… exactly the same, or more beautiful than every single person in Gangnam put together. Probably both.

He can hear her murmuring on the phone, trying to look for him as well, but he can barely make out what she’s saying. He’s reminded, inexplicably, of the last time he’d seen a similar sight: London, almost two years ago. They weren’t dating yet, and he’d waited for her by the entrance of his hotel as she arrived from the station. He’d spotted her just like this in the crowd, albeit much later in the night. The moment she’d seen him, her face had broken out into a happy smile, complete with Disney princess eyes, and he’d asked her flat out to be with him two minutes later.

It’s a bittersweet memory. Namjoon blinks rapidly a few times before clearing his throat. “I can see you,” he says, hearing how low his own voice is all of a sudden. He raises his arm halfway. “I’m here. Right in front of you.”

He registers the moment Kaya sees him. Her mouth stops moving mid-word and she halts for a moment before exhaling slightly and giving him a small, polite smile. They lower their phones at the same time and Kaya continues walking towards him, dropping hers into the small sling bag hanging from her shoulder. He notices her gaze travel up and down his figure before lingering on his chest, and he’s suddenly glad he chose the turtleneck at the last minute.

“It’s cold,” she says when she finally reaches him, rubbing her hands together and shivering slightly.

He nods, feeling his heart leap unnecessarily. “It’ll get colder,” he informs her. “You look nice,” he says after a moment.

“Thanks. So do you.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence before she exhales. “So this is the coffee place,” she states, looking up at the lit up cart, at the fairy lights, the menu written in both English and Korean - anywhere but him, he notes.

“Oh - uh, yeah.” He shakes his head. “You should - we should order,” he stutters, fumbling with his wallet as he fishes it out. “Sorry, I know you probably weren’t expecting this, but I couldn’t decide -”

“No, no, it’s totally fine,” she says immediately, the silver hoops in her ears glinting as she shakes her head. “This is nice. I’ll have the hazelnut, I think,” she adds, retrieving her own wallet. “Uh, one hazelnut,” she repeats to the barista, enunciating a bit and holding up a finger before turning to Namjoon.

“Oh, right. One caramel macchiato,” he adds in Korean. He pulls out two bills and is about to place them on the counter when Kaya beats him to it. “Oh, I was going to -”

“That’s alright,” she interrupts, glancing up at him with a stiff smile as though to let him know it’s still good-natured. “I can pay for my own coffee.”

They don’t say much else until two steaming lattes are placed on the counter, smelling warm and cozy. They pick up their drinks, and Namjoon is suddenly faced with the consequences of choosing an establishment with no designated seating area.

“Um…” He looks around, starting to feel a bit silly, before looking back down at her and sighing. “Do you want to walk?” he asks finally.

She seems to have already expected this. With a glint of amusement in her eyes, she nods. “Sure.”

They begin strolling down the sidewalk in Gangnam square. The place is busy and most people are bundled up, meaning it’s one of those rare occasions when Namjoon is likely to make it through unrecognised. He tenses up for a moment when he thinks about the fact that he isn’t alone, but then remembers he has no business caring about that anymore.

“So… how’ve you been?”

Namjoon looks up, wondering where to begin. He isn’t sure how much of his post break-up state is appropriate to reveal, and if she even wants to know. He can talk about work… but even that could be a delicate topic, given recent events.

“Not great,” he says finally, surprised at his own honesty. “You?”

She shrugs, once again not meeting his eyes. “About the same.”

He bites his lip. The distance between them, while expected, feels awful - and wrong. Namjoon takes a brave step closer to her. “How did the seminar go? The second one was in October, right?”

Kaya pauses for a fraction of a second before nodding, and Namjoon knows she’s caught the deliberate tone in the question. He doesn’t regret it, though. Forgetting the first one was bad enough; the guilt that had washed over him when he’d realised he’d missed an academic milestone in her life had been one of the last straws for him.

“It wasn’t bad,” she says, taking a small sip of her drink and cracking a smile. “Went better than the first one. But I got to design the lecture series at the end so I guess it worked out.”

“That’s great,” he replies, meaning it. She seems taller, the top of her head almost reaching his cheek. He looks down to see her boots, long and straight up her legs… swallowing, he looks away. “You didn’t sound so good about the - about the last one,” he adds quickly, wincing a moment later.

“Yeah. That one was… way worse.” Kaya doesn’t say anymore, taking another sip instead. “Coffee’s good.”

“Yeah. We got a bunch of these delivered to the studio about a week ago. Thought you might like it.”

“Right.” She nods. “How, uh, how is the studio? And the collabs?” she tacks on at the end.

Namjoon feels his stomach twist again, his eyes falling to his cup at the mention of what was probably the breaking point of their relationship. Hwasa, Sunmi and IU. In the aftermath of their break-up, it had become increasingly clear to him that this was the core of the issue and yet, it seemed like the one thing they avoided talking about.

Kaya seems to remember, too. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to make it weird,” she mutters.

He shakes his head. “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

She bites her lip. “I was genuinely asking. You were working pretty hard.”

I’m working hard, too. And not just at my job.

“They’re in post production now,” he answers as they turn into a quieter street. “Except for one. It came out last month.”

“Oh, really? That’s - that’s great. Must be doing well.”

“It’s doing fine. Just finished promoting it earlier this week.”

“So does that mean you have Christmas off?” Kaya raises her eyebrows. “Must be doing really well.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t want to jinx it. I’m going over to my parents’ house tomorrow night. I’ll probably stay there for a few days.”

Their coffees are almost done now; as the sky darkens, they throw their empty cups into a trash can by the sidewalk and continue walking. Namjoon shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, glad for the momentary warmth.

“God, it’s colder than usual,” he mutters. “You know what it reminds me of, though?”

She looks up at him with the first genuine smile of the evening. “London?”

Fucking hell. “Yeah, exactly. Except there it was cold and wet.” He shudders. “I don’t know how you made it all the way from the station with a suitcase in that weather.”

Kaya shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad. The hot shower after really helped,” she adds absently.

It’s not super high up in the list of things Namjoon wants to be reminded of right now, the image of her in his shower. What’s up, boyfriend? she’d greeted him when she’d stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair swept over one shoulder. The memory makes him smile involuntarily.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He straightens his face. “I read that Sean Scully was touring Europe again. Did you get to go?”

She sighs hugely and groans. “No, work piled up way too much. But, I found out he was going to be in Belgium and he was putting up some of his figurations on sale,” she says, shaking her head already, “and I started saving up - and I mean saving up. And two months later, the sale happened, and the painting was nowhere to be seen.”

“Wow. You know, some of his stuff is in the National Gallery here, too,” he says, pointing generically behind him. “We can - I mean, you should check it out… if you have time,” he adds lamely.

“Yeah, probably. I’ve been checking out more indie stuff lately, though - but, yeah, maybe.”

“Oh, is that why you were in Hongdae yesterday?”

“Yesterday? No, I was there to see a play.”

Namjoon frowns. “In English?”

“Nope.”

He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, but gives up a moment later. “Are you serious?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, looking adorably embarrassed and nudging him with her elbow. “Jae-lin wanted me to come along.”

Ah. “And there was no way you could say no to her,” he finishes in understanding.

“Exactly. Even the best of us have some weak spots.” She peers at something across from him on the other side of the street. “Hey, is that an ATM?” She stops and looks up at him. “Do you mind? I just need to -”

“No, go ahead. I’ll grab a bottle of water.” He watches her jog across the empty street and enter the vestibule before he ducks into the convenience store behind him. It’s easier than he’d expected, being around her - except for the part where he wishes he could forget for a moment that they aren’t together anymore.

As he wordlessly passes the bottle to the cashier, he wonders for what feels like the millionth time in the last three months if this was the right decision. It had felt like it at the time. The snapping and the fighting was becoming more frequent than before, but at least that was mutual. Disappointing her each time was too much, though, and before he knew it, he was doing the one thing to ensure he didn’t hurt her anymore.

“Thank you,” he mutters to the shopkeeper and exits the shop. The cold air hits him again and it feels as though the sky has gotten several shades darker in the last few minutes. His eyes go straight to the ATM, noting two or three more people apparently in line, before he spots Kaya among them. Her uncertain expression, ducked head and hunched shoulders tell him everything he needs to know, and all thoughts of their break-up disappear in an instant.

Striding over, Namjoon registers three other men, two behind her, seemingly chuckling at something the third is saying to Kaya. It’s clear she isn’t able to understand him, but his proximity to her is enough for Namjoon to automatically feel his pulse race in annoyance.

“Which - country?” The third guy says in English, louder and more deliberate. Before Kaya can answer, Namjoon reaches over and wraps his hand around her wrist, gently tugging her out of there. The relief in her face is brief but evident, and she immediately falls into step beside him as they walk away.

“You alright?” he asks in a low voice, dropping her wrist but staying close to her. “Do you have your wallet and everything?”

She nods and exhales, her arm brushing his shoulder. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice shaking slightly. “Thanks.” She doesn’t move away from him, not until they turn into a busier street. It’s more brightly lit, with Christmas decorations and fake snow everywhere, and Namjoon can’t help but feel sorry when she finally takes a step to her right and the familiar scent of coconut and vanilla disappears.

They don’t speak again for a while but unlike when they’d initially met at the coffee cart, Namjoon doesn’t feel pressured to make conversation. Some kind of ice between them seems to have broken and he suddenly feels a lot more secure in the fact that she’s here with him, that they’re here together.

“Oh, my God!” Kaya gasps suddenly, halting in her tracks and clutching his arm, and for a moment Namjoon thinks the creepy men are back.

“What?” he asks hurriedly, looking around and automatically stepping closer to her.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “What - the hell - is that?” she stutters, pointing shakily at something in front of her. Namjoon follows her finger, expecting danger, only to find something even more terrifying.

“Oh,” he exhales, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. He wracks his brain for an appropriate explanation but soon gives. “That’s… yeah, that’s a cardboard cut-out of Taehyung.”

Kaya looks up at him incredulously. “It - what?” She turns back to the six foot tall cut-out of Taehyung in a suit, smirking and making a finger heart, before she looks behind it to see the rest of it.

“Okay, Namjoon, there’s no easy way to ask this,” she begins, taking a step back, “but why is there a shrine to Taehyung in the middle of Seoul?”

Namjoon chuckles, a little embarrassed. “It’s his birthday in a week, so… they do this every year. Birthdays are a big deal around here,” he adds, following her as she gingerly continues down the aforementioned shrine.

“No, I get that,” she says slowly, lightly touching a fringe of sparkly streamers bordering a photo booth. “This is just…” She trails off, looking up at the fake snow and candy canes decorating a line of photo cards and smaller cardboard cut-outs.

“A lot, I know.”

“Kind of sweet,” she finishes. “You know, once you get used to it.” She stops at a wall-sized poster of the entire group, a shot from their last concert in the summer. Namjoon isn’t sure, but he thinks her gaze is lingering on him in the corner, hair a lighter blond than it is now.

My man looks so fucking sexy in a suit.

“What about you?”

It takes Namjoon a moment to focus. “Uh, what about me?”

“Does this happen for everyone’s birthday?” She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Was there a life-size Kim Namjoon here, too?”

“God, no,” he says, shuddering a bit. “Although there is a graffiti drawing of my face back in Ilsan. It’s actually pretty good!” he exclaims when she laughs, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’ve only seen pictures, anyway. I guess I’ll see it when I go back tomorrow.”

“Spend some good old quality time with it?”

“Not that much time. Our schedule starts on the…” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to recall. “Twenty-eighth, I think. Need to double check that.” He opens his eyes to see Kaya frowning.

“You’re working on New Year’s?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “New Year’s Eve special in New York. Holidays, birthdays… doesn’t really matter,” he adds, hearing a note of bitterness in his own voice. He stops by a pop-up stall. “Honestly, it’s a miracle we got Christmas off.”

Kaya stops beside him, facing him slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “About your birthday. I didn’t forget,” she clarifies when he looks up. “I thought about texting or something, but… it was just too soon.”

Namjoon nods, feeling his heart clench a little. That hadn’t been a good day. “I get it. It was less than a week after… everything.”

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d be working, though.”

“I didn’t mind. Kept me occupied.”

She bites her lip, glancing over at the collectibles. Namjoon watches her, recalling with a heavy heart just how much he’d been hoping she’d call. It hadn’t been fair to expect it, given that he’d ended things just a few days prior. He’d tried to do it as amicably as possible, tried to reassure her that it had nothing to do with how he felt - it was just a consequence of their situation. Long time coming, he’d said. Despite that, he’d kept his phone on all day, hoping that at least special events would mean he could hear her voice again.

“I did… wait,” he confesses after a moment. “I thought we ended on good terms.”

Kaya exhales, and he can see her defenses go up. “We did. That’s why we’re here right now.”

“Three months later.”

“Yeah, well. I needed time to process it,” she counters, folding her arms across her chest. “You really caught me off guard.”

Namjoon lowers his head, unsurprised at her astute observation. He had caught her off guard - and not accidentally. He can still remember the rain in the background, the sound of the people around her as he revealed what he’d been thinking for a few days by then. Most of all, he can remember how confused she’d sounded. That had been the worst part: her confusion. Sadness, anger, denial; he would’ve chosen all of them over her uncertainty, how she’d taken a few minutes to realise what he was proposing, by which time it was too late to argue.

“I wouldn’t have been able to go through it otherwise,” he confesses quietly.

After what seems like several minutes, Kaya sighs. “Well. In the spirit of processing things,” she begins, and he looks up to see her reaching for one of the small stuffed toys on the cart, “a belated happy birthday.” She hands it to him.

“Thanks. And thank you for…” He looks down at the toy and back up at her. “... for this stuffed doll of Taehyung?”

“A stuffed doll of Taehyung holding a wreath,” she points out, jabbing a finger at the plastic decoration. “And wearing a Santa hat.”

“Wow. This is, uh…” He looks back at the doll, stitched down to immaculate detail. “... so terrifying.”

Kaya laughs. “What are you talking about? He’s a good-looking kid.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want a voodoo doll of him staring at me while I’m, like, changing or something.”

“Well, that’s your punishment for breaking up with me while I was running late to class,” she says lightly, already handing cash to the shopkeeper.

“Fair enough,” he mutters, stuffing the silly doll deep into the pocket of his jacket as they begin walking away.

“So?” she continues as they stroll down the street. “How are the other guys?”

“Good, mostly. Pretty tired.”

“And your parents? Your family and everyone?”

“Also good.” He pauses. “My mom asked about you.”

“She did?” Kaya sounds surprised.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. “Nothing specific. Just how you were doing and stuff.”

She’s quiet for a moment, hands tucked into her elbows. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Not yet.” Namjoon bites his lip, realising only at this moment, that it’s because he was hoping he wouldn’t have to at all. “Guess I’ll have to, soon enough.”

“Believe it or not, it was hard to tell my mom, too.” She squeezes his forearm sympathetically. “Although, if I’m being honest, the hardest person to break it to was Jae-lin,” she adds.

He snickers. “Really?”

“Yup. And not to pressure you or anything, but she’s expecting some seriously deep music to drop soon.”

His heart jolts uncomfortably. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When he says no more, he notices Kaya give him a curious sideways glance. “And speaking of my sixteen year old cousin’s obsessions,” she begins, the forced upward lilt in her voice evident, “what about Taehyung and Dilara Komyshan?”

“Oh, who knows with them,” he replies absently, stretching out his neck before looking back down to see her raised eyebrows. “No, they’re dating now. Officially.”

“Wow. Score. For Tae, I mean,” she clarifies.

“I agree. They went on some trip or something recently.”

“Ah, the honeymoon phase,” she says knowingly, shaking her head. “Children.”

“He’s happy now. And I mean too happy,” grumbles Namjoon. “He’s smiling into his phone all the time like an idiot; I swear, he looks high.”

Kaya snorts. “Wow, single people really are bitter.” When he doesn’t respond, she looks up, biting her lip awkwardly. “Too weird?”

He winces theatrically. “A little bit.”

She chuckles. “Sorry.”

They stop at a traffic light, waiting to cross the street. The sky is dark now, but the area has never looked more lively. Namjoon is suddenly glad he asked her to meet today; the closer Seoul gets to Christmas, the prettier it looks.

Which reminds him.

He glances at her beside him; they’re both standing tilted towards each other, almost automatically. To anyone else, it might look like they’re midway in conversation.

“By the way,” he begins, shifting to face her. She does the same, her silver hoops catching the light again. Namjoon pauses; there’s a certain science to this, a certain combination of elements that will get him the reaction he wants - or at least the one he’s hoping for.

“Yeah?”

Hands deep in his pockets, he lowers his head slightly to look her in the eyes. Disney princess eyes. His blond hair falls onto his forehead and he gives her a small smile, just enough for a dimple to appear. His gaze drops to her mouth before meeting her eyes again.

“You look really pretty,” he says, meaning it, hearing his voice low and deep. The flicker in her eyes makes his heart race, but he holds it, waiting for her response.

“Thanks. You look…” Kaya swallows visibly and her gaze falls, lingering near his chest for a moment. Thank God for the damn turtleneck. Namjoon is almost anxious at how she’ll finish her sentence.

“... really pretty, too.”

“Huh.” He nods. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She pauses, clearly awkward. “The blond suits you,” she adds, reaching up as if to touch his hair but stopping herself at the last moment.

“Yeah, it’s, uh… the stylists like it,” he replies lamely, running his fingers through his long hair.

“They’re doing a good job, I guess. You’re looking thinner,” she murmurs, her eyes on his chest and shoulders before they dart up to him. “Not in a bad way,” she says quickly. “Or - or a good way. I was just… it was just an observation.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay,” he says simply, placing a light hand on her back as they cross the road. “I haven’t had a lot of time to hit the gym lately. I’ve lost a bit of muscle mass. What about you?” he asks after a moment, feeling his gaze drop to her hips as she walks a step ahead of him, before averting them with an effort.

She turns around and waits for him to catch up, raising her eyebrows. “Am I losing muscle mass?”

“No, are you… you know. Taking care of yourself and everything,” he clarifies. “Eating well, locking your door… that stuff.”

She laughs without humour. “Remember when I told you I was saving up for that Sean Scully painting? Yeah, that means two whole months of nothing but instant noodles.”

Namjoon stares at her, unamused, until she looks up at him. “Are you serious right now?”

Kaya raises her eyebrows. “Are you? Do you seriously think you get to lecture me on a healthy diet?”

“God, I hate it when you have a point.”

“Which is often,” she says fairly, nudging his shoulder playfully. She looks around then, frowning slightly. “Wait, I thought we were going to your car. How far away did you park it?”

“Not that far, actually. There’s a shorter route through the alleys inside,” he explains. “I just thought you might… feel safer this way. Out in the open.”

He wonders for a moment if he’s made it weird again, for he can’t decipher Kaya’s expression. She licks her lips and looks at the ground, but before he can begin getting anxious about it, she looks up.

“I always feel safe with you,” she says calmly, gesturing for him to start walking again.

As he falls into step beside her, Namjoon feels, for the first time all evening, as though he finally knows what he wants. He sees her hand by her side as she walks, half-covered by the sleeve of her dark striped sweater, her nails painted black.

He imagines what it would be like to hold it; lightly at first, fingers grazing her palm before linking their fingers together. Holding it tight then, tugging her closer to him, feeling her long hair brush his chest… for a moment, Namjoon feels like crying.

“Wow, I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

Kaya breaks him out of his reverie, and he looks up to see her peering at a passing tteokbeoki stall.

“Do you want to get some?” he asks, although he can’t imagine eating anything right now.

She waves her hand. “No, I’m good. Ji-eun’s making dinner and she’ll kill me if I ruin it.”

“Yeah? What’s she making?”

“Not sure. Something with noodles.”

Namjoon laughs. “Sounds about right. She may have grown up in America but she’s Korean at heart.”

“Completely.” Kaya shivers as a cold wind blows. “And Korean by blood, clearly, because there is no way winters back home were this cold.”

“Yeah, the winds are a bit harsh,” he acknowledges fairly. “Why did you decide to visit in the winter anyway? There’s a reason tourism is at an all-time low this time of the year.”

“Oh… my mom wanted to visit. Said she wanted to spend Christmas with family.”

There’s something off in Kaya’s tone, but Namjoon doesn’t want to pry. Not too blatantly, at least.

“Don’t you usually go to Connecticut to spend Christmas with her?” he asks.

“Yeah.” She nods, falling quiet for a few seconds. “She’s dating this guy,” she blurts out. “And they’ve been going out for a few months and it sounded like everything was fine, but I think - and I’m pretty sure I’m right - that he asked her to spend Christmas with his family. And it freaked her out,” she finishes, breathing slightly heavily.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a moment. From the way the words tumbled out of her mouth, it’s clear she’s been waiting to talk about it.

“Is it the dating part?” he asks gently.

“No,” she mumbles, looking at the ground as she steps within the tiles. “My dad’s been gone ten years, you know? I’m glad she’s dating. But when she does things like this, I know it’s because she’s scared. And I just wish she wasn’t.”

He frowns. “Did she actually tell you about him asking her to come over for Christmas?”

She opens her mouth but deflates. “Not exactly,” she admits. “But I know I’m right. The way she sounded, the words she used - she was avoiding talking about it.”

Like mother, like daughter. “Why don’t you just ask her?” he suggests. “You and your mom are close, aren’t you?”

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “I can’t tell her what to do. It’s not up to me to tell her how to move on from her dead husband.”

Namjoon touches her elbow, wishing he could do so much more. “I didn’t say to tell her anything. I said you could ask her. She knows you just want her to be happy, right?”

Kaya swallows, stopping as the parking lot comes into sight. “And then what? We talk about it? Because I’m such an expert on how to be happy?”

There’s a moment of heartbreaking silence before she looks up and blinks. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you.”

He frowns. “It’s okay -“

“No, it’s not. This isn’t your problem anymore, and we don’t -“

“Kaya.” He gives her a look when she stops talking abruptly. “You know, I didn’t intend for… this to mean that we cut each other out of our lives. You can still talk to me,” he says earnestly. He sighs and looks at his feet. “I know there are still things that I can't talk about with anyone but you,” he admits quietly.

He watches her expression change from confusion to curiosity, and then to a kind of concern. Her shoulder makes a movement and he wonders wildly, hopefully, if she meant to reach for him.

“Like what?” she asks softly.

Now that she’s asked, the words seem impossible to say. Namjoon looks down at his hands, feeling months worth of anxiety creep in again.

“I think I’m losing my touch,” he says finally, still not looking up at her. “With songwriting, producing… everything. I’m not… I can’t…” He trails off, wincing in irritation as he struggles to recall English words for his exact emotions. “I can’t write anymore. And the more I can’t… the more I have no idea who I am anymore.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Kaya watching him closely, her forehead in a frown. “Why?”

“I don’t know. The words just aren’t coming. The music… I can’t hear it in my head the same -“

“No, I meant,” she interrupts him, and gives him an apologetic look when he meets her eyes again. “I meant… why don’t you know who you are anymore?”

“Because if I’m in the studio for hours and hours and I can’t actually… produce anything, or create anything, then what the hell am I doing in there?” If I’m in the studio for hours and hours, what does it all matter if I don’t have you?

“Joon…” She takes a step closer to him. “You’re… it’s recency bias. You’ve been producing great stuff all year. Didn’t BTS just win, like, five awards at the MAMAs?”

“Yeah, but not for anything I wrote,” he counters immediately. “And that’s fine. We always win for the popular hits, and that’s fine with me. I just… I can’t write anymore,” he says in a small voice. “The words aren’t coming.”

Her eyes flicker, as though searching for the right words. He knows it’s far out of left field for her, that a lot of his work is something she can’t contribute a lot to, choosing to primarily listen.

“Well…” She sounds a bit uncertain. “What did you write about before?”

He shrugs, looking away. “Just stuff. Things that made me happy, things that made me sad.”

“And you don’t have those things anymore?”

Namjoon doesn’t know how much clearer he can make it without risking losing even the last remaining fragments of her in his life. “Not the ones that make me happy,” he states, meeting her gaze.

Somewhere, a Christmas carol begins on a loudspeaker, sleigh bells in the background. Bright lights flicker on, jerking them out of their conversation.

Kaya takes a step back, exhaling shakily. “It’s getting colder,” she mutters. “Is that your car?” she asks, tilting her head towards something behind him. Before he can answer, she begins walking over.

Namjoon follows her slowly, knowing their conversation is over. He waits until he’s a few feet away from the car to open it. She doesn’t enter immediately, though; looking up at him from across the bonnet of his Mercedes, she gives him a small, sad sort of smile.

“I’m glad you messaged me yesterday,” she says softly.

“So am I.” He swallows, his heart sinking at the realisation that their evening is at an end, whether he wants it to be or not. “Come on. Let’s get you home before Jieun kills you.”

—

“And he crosses the finish line,” murmurs Kaya in humour as Namjoon slowly pulls into Jieun’s driveway before stopping the car. There’s teasing in her tone, but also a hint of pride, for he really has come a long way since she’d first started teaching him how to drive two years ago.

He doesn’t look at her, though, choosing to stare out of the windshield with a pensive look on his face - the same one he’s had for the entire drive.

Kaya deflates slightly. “Thanks for the ride.”

“How could I have let you go?”

It’s a whisper, but on a quiet street and inside a crowded car, it feels like he’s shouted it from the rooftops. Kaya says nothing, choosing to stare at her lap instead, for she isn’t altogether surprised. The way he’d begun looking at her as the evening progressed, eyes softer and warmer with each minute, some of the things he’d said; the poet in him might have thought he was being subtle, but Kaya knew him well enough to know where his mind was at.

Namjoon, meanwhile, is still in the midst of his crisis. “How - how could I have thought that was the right decision? How could you have let me?”

She bristles. “What?”

“No, I’m - I’m not… I’m not actually blaming you,” he stutters, glancing briefly at her, as though just remembering he’s not alone. “I just can’t believe…” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “God, I fucked up.”

When she’d gotten the call three months ago, her first emotion had been surprise. It had been a long time since Namjoon had called her, despite his best efforts to. Their conversations had turned terse and short, with more passive aggressive statements going back and forth than actual talk about their lives.

It had been a busy day and Kaya already had a lot on her mind, so when he’d broken up with her with barely any warning during a busy evening on campus, she’d been furious. Not at first; no, at first she’d been confused, then in denial, then in class, then busy - very busy - until something had finally forced her to face the fact that she’d been dumped over the phone by the love of her life.

He’d said many things, the first being that he loved her. He missed her, cared about her, and hated being a dick to her - so he wasn’t going to do it anymore. Throughout, through all the sadness and heartbreak, her anger at how he’d deliberately chosen a Wednesday evening in Amsterdam time to break up with her was the worst, because he’d more or less ensured that she wouldn’t be able to argue back.

I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it otherwise.

It’s probably true, and Kaya remembers being annoyed by it even a couple of hours ago. Now, though, surprisingly, she finds herself wanting to comfort him.

“Namjoon -”

“No, you know what?” He interrupts her. “I know I was wrong. I know I was too busy and I wasn’t making the time, and I was taking out my stress on you, but -” He shakes his head, and she realises he’s glaring at her. “You weren’t being honest about what was really bothering you.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I - what?”

He gives her a look, indicating he isn’t fooled. “You know what I’m talking about, Kaya.”

“No, I don’t. And… we don’t need to talk about this,” she mutters hurriedly, unbuckling her seatbelt when he grabs her wrist.

“Wait, come on,” he says quickly, stopping her. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to start a fight. Or maybe I am,” he says after a moment. “If that’s what it’ll take to finally talk about this.”

Kaya hesitates. “You talk about this stuff when you’re together,” she reminds him in a low voice. “And we’re not together.”

“I know.” He gives her a long look, almost pleading, before speaking again, slower and more deliberate. “I’m saying… I want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” she says finally, sitting back in her seat. “Go ahead.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. You’re the one who wants to talk about it.”

“No, I want you to admit what was really bothering you,” he corrects her, giving her a knowing look.

She frowns, puzzled, even as her heart begins to race uncomfortably. “What are you talking about? We were apart, there was distance… wasn’t that the whole problem?”

“That’s a pretty macro way to look at it.” When she gives him a look, he nods, satisfied. “That’s right. I didn’t date an Economics research student for a year and half and not learn a few words along the way.”

Kaya’s mouth twists as she tries to suppress a smile. “No way. You’re not allowed to make me laugh right now.” When he raises his hands in apology and gestures for her to continue, his dimple still faintly visible, she sighs. “Fine. It was… it felt like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop, okay? Long distance is always hard, and we made it last for a really long time.” She shakes her head forlornly. “It was like watching a tornado approach. I guess I just wanted to spare myself the pain of a long, gruesome… demise of a relationship.”

Namjoon folds his arms across his chest. “You’re lying.”

Her eyes widen. “What? What are you - how dare you -”

“Kaya, don’t fuck with me, alright? I can read between the lines - I basically already know what it is, so why don’t you just admit it?”

“I am,” she exclaims defiantly. “I was afraid, we weren’t talking, we were drifting apart - what else is there?”

“Why were you afraid?”

“Why is anyone ever afraid in a relationship, Namjoon?”

“No, why were you afraid - and why did it come up only when I started working on my collabs?”

“Because I was afraid you were going to cheat on me!” Kaya huffs and sinks back into her seat, glaring out the window as she feels the corners of her eyes prickling at the memory.

Neither of them speaks for a few moments. It feels like the invisible wall that’s existed between them all evening has finally been broken down, wrecking ball and all, to leave a pile of cold, hard truths.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks finally. He doesn’t sound satisfied; on the contrary, he sounds almost disappointed. It breaks her heart just a little.

“Because it’s humiliating to admit that,” she mutters, still not looking at him. “Because if there was one thing that made us work, it was that neither of us was clingy. But if I started acting insecure just because you were suddenly working long hours with beautiful women, then -” She shrugs, feeling ridiculous. “I was officially a clingy girlfriend.”

“Clingy? Kaya, you’re as far from clingy as a partner can be. We both are - we work crazy hours, we’ve gone days without talking and it never mattered. I could never think you’re a clingy girlfriend. And I would never cheat on you,” he adds firmly.

Something settles in Kaya’s chest. “You know, that’s all I needed to hear?” she says, finally looking up at him. He looks almost wounded, his blond bangs thick and falling onto his forehead. “I didn’t actually think you would go ahead and - and have an affair or anything. I just needed that reassurance - I would’ve believed you in a second. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I wasn’t sure – but I suspected it. And honestly, I was a little insulted,” he adds sullenly, “because I didn’t think I’d ever given you a reason to doubt me.”

The truth of that statement is too painful, enough to make Kaya fall silent. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs abashedly. “I was too proud to say it. It’s just… these things happen. When there’s distance and stress and - and then there’s physical distance… it’s not outlandish to think something could happen. I don’t know how it works with celebrities,” she adds, shrugging heavily. “I just know I see a different story on Just Jared every other day and… well, we’ve already established that I was afraid,” she finishes, not knowing what else to say. “I was being crazy.”

She can feel Namjoon’s gaze on her, but she doesn’t look up until he sighs and touches her hand.

“You weren’t being crazy. I mean, I thought you were,” he amends, giving her a momentary smile, “but… okay, after we broke up, I was in the studio with Sunmi, right? And I must have looked like hell because she asked me if I’d had a fight with my girlfriend. It was too hard to correct her, so I - I didn’t,” he admits, wincing slightly.

“Anyway… then, out of the blue, she told me she had a boyfriend. And then a minute after that, she told me wasn’t bragging, but she was making it clear that nothing could happen between us. And then I was, like, what? and she said that in her experience, whenever two people had problems with their partners, they ended up hooking up. And she had no intention of doing so with me while we were both in committed relationships,” he finishes, shaking his head a bit. “So, no. You weren’t crazy.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Kaya picks at a loose thread on her black jeans. It’s cathartic for all this to finally come out, but she can’t help but feel as though it’s only given their separation a kind of finality. Now that you’ve talked about it, you can move on in peace.

“I really missed you,” she murmurs, not looking at him. “And it felt like you didn’t, not as much. It seemed like the first time we weren’t in sync, you know?” She shrugs, her throat starting to tighten. “It scared me.”

“Kaya, you have no idea how much I missed you,” says Namjoon heavily. He doesn’t say the next bit, but it seems like a logical completion.

“God. Imagine if we’d just had this conversation back then,” he laments, running a tired hand through his hair.

“Yeah. You can cut yourself some slack, though,” she adds, glancing up at him meekly. “We both fucked up.”

Namjoon nods, giving her that same longing look that he’d begun when they’d entered Santa’s Village in Gangnam, before looking away.

“Have you… you know. Moved on?” he ventures, giving her a sideways glance.

She shrugs. “Define moved on.”

“You know. Are you - are you dating anyone?”

Am I ever. “Well,” she begins, taking note of how his shoulders stiffen next to her, “there was this grad student who tried to kiss me in the library, after which I ran away and cried for half an hour in the girls’ bathroom.” She raises her eyebrows. “Does that count?”

Namjoon’s head darts around to look at her. “He did what? Are you okay? Are you - did he hurt you?”

“What? No, no - it wasn’t like that,” she says immediately, shaking her head. “It was the day after you broke up with me and I hadn’t quite had the time to… deal with it yet,” she explains, giving him a reproachful look. “And I guess I’d mentioned sometime offhandedly that I was single, which he seemed to take as permission to try something and… then I told him to get lost.”

Dude, I have a boyfriend! had been her exact words to him, once she’d pushed him away and wiped her mouth in horror.

No, you don’t! he’d retorted, a lanky, brown-haired guy with glasses, sounding more confused than anything.

It had taken someone else to yell it at her for it to sink in, deeply, hurtfully, all the way down at the bottom of her stomach that she, indeed, did not have a boyfriend anymore, that Kim Namjoon was no longer hers - and everyone knew it.

“Why - why did you cry?” Namjoon asks, a note of concern audible.

“Because it felt weird, kissing someone else,” she admits, unable to look at him. “Felt wrong. Like I was cheating on you. What about you?” she asks after a moment. “Have you moved on?”

Namjoon gives her a look. “Does it look like I’ve moved on?”

“Uh-uh. This is not a topic where you can give me a cryptic answer like that.”

He sighs hugely. “No, Kaya, I haven’t,” he clarifies, almost indulgently. “It’s going to take a lot more than three months to move on from you.”

She tries to ignore how her heart zooms at his words, but it’s impossible. Clenching her jaw to keep from smiling, she takes a deep breath. “Wow, we were really late having this conversation,” she echoes his previous remark.

There’s a pregnant pause, with a world of possibilities visible in a single second.

“It doesn’t have to be,” murmurs Namjoon, and the hope in his voice makes her heart skip a beat. He waits for her to look at her. “What do you think? Can we give this another shot, baby?”

Screw you, Kim Namjoon. Kaya hates and loves in equal measure just how well he knows the right words to say to her. Her stomach flutters - butterflies, probably - while a warmth seems to course through her entire body, down to the tips of her fingers.

His face is inches away from hers. In the darkness of the car, with only the Christmas lights from Jieun’s house being the lone bright spot, and she tries to recall the last time he’d ever kissed her.

“I think…” She trails off, unable to think straight with how intensely he’s watching her. She tries again. “I think… I can’t have this conversation with that creepy doll staring at me.”

When Namjoon glances in confusion at the Taehyung doll they’d propped up on the dashboard before they’d begun driving, Kaya uses the opportunity to open her car door and step out. She hears him chuckle before following suit, and goes around the front of the car to join him by the driver’s side where he’s leaning against the door.

“Told you it was a creepy-ass doll.”

“And you were right.” Kaya stops in front of him and almost wishes she’d risked staying inside with the stupid doll. Tall and broad-shouldered, he suddenly takes her breath away. Maybe it’s the black turtleneck and grey jacket combination, maybe it’s the blond hair falling into his eyes and brushing the top of his collar, maybe it’s the familiar, woodsy cologne that she’s only noticed now that they’re out of the car. Either way, she can’t speak for a moment.

“So?” He raises his eyebrows, looking earnest and hopeful and heartbreakingly handsome all at once. “Do you think we can try this again?”

She shivers. “I…” It’s getting harder to breathe, and not just because of how he looks. This is so much more complicated than he’s making it sound. “I think.. we should sleep on it.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, apparently processing her answer.

She tries not to hurry her next words. “Look, I know we got all our issues out right now, but… our problems, they’re not going to go away. It’s still going to be the long distance thing, we’ll still have rough patches because of work… and I don’t think I can go through this break-up again.”

He frowns at the ground. “Why do you think we’ll break up again?” he asks, and she can tell he’s working to keep his tone neutral.

“Because making up this time isn’t going to last,” she says softly. He drags his gaze to look up at her then, and she can tell that he knows she’s right. “I just think… I think if we’re going to think about getting back together, we need to have some kind of view on - on what’s going to happen.” She swallows, wondering if he’s caught on to her hesitance to say the word. “Our situation… there’s a lot to think about. And I’m not just talking about the long distance.”

After what feels like an eternity, he nods. “That’s fair,” he says, but she thinks she can sense an undertone of disappointment. “It was just easy to forget, you know?” He shrugs and drops his gaze.

“I know.” And she did. She’d been starting to forget as well; it was too natural to fall into old habits. The way he’d rescued her from the guys at the ATM, the way she’d offered him the chocolate candy that came with her coffee without thinking, how he’d pulled her behind him when he thought he’d noticed someone pointing their phone at him; each of those moments had felt like déjà vu, except totally and completely real.

“That’s what made us kind of great,” she points out after a moment, wrapping her jacket tightly around her. “We always kept each other grounded.”

“So we’re sleeping on it?” Namjoon asks after a moment, looking up.

Kaya nods. “Yeah. Just so we’re sure.”

“I’m leaving for Ilsan tomorrow,” he reminds her.

“Good. That gives us a deadline.”

“Right.” Namjoon exhales. “I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.” He turns to open the door behind him when something grips at her heart.

“Wait, um -“ She breaks off, turning to glance at the house for a moment. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

As expected, he shakes his head. “Oh, I - I couldn’t. But thanks.”

“I’m serious. Jieun always makes a ton of food.”

“Yeah, but…” Namjoon looks unsure. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome, right? Your ex-boyfriend… having dinner with your family?”

Kaya has never hated that word more, but she rallies. “I’m inviting you,” she points out. “And no one is going to make you feel unwelcome, I promise. They all love you. Please?” she appeals again. “I… I don’t want the evening to be over just yet.”

That seems to do the trick. Namjoon tilts his head the same way he always does when he wants to give her something but is prevented from it. “I - are you sure? You’re really close with your aunt. And your cousin.”

“Jieun’s always liked you. And believe me, with Jae-lin there, I’ll only be the second happiest person in that house if you join,” she informs him, rolling her eyes. He chuckles and her heart flutters at the sight of his dimple. “My mom’s inside. You should say hi.”

After a moment, he nods. “Okay. Let’s go,” he says, taking a step towards her, his hand gently hovering over her back as they make their way to the house. “I really do think you should ask Jieun, though. Just in case.”

“Jesus, don’t worry…”

“No, but what if she actually says no…”

—

Jieun doesn’t say no. In fact, Kaya’s aunt, more like a sister to her than her actual cousin sister, seems only mildly surprised but tells him he’s welcome. Her husband Jack seems not to notice anything strange at all, while Jae-lin seems absolutely thrilled that Namjoon is back.

“Oh, no, not - not exactly,” Kaya had said when Jae-lin had asked, point blank, if they were back together. There had been no further explanation, and her cousin had been enlisted to set the table and minimise the awkwardness.

“Sorry,” she’d muttered to Namjoon as they reached the dining table, looking up to see him both relieved and amused.

“Don’t worry about it,” he’d replied softly, reaching out behind her to pull out a chair and taking the one next to her. All through dinner, it felt as though nothing had changed, really. Jieun seemed to be enjoying some private joke as she watched them, sharing knowing looks with Kaya’s mother across the table, while Jae-line monopolised Namjoon completely, chattering away in Korean with no attention to anyone else.

Namjoon, ever the gentleman, engaged her fully; there wasn’t a moment where he tried to stop the conversation, his arm on the back of Kaya’s chair the entire time. Kaya stayed in conversation with Jack and her mother as much as she could, hoping that they wouldn’t allude to the situation at all.

Meeting her mother’s gaze was the hardest - not because Kaya was afraid she would disapprove, but because of how openly happy she looked.

“Mom, we’re not back together yet,” she’d murmured halfway through dinner, when her mother had given her yet another glowing, knowing, mom look.

“I know,” she’d replied, glancing at Namjoon over Kaya’s shoulder, “but you want to be.”

Did she? Kaya didn’t know. She was sure what she felt for him, even what he possibly felt for her. She knew they were happy with each other, understood each other, had an unimaginable amount of affection for each other.

But she didn’t know if she could do this again. As she sat next to Namjoon, feeling their shoulders brush occasionally and hearing his deep laugh next to her, she knew that “sleeping on it” would be far easier said than done.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says an hour later, bowing slightly to Jieun, Jack and her mother. “I had a great time.”

“I’ll walk you out,” says Kaya quickly, already turning towards the door, when Jae-lin pipes up.

“Oh, I’ll come, too!” she volunteers excitedly in English, and before anyone can say anything, sweeps by them and opens the front door.

A moment of silence follows before Namjoon speaks. “Sure, lead the way,” he says, smiling at her and squeezing Kaya’s hand apologetically. It’s the only thing that keeps Kaya from saying anything, even as the three of them exit the house into the cold night.

She trails behind them, arms folded across her chest, as she listens to them converse in Korean again. For all she knows, Jae-lin has just resumed their conversation from dinner, the words blending into each other for Kaya. With Korean-American parents, Jae-lin speaks both Korean and English with ease. Right now, though, Kaya wishes she would just stop speaking.

“Wow, what a sexy car,” says Jae-lin in wonder, running her hand on the smooth metal of the bonnet. She looks up to see Kaya glaring at her with a hand on her hip. “What?” she asks defensively. “We all use that word, unnie.”

Kaya stares at her. “Hey, Jae? Can you give us a minute?”

Jae-lin’s eyes flit between her cousin and Namjoon before they widen suddenly, as though she’s just realising she might be interrupting. “Oh! Yes, of course! I - uh, good night, Namjoon oppa,” she adds hastily and hurries away.

Kaya watches her until she enters the house before turning around to face Namjoon. “God, what a nightmare,” she mutters, rolling her eyes when he guffaws. “Shut up.”

“You shut up. You love her,” he says easily, still grinning.

“And you’re a saint.”

“Yeah, because you love her.” He leans back against his car again, the same way he was before. “And not to take a leaf out of Jae-lin’s book, but you looked really sexy being all strict with her.”

Kaya raises her eyebrows, feeling an old, familiar stirring in her abdomen. “Really?”

His smile gets wider. “Uh-huh.”

“I guess it’s a good quality for someone who’s working to be a professor one day.”

“Uh-uh. With a bunch of horny college students? They aren’t going to hear a word you say if you look at them like that,” he argues, taking a step closer to her.

The stirring passes from her abdomen to between her legs in an instant. “Okay, no. No flirting tonight,” she mutters, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “Not when we’re in this… limbo.”

His jaw drops teasingly. “No flirting at all?”

“No. It’s supposed to be a serious night, to think. With the… thinking. And stuff.”

“Good call on those three glasses of wine during dinner.”

She sighs and drops her head in her hands. “I was nervous. But I’m okay, really,” she insists honestly, straightening up as he gently pries her hands away from her face.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything, just smiles at her fondly, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It tugs at her heart, how transparent he’s being with his feelings. She’d seen it earlier in the evening, too, when they’d been navigating the market square to locate his car.

They’d stopped to open the map on his phone and Kaya had moved closer to him to be able to see the screen. All of a sudden, she’d heard him say something in Korean and looked up to see him smiling at an older couple who were walking away. Just before they disappeared from sight, the man had caught her eye and pointed upward. Slightly confused, she’d tilted her head up to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the wooden structure of the pop-up stall next to them.

Namjoon hadn’t said anything then either, choosing to simply suppress a smile and look somewhere near her shoulder, leaving the ball in her court. His you look pretty stunt was still burnt in her mind, though, so without too much thought, she’d reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before continuing walking.

It’s the same look now, the one where he seems to be on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. But she knows him too well, enough to know that caution is something he doesn’t play around with.

“Kaya…”

“Sleep on it,” she interrupts softly. “Seriously. It’ll be better.”

He looks for a moment as though he’s about to argue but at the last second simply nods. “Your hair’s longer,” he comments, fingering the ends of her loose, dark hair.

“Yeah. I’ll have to cut it soon.”

“Don’t. It’s beautiful.”

Kaya sighs. “Joon, you’re making this really hard,” she complains softly, her gaze dropping to his chest. She imagines him pulling her into it, feeling the hug she’s needed for months now.

“Sorry.” He swallows, just as a tune begins playing. His eyes light up in surprise. “Wait, do you know this song?”

“Uh… no,” she answers, frowning at the unfamiliar melody. It sounds like it’s coming from Jieun’s bedroom, but she can neither recall nor understand the lyrics. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he says immediately, glancing up at the same window. “It’s pretty popular. It came out a long time ago, though. Like, when I was a baby.”

“Huh.” She listens for a few seconds. “Very Phil Collins,” she remarks.

Namjoon bites his lips and smiles, the dimple popping gorgeously. “You know what this reminds me of?”

Kaya grins despite herself. “Let me guess,” she begins deliberately as she lets him take her hand. “London?”

He chuckles, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “Hey, I can’t help it if London has so many good memories,” he reasons, his feet already moving in a rough rhythm.

She laughs but doesn’t argue, choosing to enjoy how he feels against her for a few precious minutes - quite possibly the last few minutes that she’ll ever feel it. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before opening them, only to see a light over his shoulder.

“Oh, God. Can we not do this where the neighbour can see us from his bathroom?” she groans, starting to step away.,

Namjoon tugs her even closer. “No one’s watching us. It’s Christmas Eve; they have better things to do.”

“Actually, it’s Christmas Eve-Eve and - okay, we’re in direct eyeline of the main road. Namjoon, what if someone sees you - oh, my God!”

Kaya’s feet leave the ground all of a sudden and after two large strides, Namjoon places her back down on the ground, arm firm around her. She bursts into giggles, stifling them against his shoulder as she regains her balance, looking up to see them under the tree in Jieun’s front yard, the fairy lights giving them a warm glow.

“Is that better?” he asks, laughing.

“Much better,” she agrees, feeling her heart expand as she moves right up against him, holding his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his collarbone as the song continues playing.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips at her hair.

It isn’t a long song; Kaya’s just about registering how good he feels, how familiar, how safe, when the music fades away. They don’t step away from each other, though. She rests her forehead on his shoulder, hoping another song will play - anything to keep this moment going on a bit longer.

It doesn’t, but they still don’t move. She can feel Namjoon’s heartbeat against her hand, the one he’s clasping against his chest.

“Do you still love me?” he asks quietly.

Just like yesterday when he’d texted unexpectedly, taking the initial step, displaying the first hints of vulnerability, Kaya feels every strip of remaining defensiveness fall away, leaving nothing but raw honesty behind.

“Yes,” she admits, softly but clearly.

Namjoon’s arm tightens around her. “Can I kiss you?”

Her heart leaps. “Can you check if Jae-lin is still here?”

He snickers but she can feel his head tilt up. “No, she’s gone.”

“Then, yes,” she answers immediately, finally separating from him. Namjoon looks as though the sun’s come out; he exhales purposefully, his gaze falling from her eyes to her mouth. Gently moving her hair away from her face, he pulls her closer and, after more than half a year of doubt, anxiety and sadness, he kisses her.

The first time he’d ever kissed her was sweetness; sunny, warm and inviting. The next few times were flirty, sensual, teasing, followed by sexy, loving, affectionate - whatever the situation demanded. Namjoon was a hell of a kisser, his lips and body always moving in tandem, and he made her feel whatever the moment desired, every single time.

Right now, it’s a multitude of things. Kaya can’t even begin to identify it; she’s barely made it past the fact that she’s kissing him again, finally, feeling his lips and his hair and his hands on her. There are too many things in the kiss, but there’s only one thing clear in her mind: please don’t let this be goodbye.

It’s a vain hope because it may very well be, and she pulls him closer by the lapels of his jacket when she thinks it, trying somewhere in the desperation of their passion to remember that at least now, if they end everything right here, she’ll remember their last kiss.

Namjoon’s holding her close, so close. His lips are soft but firm, and the kiss sinking. When they finally pull away, staying right there, foreheads touching and his hand still in her hair, Kaya feels his heartbeat again. It’s under her palm, racing unevenly, but so strong.

This can’t be goodbye, she thinks again, even though every passing second makes it more and more clear that it probably is. It had been her suggestion to think it over and to consider more than just love, but in this moment, she regrets it immensely, for while Namjoon can be sweet and loving and romantic, nothing makes as much sense to him as pure, rational thinking.

It was one of the most attractive qualities about him; he was an artist, had an artist’s vision and temperament, but still held logic and reasoning in high regard. To a research student who worked with numbers, data and science, he was the perfect combination of everything she wanted in a man.

Despite that, Kaya wishes she’d never said anything. Eyes squeezed shut, she can’t believe this might be the last time, the last everything. She feels him take a deep breath before he kisses her forehead.

And just like that, she knows she’s made a mistake.

“Goodnight, Kaya,” he whispers against her skin. He pulls away and smooths down her hair. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

There’s nothing left to do but nod silently, and watch him drive away into the cold.

—

A faint buzzing wakes her up.

“Fuck,” whispers Kaya, feeling around on her bedside table for her phone. Squinting at the screen, she pauses in confusion. When the ringing continues, she answers before she wakes her mother sleeping next to her.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Namjoon sounds far more awake than her. “Sorry, I think I woke you.”

“Good guess,” she mutters thickly, sitting up into a slightly more comfortable position. “What’s up? Is - is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” There’s a pause where she can hear the smile in his voice. “I forgot how adorable you sound when you’re sleepy.”

Despite how her heart skips a beat, she frowns. “Seriously? You woke me up at the break of dawn to flirt with me?”

He chuckles, low and pleasant. “No. I was hoping we could talk. In person,” he clarifies after a moment.

“I - well… I don’t think I’ll get a cab for a couple more hours at least.”

“Mhm, mhm. It’s a good thing I’m outside Jieun’s house, then.”

Kaya’s eyes snap open. “You’re - what?” She peers out of the gap between the curtains in the guest room. “Babe, it’s six am - the sun isn’t even up yet,” she groans, a second before she inwardly cringes and hopes he’ll let her slip of the tongue go without comment.

“I - I know. But I’ve been thinking about this all night. You asked me to sleep on it - and that’s what I did. I thought about it, looked back on everything, even had a drink to clear my head.”

“So you did everything but sleep on it.”

Namjoon sighs. “I’m sorry, I just… I have to leave in a few hours. And I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone.”

His tone seems to imply not wholly good news. She swallows, her heart already sinking. “And it can’t wait?” She drops her head into her hand. “I think those three glasses of wine are finally hitting me.”

“I have coffee,” he offers. “And the fresh air should help.”

Irrefutable logic. The smell of caffeine seems to spur her decision and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. Thank God you’re not my leader.”

He laughs. “I’m waiting outside,” he says before hanging up.

There’s no scope to pretty herself for this. Kaya manages to stumble to the bathroom and brush her teeth, after which it’s layer upon layer until she deems herself sufficiently padded for a December morning in Seoul at dawn. She doesn’t want to risk waking anyone up, so simply drops her mother a text: I’m fine. Just went outside for a walk with Namjoon.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets her when she steps out, pursing his lips when she momentarily freezes. “Here you go,” he says, handing her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks. I needed this.” She takes the first sip, hot enough to scald her throat, and shivers in the frosty air. They begin walking down the street, the same one they’d driven up last night, with hundreds of unspoken words between them. Now, with all of them uttered and confessed, the air seems clearer and sky seems lighter, a nice indigo over the Christmas lights put up through the lane.

“Thank you for having me over last night,” he says. “I was planning on going home and ordering in, so home-cooked food was kind of amazing.”

“Well, you definitely paid Jieun back in kind, by keeping her daughter entertained all night,” she reminds him, still annoyed by how gushy Jae-lin had been last night. She’d always been a fan, since years before Kaya and Namjoon had ever met, and even though she’d somehow managed to get used to the fact that they were dating, her outward behaviour still needed some restraining sometimes.

Namjoon laughs. “I didn’t mind.” He’s dressed in sweatpants and a grey hoodie, with a black leather jacket thrown hurriedly over it. Looking at him, it’s as though he’d rushed out the door to meet with her.

They reach the neighbourhood park, empty as expected. It seems to be the only area in the entire neighbourhood that isn’t decorated; at this time of the morning, it looks strangely eerie.

“This should work,” mutters Namjoon, stepping inside and heading towards the swings, sitting on one edge of a two-person swing. Kaya trails after him silently, stopping a few steps away as he adjusts his position and looks up at her.

It’s gorgeous, his small smile. “Sit with me?” he asks. “I always loved going to the park as a kid. My parents would get happy because it meant I was taking a break from studying.” He chuckles.

Kaya doesn’t move. Dropping her gaze to the cup in her hand, she traces the mouth of the lid with her finger. “What’s happening right now, Namjoon? Is this us taking another risk together or… just an amicable way to say goodbye?”

Namjoon’s smile fades slightly. “Sit with me?” he repeats, sounding more sombre this time. “I’ll explain everything.”

Hesitating for a moment, Kaya joins him on the swing. Their shoulders brush, and she tucks her hair behind her ear before placing both hands around her cup like a safety tool, savouring the heat from it.

He takes a deep breath. “I thought about it,” he says finally. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it all night. And if you ask me right now if I want to get back together… the answer is yes. It’s just yes,” he says earnestly, meeting her eyes. “I don’t have to think about it. I - I want you,” he admits. “I want to be your boyfriend. I want you in my life.”

I want you. The words should be enough for her to break into song, but instead Kaya’s chest constricts, as though her heart is bracing itself for the bad news.

“But if you’re asking me about a decision,” he continues, looking away now. “If you’re asking me about a long-term plan for our future - which is a fair ask, by the way,” he inserts quickly, glancing up briefly, “I - you know, it turns out I’ve been thinking about this for a while? I didn’t realise it, but it’s always been there at the back of my mind.”

Kaya doesn’t say anything. There’s a sense of foreboding in his words and she wonders all of a sudden if it isn’t just better to have a break-up over the phone.

“Given my job,” he says slowly, sounding like he’s choosing his words carefully, “given the industry, given my family… the fact that I’ll have to enlist in the military in a few years -” He breaks off momentarily and clears his throat, while her heart clenches. “Given all that, I think it would be impossible - and irresponsible - of me to promise you a future that I don’t know if I’ll be able to give you.”

“But I can promise you,” he says after a moment, and she knows he’s tilting his head to try and meet her eyes, “that every decision I take, every plan that I make… all of that will be done keeping this future in mind. The one with you in it.”

She frowns, finally looking up at him. “Are you sure?” she asks, and she hopes he understands what she’s asking.

He seems to. “Yeah, I am. I can’t… not have you in my future. If I look down ten years, fifteen years, twenty… I just can’t picture a future without you in it.”

Kaya doesn’t know what to say. They’ve just ventured into territory she wasn’t expecting. It’s not commitment. It’s not even a plan. It’s just a promise of intent, and she has no choice but to take him at his word.

He brushes her knee with the back of his hand. “Kaya?”

She bites her lip. “This… future,” she ventures, finding it strange even saying the word. “If you had it your way… what does it look like?”

Namjoon seems to consider this. “White picket fence,” he says, nodding. “And a backyard, definitely.”

Without meaning to, Kaya feels her face break into a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. And, uh… one of those small bars in the house, with a countertop and the mixer things,” he adds, using an imaginary shaker. “A suburban house… late night drinks, where we talk about how our day was.” He looks down at her and smirks playfully. “Meeting for quickies in the studio during lunch?”

Kaya laughs. “Of course, I’m sure,” she says sarcastically, secretly unable to wait for more. “What else?”

“Um…” He squints up at the lightening sky, trying to think. “Museum dates on the weekends… Learning how to use a lawnmower.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, reaching up to touch his bangs, her heart full, “but there is no future in which I’m ever letting you near a lawnmower.”

Namjoon snorts. “Fair enough. What about… oh, a home gym, for sure.” The smile fades a bit, and he gets a slightly faraway look in his eyes. “An SUV… big enough to fit multiple people.” He meets her eyes. “Four bedrooms. At least.”

She swallows, her heart pounding. The prickling in her eyes is back and she stares at her lap, hoping it’ll go away. “Are you really serious right now?” she asks quietly, hearing the tremble in her voice.

“Completely,” he promises. “I know it’s not what you asked, and I’m sorry I can’t give that to you. But it’s the best I can do. Is it… is it enough for you?”

After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few seconds, Kaya nods. “Yes,” she answers, watching the relief flood through his face. “It’s enough for me.”

When Namjoon says nothing and simply exhales shakily, she tilts her head. “Do you still love me?” she asks him, unable to keep the teasing out of her tone.

He gives a raspy sort of chuckle, pulling her to him and kissing her temple. “You’re the love of my life, baby.”

This would be the time to break into song, but Kaya reins it in, choosing instead to close her eyes and press her lips to his jaw, savouring that Kim Namjoon is, once again, hers - possibly for a long, long time.

“You know I spent, like, an hour yesterday picking out my outfit,” she murmurs after a moment, waiting for him to hum against her hair. “Should I get mad at you now or later for choosing to confess your undying love for me when I’m in a college sweatshirt and Jieun’s Uggs?”

He laughs, the deep sound making her heart flutter. “If it helps, I realised my undying love for you yesterday, while you were in your sexy outfit.” He tugs her closer by the waist and kisses her on the mouth.

Kaya makes a sound of surprise but doesn’t pull away. She holds his face to hers, running her hand through his hair, his thick blond strands as he gently coaxes her mouth open. There’s only so much room on the swing, though, and after about a minute of renewed passion, Kaya feels it sway dangerously under her. She’s just about to pull away when Namjoon sucks on her lower lip, a low groan accompanying it, and squeezes her waist - and she falls.

“Shit,” he mutters, taking a second to understand what just happened. “Are you okay?” he asks, snickering and bending to give her a hand. His dimple appears on his left cheek, brighter than the sunrise.

“What better way to resume our relationship, right?” she mutters dryly, taking his hand and dusting herself off. “The sun’s coming up, anyway - you don’t want to get caught making out with someone in a children’s park.”

“What kid comes to the park at seven in the morning?” he argues, tugging her closer by the waist again. “It’s the perfect place to make out with my girlfriend, if you think about it.”

She’s about to differ, but he kisses her on the cheek then before trailing his lips down her jaw and towards her neck. She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut on their own. He leaves for Ilsan in a few hours; if there was ever a time to risk making out in a public place, this is it.

“Fine, come here,” she instructs, stepping away and ignoring his protests, pulling him towards the corner of the park. She stops just beyond the jungle gyms, near the wall bordering the park and under a canopy of trees. “This will do,” she says approvingly, grinning when he wordlessly kisses her again.

Here, with the protection of the trees from prying eyes, Kaya allows herself to be taken by him completely. It’s the same urgent passion, but less desperate and more affectionate. Museum dates, late night drinks and an SUV, she thinks, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeper. He knew the right things to say and she hopes with all her heart that they make it to the future he’s envisioning.

“Mm, Joon, your hands are cold,” she complains against his lips, giggling as he slips them under her t-shirt.

“They are, huh?” he murmurs, low and deep, nipping at her lip and backing her against the wall.

“Fucking freezing,” she adds, sighing when they disappear from against her skin. “Can we go back to my - oh, wait,” she remembers, leaning her head back against the wall. “This isn’t Amsterdam and I don’t have an apartment of my own.”

“Well, it’s Seoul and I do have an apartment of my own,” he points out. “I have to be back in Ilsan for brunch but maybe we can sneak away for a bit…?” Namjoon trails off, shaking his head already, clearly on the same lines as her.

“We can do better than a quickie,” she says heavily, even as she presses her lips together. Her eyes dart to the bulge in his sweatpants and she swallows, resisting the urge to palm him right here. “When are you back?”

“Twenty-seventh morning,” he answers. “When are you flying back?”

Kaya hesitates. “Twenty-eighth morning.”

“Okay.” He nods, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “It’s going to be a hell of a twenty-seventh of December, then.”

She smiles and nods. “Yeah. I’m glad you’ll be with your family on Christmas, by the way.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you want to come over for a quick breakfast?” she offers, raising her eyebrows. “Everyone in that house is an early riser, including Jae-lin.”

“Sure,” he answers, surprising her. “You can tell her we’re back together, too.”

“Perfect.”

“Oh, wait.” Namjoon frowns, apparently just remembering something. “Won’t they be worried? If they wake up and see that you’re gone?”

“We’re half a block away from the house,” she reminds him.

“Sure, but they don’t know you’re here,” he points out.

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I dropped my mom a text.”

“Do you think that’s enough?”

“She’ll know I’m okay,” assures Kaya, getting up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. “I told her I’m with you.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

#namjoon x oc #namjoon x reader #namjoon x fanfic #btswritingcafe #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #bangtanwhq #houseofddaeng #btscarnivalnet #kvanity #bangtanoasis #wkcnet #rm fanfic #rm angst #namjoon angst #hyunglinenetwork

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catgirl-catboy · 1 year

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hi! since you seem pretty pro-ai, i have a question. how do you reconcile that stance with the growing threat ai has on creative jobs? especially right now with the wga strike, when one of their main issues is ai. not trying to trap you or start a fight, just genuinely curious as someone with a foot in both fanfic and professional writing who doesn’t fully know how to feel.

I wouldn't say I'm pro ai in the sense that I think ai is uncritically great.

I think ai is morally neutral, and that it is only getting misused under capitalism.

I am absolutely down for ai being improved upon to progress society, and think ai could actually be a helpful tool for a lot of jobs humans don't want to do!

(Look me in the eye and tell me the current youtube auto generated captions are acceptable. Look my Hard of Hearing ass in the eye.)

That being said, the current people that are funding and working on the ai are scumbags that are clearly in it for a cheap buck and not to progress humanity forwards!

(maybe I'm an optimist, but I want to program something great one day. Something that other programmers build upon, and eventually people are still benefitting from my existence long after I'm gone!)

That being said, it isn't as easy as "magically hope the people behind chatGDP grow a spine or replace them with better people" I feel the the government should regulate ai more, so it isn't down to the morality of the current big name cooperations!

This will likely not happen, since governments always wait to pass laws on technology until it is far too late. I'd say:

If an Ai was used, it has to be disclosed and the programmers who wrote the ai credited.

In order to train a commercial ai on something, you have to either get consent from the people that made it (same as reference photos) or pay them. It should be like stock photos.

The companies shouldn't be able to tell users what they can and can't use the ai for. This is a slippery slope, and I could very easily see it leading to the "sorry, we refuse to write anything thats anti-big company! Sorry (suck my dick)

I think it should be under the same copyright law as fanfiction. You can use an ai to make whatever the fuck you want, but if you sell it the people that came up with the idea can come after you. As for ai completely stealing human jobs, it doesn't seem very likely. Ai automating people out of a job has always been a fear, and writing/art is the least likely field for this to happen in. The ai can't make anything original. If, lets say, the dataset goes up to 2020, then the ai won't be able to comment on modern events in the slightest. An ai can make SW fic, but once a new movie drops, its dataset will no longer be accurate. Therefore, the ai depends on humans to keep datasets up to date. Also, current ai is not good enough to recreate a modern TV show. Have you tried Ai? Do you think you can get it to keep a plot going for more than 1-2 prompts? Let alone an entire 22 minute episode? It'll be all tangential and clunky. even if some person actually wanted to write a show in this way, they'd need human editors to make it make sense. And at that point, if you're already paying humans, there's no point in relying on the ai. Another flaw in this "using ai to write shows approach" is that the ai isn't static? Like, if a new update roles out, the writing of the show can be completely off and that may not be fixable. I don't think anyone in Hollywood would want to put their faith in the competency of a bunch of random programmers.

We should have debated the morality of ai before we made it, if thats what tumblr wants. Its too late now. Can't put the genie back in the bottle.

There's no way that random internet users will have the same impact on the way ai plays out, since its up to the government and big cooperations.

I advise anyone who feels strongly about the subject to lobby to their government (or maybe the ai creators, but the government is your best bet.) instead of trying to peer pressure internet users into a boycott that will not affect shit in any way.

#ask tag #ai discourse

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bishiglomper · 3 months

Text

I'm super sad, disappointed and frustrated that I'm not gonna see many deafie/ASL fics/headcannons with Alastor because, well, ....the obvious. The whole radio thing.

There is ONE little ficlet someone posted here about a deaf oc that has a hypnotic siren voice they don't like using so they use ASL. I'm honestly impressed it exists but also sad because I haven't seen updates about it.. 👀

Present Mic wasn't my favorite character in MHA but omg I ate up Mic/deafie fics. LOVED those. Didn't know I needed deafie SO fics in my life before that.

I'm only hard of hearing so I don't feel like it's my place to make those fics (╥ᆺ╥；)

But also how would that even work.

If someone put me in the middle of Alastor and Vox's "which media is better " discourse of course I have no choice but to pick TV. Because then there's visual context and the possibilities of captions.

Which is where it gets personal for me because I can't stand audio. I always have audio off, it's overstimulating especially when half of it is just noise and nothing contextually relevant (like tiktoks). I don't ever listen to music because even if I can hear the words I also have audio processing disorder so even if its clear I still get garbled garbage. I need written words in front of me to fill in the blanks.

And I never listen to music unless I'm entirely alone or people know my attention is off limits. Because that 1 earbud renders me 100% deaf to the world. Completely unaware of sound. It's terribly inconvenient for everyone.

So I don't even know what I expect by putting one of those people next to the Radio Demon LOL

He doesn't strike me as someone who would learn ASL for anyone. They can't listen to his broadcast or even his own voice (which is like half his whole thing) so I see him having absolutely 0 interest if he can't get anything interesting out of those interactions.

I mean, maybe to place them by him as a specific annoyance. 🤔 a mini rival/enemy. A Vox knockoff. 🤣

"what is that noise" - "Shut up, your voice is annoying." - "Sorry I couldn't understand a word you said under that garbled mess." (It could be such fun 😗)

Bonus headcannon:

Can you imagine trying to have a conversation in sign language with Angel? He could have 3 convos going at once 🤭

I mean, I doubt he'd have the brain power to pull that off but the possibilities. 🤌

Imagine having a spicy conversation with Angel in front of Alastor and obviously he can distinguish some gestures (👉👌) but not have the full scope and yall are just giggling. I think it would irritate him to no end. 😈🤣

You know, THAT might be enough to get him interested in learning ASL

Just to have that moment to one day, out of the blue, respond with perfect ASL to their bullshit.

I love comebacks like that.

I can't decide which would be better: a whole thought out paragraph in response or something simple and concise like: "Never going to happen." And he just walks away.

But alas. I'm never gonna get it. 🙃

Argh why my favorite blorbo gotta be such a niche asshole? 🙄

#just rambling #hard of hearing #alastor headcanons #hoh #ssd #apd #audio processing disorder #deafie #asl #hazbin hotel headcanon

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eddiemonth · 1 year

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FAQ

When does the event begin?

The first day to post is October 1st, and it will run through the entire month, until Halloween (the 31st).

Where are all the prompts?

We’re releasing them a little at a time, so they don’t overwhelm you all at once and to give you a little something to anticipate ;) There should be a new batch of prompts posted every 5 days—so the 3rd, 8th, 13th, 18th, and 23rd of September. The masterpost is here, to see the most recent update!

What can I make?

Anything that could be considered a fanwork. Fanfiction, artwork, gifsets, edits, moodboards, playlists… canon ships, reader inserts—so long as your creation features Eddie Munson, have at it!

How do I make sure you see my work?

Put @eddiemonth in the caption!

Is NSFW allowed?

Yes, so long as all characters involved are over 18. Just be sure to tag it with #eddiemonthafterdark, and put any explicit content under a read more. You may also consider using Tumblr’s community labels, and artists might prefer to host their art elsewhere. That’s perfectly fine!

What should I tag?

Use #eddiemonth, and if it’s NSFW, #eddiemonthafterdark. Do please make sure to properly tag individual ships as well, or x reader fic as #xreader, for people’s blocklists. We will also be tagging diligently, so anything that slips through the cracks should still be filtered out on this blog. We’re here to celebrate Eddie, not get into ship wars!

Do I have to do every single day?

Boy, what an undertaking that would be! No, you do not have to do all 31 prompts this October, unless you enjoy the sort of challenge that provides. You can pick and choose which prompts you are most inspired by, do every other day, one per week—it’s up to you!

Can I use a prompt, song, or trait on its own, or do I have to use all 3 at once?

You can pick and choose which you take inspiration from! We tried to coordinate the tone of each so they can be used in tandem, but if you don’t like the feel of one or another you’re welcome to omit any part and just use whatever you are most inclined to.

Are late works accepted?

Yes, no need to worry about lateness, we’ll keep checking back a couple weeks after the event is over!

Is there an AO3 collection?

Yes, here it is! If you need help posting your work to it, we have a tutorial here. You’re welcome to post your works to it, but it is in no way required.

Is there a playlist of every song?

We’ve got one we’ll be adding to as the prompts come out, here!

#modstalk

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sansxfuckyou · 9 months

Text

be right by your side (no matter what)

Summary: if there's one thing Dee knew from the second her little brother was born, it's that she'd be by his side until one of them died no matter what that meant

Warnings: minor gore, wounds, general anguish and tragedy, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I binged Scoob and Shag in one sitting and went through the five stages of grief and the entire spectrum of human emotion, please go read it or read this fic without reading it, your choice. @sobredunia I can tag you in this nonsense now that you've read majority of Scoob and Shag. there are no spoilers past page 116, hope ya'll enjoy and consider checkin the Ao3 port if you do to leave a comment or kudos

"Don't touch my sister," He snarls the words with this specific resonance that Dee knows all too well considering how very long she's lived with him. The gentle hand on her shoulder raises, the blood of her wound rests on Pop's hand.

"He's just trying to help us out, Dex," Dee said quietly, her little brother was still defiant on the matter. She gave this gentle smile, one she hoped would ease his tension like it usually does.

He's still seething, his sister got hurt, his beloved sister. The person he turned into the angriest kid alive for, the sister he took all of his parents expectations for, the sister he tried to protect and failed to do so. He was sure he could keep her safe, sure he could keep her just fine on the supply raid because she was so desperate to join him.

To prove she wasn't just the nuisance he always said she was.

"I'm aware of that," He spat back, "How do we know we can trust them? Trust they don't have a Ballyhoo that'll hide Antihoo monsters? They could hurt us, Dee."

"We won't hurt you," Pop said, "We're in Med Bay 03, Mick and his cohorts are out there and can't hurt us-"

"I remember, Mick, Bugs, Ger, and Scoob," Dex spat bitterly, "I'm curious as to what makes you so sure me and my sister aren't a part of Mick's team?"

"A hunch," was Pop's answer to the question, "We saw you and your sister about to be torn to shreds by an Antihoo monster and saved you, of course, we couldn't patch all of your wounds while you two were passed out.

Dee's fingers raise to the small wound on her brothers arm, partially dried blood spilling down his lab coat. He hissed and pulled away from her, "Bring me to your lab and I'll start devising better and more efficient healing methods than bandaids and polysporin."

-/-/-/-

"You need to stay where it's safe, Dee," Dex would consistently chide despite his sister's insistence on joining them on the battlefield. Her Ballyhoo was never combative, it was an assist at best. Closed Caption, it let her read the thoughts of everyone around if she needed.

Dee clenched her fists a bit tighter, pigtails comically drooping, "But, Dexter, I could help-"

"Don't be an idiot, Dee Dee!" The aggressiveness to his tone is unintentional, but it makes Dee back down unlike when they were kids. Before they were part of the forces on planet Toone, before things got really bad, "Your Ballyhoo can give us nothing on the battlefield, it can barely give us anything off the battlefield either. You need to stay here to stay safe, monitor the injured, watch the doors, make sure that no is trying to double cross us."

And Dee wants so fucking badly to defy him, to push back, but ever since day one her brother has been the intellectual of the two. She nods, submitting to what she knows to be the truth, proven time and time again by the insanity upon the crashed spaceship. She takes a seat on a spinning chair, "Alright, Dex, please be careful out there. You're our best medic in spite of your Ballyhoo, did you ever realize how destructive it is?"

"My Ballyhoo? Pah! It's naught but my machines, my gadgets, little bombs I place my power in, ticking time bombs to save us all or kill us all," Dex answered without putting any thought behind it, "Mick used his Ballyhoo for evil, he still is, and I'll use mine to fight the good fight." His hand come to rest upon a set of wrenches, flat head and perfectly fitting within his hand. He grabs a set of his small bombs, his little trinkets used to properly and safely activate his Ballyhoo, he'll need them if they come across A Commander.

Dee just nods solemnly, highly aware of the fact that her brother isn't a fan of his Ballyhoo being a weaker version of Mick's. It's detrimental to his sense of being, his sense of identity, that he can be on the good guys team despite the fact his Ballyhoo is just a terrible reminder of what they're facing. That's why he throws himself into medical fields and machinery for defenses, the only way to detach himself from using his power to be a help, "I'll go patch up Felix and Yogi," She snags some of his special edition gauze tape, medication infused within it for good measure.

"Thank you for understanding, Dee," Dex said quietly, raising a gloved hand to readjust his goggles, the other hand stuffing weaponry into his lab coat pockets, "I'll be back, and better yet with some of those chips you keep nagging me about recreating."

"Thanks bro," There's this hoping sweetness on her voice, an innocence despite the fact that everything is falling apart around them.

-/-/-/-

Eyes sting with tears as she watches her brother be wheeled off on life support after the bout with Foghorn Leghorn, the bout that put one of them permanently out of business and the other near fatally wounded. She managed to deface the asshole that hurt her little brother, that nearly killed her little brother, but there was still the problem of the fact she didn't move fast enough. This could be it.

"Like, he'll be fine," Shag tried to console, good hand resting on Dee's shoulder. He sat beside her on the floor of their getaway, their emergency escape whether they failed or succeeded. And they succeeded but at a cost that Dee absolutely hated, an expense that made her feel ill.

She takes staggering breaths, gloved hand raising to run through blonde hair matting with blood. It hurts. Every little thing hurts, talking, breathing, touching her hair, her face hurts so much with how badly Foghorn messed it up. She slumps a little bit further down, "It should've been me."

Shag doesn't answer to fill the radio silence.

"I'm the big sister, and yeah I saved him, but," She stares at the body of her little brother. He's barely breathing. His heart rate is weak. Her breath hitches as she draws a hand to her now bright pink eyes to stifle the tears, "I didn't really save him."

"We'll fix him up, Dee," It's a promise that Shag can't keep, but he makes it anyways.

Dee nods and leans against Shag, "Okay."

#scoob and shag #dee scoob and shag #shag scoob and shag #dex scoob and shag #scoob and shag fanfic #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #IM NOT FUCKING SORRY. THE TWO OTHER SCOOB AND SHAG FANS COME GET YOUR FOOD.

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koedder-du · 7 years

Photo

Vivid in Black and White by @fxckxxp

❝ Isak feels love. And everything is vivid in color. ❞

#skam #skamedit #fxckxxp #isak x even #*#ffr #i would put the entire fic in the caption if i could

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just-some-random-blogger · 3 years

Text

Dude, She's Just Not Into You

Chris Evans x Actress!Reader Summary: You and Chris were lovers in a major motion picture. Beyond that you were great friends off screen. Except no one believed that. Everyone could see how whipped that meatball was for you, except you lol. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: A lot of pining, fluff, also i used Y/N n stuff ASHDHaL:SFHASLHF disgostin, actress au, crack fic lol, etc.

A/N: ayyy I kinda made a another one that kinda could be p2 but not really so if ur into reading it lol here it is

20+ minute YT video captioned: Chris Evans & Y/F/N Test To See How Compatible they are with each other.

It's an all white background and two chairs.

Chris is in a sweater and slacks, as am I.

"Hi, my name is Chris Evans," I say making Chris turn to me and knit his brows mutter, "so who am I?"

I turn to him and examine his soft expression. I place a hand on my jaw and hum in thought. I look at his sweater and I turn back to the camera, "-and today we're going to be seeing how-" Chris laughs softly in the background, "compatible we are."

I turn to the bearded man, "now Ronaldo, I know we're dressed like we're on the same team, but we aren't."

Chris pulls his head back and makes a face. He turns over his shoulder and whispers softly, "are you talking to me? This is awkward."

I snap two fingers at him, "focus, focus, Zhao. You have the attention of a two year old."

Chris begins to look around, "am... am I in the right room?"

"I'm here to prove to everyone that I am the superior Chris Evans because I actually listen to what you have to say--"

He sucks in a sharp breath and straightens his back. He raises his brows and a finger, "aLrIghT, first of all--"

"--quit mansplaining, Johan-- but also the entire film we're in heavily relies on the compatibility we have. Thus if we are found incompatible because of your incompetence, you are the sole reason why this film would have any bad ratings whatsoever."

Chris looks dumbfounded but he eventually sighs, "well, you know what, that seems soundly fair."

I nod, "as it is."

"But your sweater is still ugly," he randomly spurts, making me turn to my white top then to his white top. I stand from my chair and position my arms into a T, "excuse me, this is above my paygrade. My cultured feet will not be insulted by a mildly amusing piece of white bread, thanks."

The comment section of this video:

IM SCREAMING THE VIDEO HASNT EVEN STARTED AND THEYRE ALREADY AT EACH OTHERS THROATS I SWEAR THEIR BICKERING IS A WHOLE MOVIE ITSELF [3k+ likes]

Chris: I- Y/N: absolutely not [1.5k likes]

"I think Y/N is an absolute great person. She's so passionate and kind. Everything she does she puts her heart out. I know how cheesy it is to say, but I have never met someone like her." -chris evans "Imma be real witchu... I don't get it." -y/n freaking y/l/n [5.1k likes] >>>20 REPLIES<<< It do really be like dat sometimes 😔 [1k likes] MS Y/L/N COLLECT UR MAN OR GIVE HIM TO ME THX [2.6k likes]

I love how Chris gets most of the questions right and still is wrong lmao 😂 [200k likes]

OKAY BUT NO ONES TALKING ABOUT HOW SHE GOT ONE ANSWER WRONG BUT IT WAS ACTUALLY STILL RIGHT [61k likes] >>>500 replies<<< Ya'll can't convince me they're not dating. [3k likes] SHe wAs so pressed about it toooo HELLLPPP [2.5k likes] I think they're talking about it now lol [657 likes]

3 minute highlight clip from a solo interview captioned: Y/F/N On 'How Hard' It Was Working With Chris Evans

The scene is set in a red carpet event. Loud ambient noise in the background and infrequent camera flashes.

I'm wearing a one shoulder, sparkly, green tunic dress. I stand in front of an interviewer wearing something quite similar. She starts off with that, "Look at us, we're matching."

I smile back at her and match her enthusiastic tone, "Yeah! Look at us, in the trends. Had we been wearing the same color, someone would have gotten fired."

We share a laugh.

"So tell me how it was working with Chris Evans."

"Horrible," I say with no hesitation. I roll my eyes dramatically and huff, "the dude kept eating my muffins on set. Just because he had unlimited bread options as Captain America doesn't mean he can just steal my french toast too."

"Oh gosh, I had no idea."

"Yeah," sigh, "it's just not right." I look up and pretend to hold back tears. The dear interviewer plays along and pats my shoulder. I shake my head and raise a hand, "no, I'm fine. I just-- I want America to know that that man you love so much, is a glutton for gluten. It's kind of sad to see how much that bright star has faded."

The comment section of this video:

You just can't spell Y/F/N without dramatic. [104k+ likes]

This woman is so extra and I AM HERE FOR IT. QUEEEEEN [15.5k likes]

14 minutes of y/n hating chris & chris proving her otherwise (that's the video)

We're seated next to each other. The interviewer is in front of us and the movie poster behind.

"Do you ever look at someone and say, 'man, that dude is hecka ugly'? Well, folks, that's how I feel when I see him," I say turning to Chris who was already looking at me.

Chris says casually, "I think I'm pretty good looking."

"Well, that's what makes you ugly," I turn to the interviewer, "no one likes a self-aware hot guy."

Chris smiles, keeping his eyes fixed on me, "so you agree?"

--CUT TO--

Same setting, different time and interviewer.

Said interviewer asks, "After working on a film for a year, what has been your favorite thing to do together."

There is a short pause.

Chris answers, "you know, I think I'd say something like having coffee. Like, we would go to cafes and just sit there, read a book, and chill."

"Clearly it was enjoyable because I didn't talk to him at all," I say with a firm nod.

"Says the girl who made me rush into the makeup studio just to tell me that stupid joke she had."

My eyes widen in defense, "Oh well sorry you have no humor. Literally everyone in the makeup department laughed at the joke."

"If I had said the joke you wouldn't have let me live that down."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have said that joke because your a dry piece of-"

--CUT TO--

I'm sitting alone in a studio. The video is in black and white.

"If you could get one trait of Chris Evan's as your own, what would it be and why," I read the question off of a cue card and place it at the back of the deck. "Okay, first of all, I would not touch that man with a 20 foot pole. Okay. Get that on record."

I push the hair out of my face then think for a moment, "second of all, Chris, I think these days, has such a lovable image. You know like, I think before he got his shield, he was type cast as a bad boy, but he really is just a really big, lovable guy, you know. And, I feel like I would want to be someone who feels like that, you know."

The comment section of this video:

Y/N: Chris Evans 🤬👹 💩💢🔪 Also Y/N: Chris Evans 🥰💖🤰✨🌸 [40k+ likes]

5 minute clip: Chris Evans On Dating Rumors with Y/F/N

It's a red carpet event. Chris is in a suit and shades. "So," the interviewer asks Chris, "what do we think of Y/N?"

"Well, we think she's great. She's super talented, super hard working, super funny. She's great."

"Yeah, and we know how playful and wild your interviews can get."

Chris purses his lips in a soft smile and shakes his head, "she's a tough cookie, you know?"

"Do you like tough cookies?"

"I mean, a cookie's a cookie. I like cookies. I like them anyway I can get. You can always eat a harder cookie with milk, so."

"Would you say you're the milk to her cookie?"

Chris breaks into a left booby grab laugh. Once he settle down a bit, "I don't know where this is going but I don't wike it."

"I mean, you two are so comfortable with each other. Haven't you ever thought of dating?"

He sighs and shakes his head. He half-heartedly says, "Wow. I mean, what could I have ever thought about if not dating a tough cookie. Look, hey, let's ask her now."

I am about to pass by him, but I'm so rudely interrupted.

Chris borrows the mic from the interviewer, "have you thought of nothing else but dating me?"

I am, admittedly, taken aback. In a few seconds though, I turn to my shoulder and utter one word, "security."

10+ minute panel interview titled: Love Loop Stars Chris Evans and Y/F/N Interview In New York

"I'm really curious," the interviewer asks, "how did this all start? The bickering, the sarcasm, does it come naturally, or was there a tipping point between you two."

The two of us were laughing at the start of the question, knowing exactly where it was going from the get go.

"Well, I'm honestly a naturally sarcastic person. I think Chris and I have a similar sense of humor, but mostly I just like getting a rise out of him. He's such a confused old man sometimes and it's hilarious, which is why try my darndest to give the world the content they deserve. The PR team actually encourage me."

Chris's shoulders shakes in laughter. He shakes his head in disagreement.

"And how do you feel about her banter?"

"Well," he drags out, "not that I can stop her, but with every sarcastic comment she gives-- although... I do get a little nervous-"

"Wait what?" I turn to him with an incredulous look on my face.

"Well, you know you start thinking."

I roll my eyes, "oh my gosh, you just want me to sing praises on live TV and tell the world how much I love you."

Chris starts getting defensive and raises his hands. Red begins to rise up from his neck to his cheeks.

I continue on anyway, "Okay, ya'll better make sure the cameras are recording because I won't say this as often." I clear my throat, "I-" gag noises, "love Chris Evans."

The room cheers.

It's Chris's turn to stand and bring his arms together into a T, "time out." He disagrees, "this is wayyyy above my pay grade."

3K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

CTRL+ALT+DECEIT

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; oral, fucking, stalking, hacking, threats, implied violence.

This is dark!Jake Jensen x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find your pictures on someone else’s Insta but that’s not the only thing he’s stolen.

Note: Yay, another Jensen fic at last. I’m probably gonna try to work in more one shots between my series. I’m looking at Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, or Lee Bodecker right now for next week but we’ll see.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The chirp of the chat pierced your eardrum once more as you ignored it for the spreadsheet of dates on your other monitor. Working from home could be both peaceful and distracting but the third bing had you muting and pushing your headset to your neck with a grumble. You switched windows as the chat box blinked.

‘So why didn’t u tell me u had a bf?’ Zia’s bubble blipped up followed by impatient emojis.

“Wat r u talking bout?’ you typed back and clicked back to the spreadsheet to update the status of each course. That noise came again and you flipped back.

‘I’m not stupid! Come on. He’s far away but he’s cute.’

You frowned and tapped the space bar lightly. You were utterly confused. The only activity in your daily life were the general notifications from Tindr. You repeated the question and she sent an emoji rolling its eyes.

‘I’m serious.’ you replied.

She sent a link and then a laughing GIF attached to another bubbled response, ‘I’m not buyin it.’

You clicked on the hyperlink and a new tab opened. You scrolled down on the Insta as the air was knocked out of you at the sight of your own face. Not only were their pics taken from your public profile but several you’d never even posted. Your skin crawled and the bing sounded again.

‘So… an online thing huh.’ Zia pressed on.

‘I gotta work.’ you closed out of the window entirely but stayed on the Insta.

You scrolled through about a dozen or so selfies of you, each labeled as ‘missing my lady’ or ‘she’s so sweet, sending me pics to keep me company’. Your stomached roiled with mortification and the unsettling sensation of intrusion. It was easy enough to guess you’d been hacked but to think this was what the creep did with it was even more startling.

You changed the password on your Insta and went through the process of doing so with all of your accounts and ran a scan on your PC. You would likely have to file a ticket for a proper inspection with a specialist. You couldn’t help but shake as you went back to the profile after checking your bank account and PayPal to make sure it wasn’t worse than just pics.

You went back to the profile and found photos of the culprit. His spiky blond hair and glasses were unsurprising and his comic book tee shirt was even less. Your disgust was quickly replaced with anger as you hit the chat icon above his info.

‘Hey, jackass, care to tell me how you have my photos on your profile?!’

The read icon appeared almost and you saw him typing. It stopped and then started again.

‘You’re so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.’

You scoffed at the message and cringed at the screen. ‘Are you nuts? Like actually. You stole my photos! You hacked me. Creep.’

You blocked him immediately after hitting send and logged out. You opened Excel again and tried to focus on the coloured cells. You could hardly process what you were doing as your phone began to vibe on the corner of your desk. It didn’t let up and you couldn’t focus past the incessant buzzing.

You snatched it up and several messages covered the screen as you unlocked it. ‘You really think that’s gonna work’; ‘You can’t block me’... several in a similar vein that you deleted before blocking the number. You silenced your phone and turned back to your monitor.

Suddenly the screen went black and you blinked. You hit the keyboard and clicked, assuming it fell asleep. It lit up again but all you saw was yourself staring back. Your mouth fell open and you ripped the clip-on cam from atop your monitor. You disconnected it as the notepad opened and typing flicked up across the white space.

‘I didn’t want it to be like this.’

You could move the mouse or backspace. All control was lost and you sat there helplessly watching the scrawl.

‘I think we’d be really good together if you only gave me a chance. Can’t you see I worship you?’

Your phone began to shake constantly and a private number flashed. You picked it up and hollered into the speaker, “leave me alone”. You hung up but it kept on and your screen turned to black once more. Your PC was still on but there was no reaction from the machine.

Fuck, you sat back and looked at your phone. You couldn’t even call work to tell them because the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing. You put your head in your hands and grunted in frustration. How the fuck did all this happen?

🖱️

After your initial panic died down, you disconnected your tower and shut off your phone. You left your cell behind as it was just as useless. You hauled the PC down to IT at your work and filled out the ticket without giving intricate details on everything the weirdo had taken.

You left with a borrowed laptop. You wouldn’t sign into your personal accounts and stick to the company portal. You were embarrassed but happy to have a temporary solution. You got home and set up the new computer and reconfigured your wi-fi. You finished the last of the day’s work and ended the day with a glass of wine.

When you dared to turn your phone on again the next morning, it was filled with notifications from all platforms but each one you clicked on errored and prompted you to sign-in. All your new passwords were wrong and you knew it was him.

You checked the Insta and found a screenshot on his profile from the day before, your mouth agape in horror that could easily mistaken for surprise.

‘Her face when you pop the question on the call’. The caption made your stomach curdle and you nearly flung the phone away. You couldn’t comment without logging in or message. So you created a shell account with a throwaway email you used on Reddit.

‘Why won’t you stop?’ you sent the message through as you waited for your coffee to brew.

‘Stop what?’ he added a winky face with his reply and you growled.

‘You know who this is! Why are you doing this?’

‘Hmmm…’ he let the message hang there and you sat down with your mug and listened to the birds outside. ‘Imagine what someone else would do with everything I have.’

‘Look at what you’re doing. You’re ruining my life.’

‘Ruining? Sweetie, I’m watching over you. Protecting you.’

Your nostrils flared and you burnt your tongue on the coffee and planted it on the table so it sloshed over the sides.

‘Love you, sweetie. See ya soon.’

The chat box turned grey as you realised he blocked you. That pissed you off more than anything and you lobbed your phone away with a shout of anguish. This guy was fucked!

You were shaking so much you couldn’t even drink your coffee. You got up and paced until you could think straight. You dialed into work and told them you were taking the day off for a personal emergency and shut down your phone. You were too afraid he would find a way onto your work laptop and you didn’t want to have to explain that to IT too.

🖱️

Zia showed up on Saturday and she wasn’t happy. She buzzed up and banged on your door impatiently. You let her in and she crossed her arms over the strap of her purse as she crooked her hip.

“I know I shouldn’t have snooped but if you’re mad at me, you should’ve just said so. I would’ve backed off,” she scowled.

“I’m not mad,” you said as you backed into the front room and dragged your feet over the rug.

“Sure, you’re just ignoring all my messages by accident,” she stayed at the other side of the room.

“Not exactly, no,” you shrugged, “it’s a long story.”

“And you couldn’t shoot me a message to say that at least?”

“Look, I’m stressed the fuck out. I’m sorry but the only reason I didn’t answer you is because I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t even turn my phone on anymore.”

“What--”

“Just--” you touched your temples, “I don’t even know how to explain--”

“Jesus, are you okay?” her anger slaked away as her voice softened.

“No, I’m not,” you sniffed, “I’ve been trapped in this apartment and I can’t think straight and I can’t even talk to anyone because my phone and my life is totally fucked.”

“How about we get a coffee and you can tell me once you’ve calmed down,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up.”

“You don’t know how bad it is. I really fucked up,” you whined, “I don’t even know how it happened.”

“Is this about the boyfriend?”

You huffed and shook your head, “I told you, he’s not my boyfriend-- Let me get dressed.”

After you felt presentable enough to leave the apartment, the thought of getting away ushered you down the winding stairwell and onto the sidewalk. You and Zia walked down to the cafe on the corner where you always overspent on their specialty drink and caught up.

You ordered but when you tried to use your card, the machine beeped in rejection. You tried again but still no luck. Zia offered to pay and you promised you’d pay her back. Anxiety pitted deep in your stomach as you sat. You’d have to call the bank and figure out why eight dollars would bounce.

“So,” Zia said as she shaded her eyes against the sunlight streaming onto the open patio, “he’s not your boyfriend?”

“I don’t even know the dude,” you hissed as you almost overturned your cup, “Zee, those pictures, they were all on my phone. I never sent them to anyone. I don’t even know his real name and when I confronted him, he crashed my whole system and blew up my phone. I haven’t been able to log into anything because of him.”

“You’re shitting me,” she chuckled.

“Zee, I’m not fucking kidding,” you blinked, “don’t you think if I was dating some dude out in who knows where, you’d be the first to know? You think I’m wasting my time with the idiots on Tindr for fun?”

“No way,” she scoffed.

“Zia, look me in the eye,” you said as you gave her a stern look, “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

You sat back and closed your eyes. You were so swept up in the panic, you hadn’t even thought. You could report it to the police, just get a record of it even if they didn’t do anything else. You heard horror stories of hackers and how little could be done but you had to at least try.

“I guess I should go down to the station today,” you ran your fingertips along your chin, “I don’t know, I felt so alone, I thought--”

“And call your bank right now,” she slid her phone over, “figure out what’s going on with your accounts.”

You took her cell and dialed the number on the back of the card. You dragged your finger down the side of your cup as you listened to the automated message and hit the buttons to direct you to customer service. The hold song bubbled in your head and finally picked up as you finished the last of your mocha.

You explained the issue after giving your information as Zia sat patiently across from you. She watched the other patrons and looked out across the street as you waited on the representative on the other end.

“Looks like your account has been locked. Your savings and checking have been placed on hold citing possible fraud,” the woman explained.

“Well, can’t you unlock them? Why would they be flagged?”

“Hmm, well I see no suspicious spending so possibly… it could be due to an external lock, not us.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t speak to that. Have you received any communications from the Revenue service?”

“Revenue service? I don’t--no,” you gulped.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can tell you,” she said, “you should consider contacting federal services.”

You hung up and handed Zia her phone back. “Apparently, I’m under investigation for fraud? I don’t know.”

“Shit,” she took her cell, “are you sure?”

“It sounded like it but-- I gotta check my credit card,” you stood and grabbed your empty cup and your purse.

You stormed down the street to the ATM at the corner and inserted your card. LOCKED the machine made a hideous noise and you pulled out your card in irritation. You put your wallet and touched the sides of your neck as the heat swelled through you.

“I don’t understand--”

“Um, you should see this,” Zia said.

Zia turned her screen towards you and your heart dropped to your toes. There was a picture softened by a blush Insta filter and the caption read, ‘just got into town, surprising bae with flowers’. Over the cluster of petals at the bottom of the image were you and Zia sitting at the cafe patio.

You spun and searched around for any sign of the man and the bouquet. You could hardly breath as it felt like you were being squished between invisible walls. You clapped your hand against the wall and steadied yourself as Zia gently rubbed your arm.

“Let’s go to the station,” you croaked as tears welled in your eyes, “please.”

🖱️

The police told you everything you expected. Even as you showed them the photos and explained how you never met that man in your life, they only offered you words on a piece of paper. They’d file the report and follow-up in case of any further escalation. It was a non-answer, a cold shrug.

Zia went home with you as she offered to stay the night. You gladly accepted and the two of you cozied up on your bed and spent the night watching early 00s rom coms. You found it hard to relax even with her there. You couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d been without you even knowing.

You at last began to doze off as Reese Witherspoon triumphed and exhausted by the endless maelstrom of dread, you slipped into a deep but perilous sleep. You were locked in limbo between waking and slumber, almost as if you could hear everything around you but remained blind and unknowing all the same.

You woke with a start as you felt like you were falling. You sat up and reached to the other side of the bed. Zia was gone. She must have got up to get water or use the bathroom. You took a breath and turned your legs over the edge. You got up groggily and lumbered across the room, your mouth dry and head aching. Some tylenol and water would do you well.

You hesitated as you noticed the bloom of light just around the corner from your doorway. Zia must be having trouble sleeping, you guessed as you kept on. As you came in sight of the front room, you heard a whimper and you backed up against the wall as tall figure stood before the coffee table. The flowers laid across the wood, slightly crumpled from a struggle.

As Zia whined, he jabbed her with his foot and she grunted around the rag tied around her mouth. Her arms and legs were bound behind her as the man loomed over her. You recognized his blond hair and glasses, the menacing blue eyes as he raised his chin and crossed his arms.

“Been waiting on you,” he stepped over her, “I was disappointed when I realised it was her. Good friend though, hanging around…”

“Don’t hurt her, please. What do you want?”

“You can’t figure that out?” he taunted, “huh, I’m sure you can guess what it will take for me to leave her in one piece.”

Zia wiggled and received another boot. You pushed yourself forward and he stepped closer, predatory as he dropped his arms and clenched then unclenched his fists. He chuckled as you stopped short and gaped up at him.

“She’s cute,” he said, “she can join us if that makes it easier for you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snarled and winced as he reached out to touch your cheek. You fought not to shove him away, your eyes on Zia’s bound figure.

“Play nice and I will,” he warned, “every time I hurt her, that’s on you. I wish I didn’t have to do this to show you how much I love you.”

You shook your head as your lip trembled. He pressed his palms to your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips. He leaned in and you cowered as you realised how big he was. You didn’t expect that looking at him from the other side of a screen.

“Do we put on a show for her or did you want a little privacy?”

“You won’t get away with this,” you hissed.

“Oh yeah? I locked you out of your social media, your pc, your bank… do you really want to see how far I can take this?”

He smothered your murmured answer with his mouth and kissed you gruffly. He pulled away and looked you in the eye. He bit his lip and hummed.

“So, do we do this here?”

“You’re sick,” you grabbed his hand and wrenched it away from your face. You yanked him and directed him to the bedroom, “you monster.”

“Now come on,” he twisted his wrist around and grabbed your elbow, “I could’ve killed her. Don’t think I won’t.”

You quivered as he forced you back into your bedroom, the street lights casting shadows between your curtains. He flung you ahead of him, as strong as his thick arms would suggest. You stumbled and caught yourself on the side of the bed. You turned as the door slammed and he prowled towards you like a wild cat.

“Well,” he threw his hands up and you caught a glint of light against the lens of his glasses, “you want me to undress you or you think you can handle that, sweetie?”

You puffed in repulsion and looked away from him. Even in the dark, you could feel his eyes on you. You jittered as you reached to the neck of your loose tee and slowly raised it over your head. You dropped it to crumple on the floor and you touched the top of your shorts. You heard him moving around and shied away as he flipped the switch and light shone across the room.

You pushed down your shorts as you heard a thump from the next room. His jaw twitched as his eyes lingered on you and he reluctantly glanced away. He swung the door open and stormed out into the front room. You went to the door and heard his snarl.

“Stop fucking moving,” he rasped, “every time I have to tell you, I’ll pop another out.”

Zia gave a muffled sob as you heard a sickly crack and you hurried to look around the wall into the room. He blocked your sight with his broad chest and pointed you back to the room.

“I didn’t say you could leave the room,” he spun you and slapped your bare ass, “fast, fast, fast… before I lose my patience.”

Your skin stung from the strike and you tripped through the doorway as he followed quickly. Another slam and he poked you further into the room with his knuckle. You stepped away from him and tried to cover yourself as you faced him in horror.

He quickly swooped his shirt over his head and revealed a buff chest thick with blond hair. He kicked off his shoes and fumbled to undo his fly. He tilted his head as he looked you over and groped himself through his jeans.

“You know what to do,” he said, “I’ve seen the way you touch yourself… cyber security 101, cover your webcam.”

You shuddered as he beckoned you closer. He stopped you and put your hands on the waist of his jeans. He leaned in and nuzzled your temple as his hot breath seeped into your goosebumped skin.

“My turn,” he pushed on your hands until you pulled down the denim on your own strength.

He stepped out of his jeans and snapped the elastic of his boxers. You stood and latched onto those shakily. He ran his fingers along your arms as you pulled them past his erection and they fell to the floor with a whisper. You didn’t look down, instead staring past him as his hand swept up to cup your tits.

His fingers crawled up your chest and his hands wrapped around your neck. He squeezed and turned you so that your back was to the bed. He marched you backwards as you felt his dick bobbing between your bodies. You gasped as he pushed you down onto your mattress, your legs dangling over the edge as he came up to straddle you.

“Such a good girl,” he taunted, “look at you… I bet you’re wet already.”

He pulled a hand away and stroked his length as he raised himself on his knees. He clung to your neck as he leaned over you and planted his hand on the bed above you. He hovered his dick over your head and you closed your eyes.

“Put it in your mouth,” he ordered, “now, or I’m putting it in your ass.”

You reached up blindly and angled his tip against your lips. He dipped his hips down and you choked as he prodded at your throat. Your legs twitched as he forced his cock past your gag reflex and your whole body tensed at the intrusion.

He balanced on the hand above your head and the one on your neck. He thrust harder and harder as sloppy sucking reverberated around the room between his dark groans.

“That’s it,” he purred, “look at you taking my cock. I can only imagine how tight that cunt of yours is.”

Your eyes welled and you flicked your lashes as you tried to bat them away. You kept your hand at the base of his dick as you tried to ease his motion. He ignored your reluctance and only delved deeper as he brought himself to his limit, your lips touching the fuzz along his pelvis.

When you couldn’t breath, you slapped his hard stomach and he reared out of you abruptly. You coughed up spit as he sat back on his heels and released you. He huffed as he looked down at his glistening dick and climbed off of you.

“Stand up, turn around,” he snarled as his eyes flashed.

His glasses were low on his nose and he slipped them off entirely and folded them up on your night table. He squinted as he watched you stand and turn stiffly. He smacked his hand in the middle of your back and pushed you over impatiently. He stepped closer and tapped his tip against your cunt as you were exposed to him.

He bent his legs and poked along your slick folds. You were wet enough for him to glide in and fill you up completely. He was so big it was painful and you arched your back as you tried to take it. He pulled back and slammed into you harshly. You let out a garble and he repeated the motion, taking you off your feet.

He leaned over you and grabbed your knees, lifting them on the bed as he urged you forward. His hand brushed up over your ass and he pressed between your shoulder blades until your face was flush to the mattress, your arms bent around you like a broken doll.

He thrust again and the loud slap made you wince. He jerked his hips roughly until he found his motion, rutting into you with hissy breaths as his other hand groped your ass. He hummed as your body shook before him, ruled by his touch as your walls clenched him.

He pushed his thumb down between your cheeks and circled your asshole. You strained and lifted your head in alarm. His other hand quickly stretched over your crown and pinned your face to the bed. He felt along your cunt and slickened his thumb before trailing back to your puckered ring.

He pushed lightly at first and as he broke through you gasped and whined. You gripped the blankets as he moved his thumb in and out of you, his hips still rocking steadily into you. He slid his thumb out entirely and prodded with two fingers instead. Before you could react, he forced them inside and you cried out in surprise and pain.

“I know you want it, sweetheart,” he groaned, “I can feel…” he kept fucking you, “I can fucking hear it.”

Your holes tightened around you as he carried the pace. A new pressure began to bloom inside of you, unlike anything you’d felt before. The burning in your ass and the stretching of your cunt mingled to an agonized bliss. You sobbed into the blankets as you came uncontrollably around him, shamed by the unwanted release.

“Fuck,” he drew out the word as both his hand and his hips sped up, “look at you cumming for me. Cumming for this creep.”

You moaned and curled your fingers around the duvet tighter. You felt the same knotting deep inside and you came again as he reached a tantamount. This time, you gushed around his cock and felt the deluge down your thighs as the noise grew wetter and louder.

“Look at you, sweetheart, you can’t handle it, can you?” He snorted as he sucked in a breath suddenly and his hips staggered.

He pushed his fingers deeper and kept them there as he fucked you as hard as he could. He slammed into your cunt over and over. Your hips throbbed with each tilt of his pelvis and you smothered your cries as you felt him coat your walls in his release.

He stopped just as suddenly and dragged his fingers out of your ass. He leaned against you until your legs collapsed and fell onto you with a sigh. He covered your body with his as his shallow breaths hazed around you.

Your own heart raced as you stretched your arms out stiffly and quivered. You tried to pull yourself from beneath him. He kept you pinned under his weight and jolted you with a cruel thrust.

“Oh, we’re not done, sweetheart,” he muttered along the shell of your ear, “not even close.”

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #one shot #the losers #dc

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr robot #rami malek

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electricbarnes · 3 years

Text

tell me you still see me

steve rogers x reader

summary: steve has been working a lot lately. you begin to have doubts about your relationship.

↳ songs i listened to for inspiration

wc: 5.9k | warnings: some angst, overthinking, self-doubt, implied smut

note: this is a repost from my old account that was deleted. so if it’s familiar, that’s why! i wasn’t planning on reposting but i read it over and decided why not. i have another steve fic that i’m almost done with, so i wanted to post this in the meantime. i made a few minor edits. i hope you like it! and if you decide to reread it, thank you x1000 !!

You arrive at your apartment, hands filled with groceries for the week. You struggle to open the door with the many bags on your arms, but eventually make it inside. You kick off your heels and set the bags down on the kitchen counter. After freeing your hands, you reach into your purse to find your phone. You unlock it and tap on the first name at the top of your recent calls.

The phone rings for a bit before you hear the sound of your boyfriend’s voice saying “Hello”.

“Oh my god Steve, you’re never gonna believe what I saw at the store just now,” you say, thinking of the wild thing you witnessed during your shopping trip. It’s not everyday that you see someone throw themselves into a cereal box display. It was a hilarious sight and you just wanted to tell someone about it.

“So, I was just strolling through the isles looking for some snacks when a-” you’re cut off before getting too into the story.

“Honey, can this wait? I’m about to go into a mission briefing,” Steve says in a hushed tone. Immediately, you feel guilty for interrupting him while he’s busy. It was well into the evening and you had assumed he wouldn’t be working.

“Oh, uh yeah of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” you apologize.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you, “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, talk to you later then.”

The phone beeps, indicating the call was over. You sigh and go back to the task of putting your groceries away.

You decide to lounge around the rest of the day, trading your work clothes for some comfy sweats and a tee shirt. You spend the night mindlessly scrolling through social media while reruns of some sitcom play on the tv. You even send Steve a few memes here and there. You’re not really sure if he’ll understand them but they reminded you of him.

After eating a late dinner, you channel surf for a bit before putting on a random movie. When the movie finishes, it’s nearly 11pm and you realize that Steve hasn’t called you back. You pick up your phone, tempted to call him but decide it’s better to wait till tomorrow. He hasn’t replied to your texts, so there’s a chance he’s still busy despite the late hour.

Unfortunately for you, being a superhero is a full time job, which means that Steve can be busy at any moment of any day. You knew this going into a relationship with thee Captain America. To be fair though, you didn’t think you’d actually get to know the super soldier like you do now.

When you met Steve, he was just some handsome guy at the park who helped you with directions when you were visibly lost. You ended up seeing him at the park again a couple days later. Recognizing you, he stopped and asked if you wanted to get a coffee. Who were you to deny this man?

You spent two hours in a café getting to know each other before exchanging numbers. In hindsight, his vague answers about his career were a little suspicious. It wasn’t until you went home that night and saw a picture of Steve in a tweet captioned “idc that captain america is like 100 yrs old, he can still get it 😍”.

Needless to say, you were shocked. While you were feeling dumb for not recognizing him sooner, you also wondered why he didn’t say anything. After an awkward confrontation about the subject, he explained how he didn’t want you to go out with him just because he was Captain America. You were quick to ease his worries and reassure him that you were interested in Steve for Steve, not for his heroic persona.

Since then, your relationship with Steve has been nothing but amazing. He was always so sweet with you, taking you on simple but romantic dates. There was something about that 40s charm that was so endearing. You loved the small things, like how he would always open the door for you or how he would bring you flowers on each date. It was so easy to talk to him about anything and everything. You felt like he was not only your boyfriend, but also your best friend.

There were times where you wondered why he ever picked you, an average person compared to the super people he’d work with everyday. He could’ve had anyone he wanted. Steve would say that you were like his sanctuary from the hectic world of being an Avenger. It meant a lot to you that you could be that person for him. You thought he deserved some peace after everything he’s been through. He wanted to protect you from the evil that inherently came with the job, which you understood, so he rarely spoke about the missions he’d go on. The less you knew the better. Though sometimes, you would wish he’d open up more about what was going on while he was away. Especially since he would be gone for days on end.

It was only a month into your relationship that you realized how hard it’d be when he would leave to be Captain America. It was his first time leaving for a mission that lasted longer than a day. He had to spend a week in some place on the other side of the world with no way of contacting him. Of course, you were worried the entire time he was gone. Despite trying to distract yourself with work and personal tasks, Steve was always at the forefront of your mind.

You had never felt such relief than the day he called you after a whole week of silence. Steve had even asked you shyly if he could come over that night. You felt butterflies in your stomach when he told you that he needed to see you. It was the first time he had spent the night at your place. Having Steve’s arms wrapped around you the entire night just felt right. You knew as early as then that you loved him.

Over the year that you had been together, those long missions became easier to manage. You’d always trust that he’d come back to you in one piece. Steve would sometimes feel guilty about being away for so long that he’d try to make it up to you by taking you on an extraordinary date. But you always assured him that you were happy to just be with him, even if it was just something like the two of you watching a movie at your place.

Lately, Steve has been more distant with you. You’ve chalked it up to the fact that there’s a literal distance between you two since he’s moved upstate to the newly built Avengers compound. Before, he was just a short drive away from the Avengers tower to your apartment. Now, he’s hours away from you. There were discussions of you moving in with him, but your job was in the city and you couldn’t leave that behind.

You both decided to make the best of the situation, calling and texting whenever possible. FaceTiming was the usual occurrence throughout the week, often before bed. You’d tell him about your day in the office and he’d tell you about the new recruits he would train. On the weekends, he’d stay over at your place. It was rare that you’d stay at the compound. Steve said he’d preferred your apartment, claiming it was homier than the compound. Plus, you’d actually have some privacy.

For a long time, it had been a good system. You love Steve and did anything to make the relationship work because he’s worth it. Yet, you couldn’t help the lonely nights where you wondered if he felt the same.

Calls were less frequent. Texts were unanswered. Weekend plans were cancelled because Steve would be assigned to missions during those days. You’d understand, of course. He’s out there saving people! You can’t fault him for that, but it doesn’t stop you from missing him.

Now, it had been almost two weeks since you’d last seen him in person. You had texted him throughout the day, but texting wasn’t his favorite thing. Texts were usually reserved for quick check-ins and reminders of I love you’s. He preferred calling and you did too, hearing his voice was much better.

After learning that he had been back from a short mission, you texted him.

You: FaceTime later? ☺️

You were eager to see him, even if it was through a screen. You were just hoping he had the time.

Steve ♡: Sure.

Later that night, you sat on your bed with your laptop, opening up FaceTime. After a few rings, Steve’s face appears on the screen. A smile immediately breaks out on your face.

“Hi babe!” you say cheerily, finally getting to see your boyfriend after what felt like forever.

“Hi honey,” he says with a soft smile.

Your smile dims a bit, eyebrows furrowing when you recognize the background. “Are you still in your office?” It was pretty late and you assumed he’d be in bed by now.

“Yeah, I was finishing up on some mission reports,” he explains, shuffling some papers on his desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you’d be done by now,” you apologize, recalling the last time you had interrupted him from his work.

“No, no” he waves his hand, “I thought I’d be done by now too, but it’s a lot more than I expected.”

You frown at the thought of your boyfriend overworking himself. You want to ask him about it, but you know he’ll say what he always does when you ask about his missions: It’s classified.

“You’re not stressing yourself out too much, are you Steve?” you ask, concern evident in your voice. Even through the hazy quality of the webcam, you can see the tired look in his eyes.

“Never,” he says with a smirk.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” you say with a teasing tone.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about honey,” he reassures you. “Besides, I wanna know what you’ve been up to.”

You scoff, “well, it’s definitely not nearly exciting as your week must’ve been.”

“I still wanna know,” he says with that boyish grin you love.

Steve always knew how to make those butterflies appear. You end up telling him about the incident you witnessed at the store which makes him laugh as he imagines the odd sight. He tells you about a prank Tony pulled on him and Sam and you beg him to send you the recording of it. He refuses, but you know you’ll get your hands on the footage eventually. Things felt normal again, just talking to him.

“So I was mixing the dough and halfway through I realized I completely forgot about the eggs,” you were in the middle of telling him about the new recipe you ended up ruining earlier this week.

Steve hums in response. You notice him looking to the side, not looking at the screen and you hear the sound of typing.

“and then a blue monster broke into my apartment,” you make up in an attempt to get his attention.

“Mhmm”

“and he stole all the cookies,” you continue.

“Hmm”

“Steve,”

Silence.

“Steve,” you say with a little more force.

“Huh?” he finally looks up at the screen.

“You’re not listening to me,” disappointment laces your voice.

“I was,” he quickly defends but you don’t buy it.

“Uh huh,” you cross your arms and lean back against your headboard. “What was I talking about?”

Steve glances elsewhere, not meeting your eyes when he mumbles “something about a party?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “yeah, like 10 minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry honey, I was listening, really… but these reports need to be done,” he says with an apologetic look on his face.

You couldn’t stay mad at him, but you did feel hurt that he would pretend to listen rather than just telling you something.

“Okay,” you sigh. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

He must notice the disappointment on your face because he apologizes once more.

“I’ll make it up to you honey,” he promises.

“Are you coming this weekend?” you ask hopefully. He couldn’t come last weekend and you were missing him terribly.

“Of course,” he gives you a tired smile that you return.

“Okay, finish those reports and get some sleep,” you instruct, emphasizing the last part.

“Yes ma’am,” he raises his hand, mock saluting you which makes you giggle.

“Goodnight Stevie, I love you,”

“Love you too sweetheart”

The call ends and you go to bed with a smile on your face.

The rest of the week goes by quickly. You’re excited to get to the weekend because that means you can finally see your boyfriend, in person! Not just behind some screen. It’s been almost three weeks since the last time he came over and you miss his touch.

It was Friday afternoon and you were sitting at a small table in the cafe you frequent, taking a lunch break. Halfway through your break, you got a call from Steve. You were a little surprised to see his picture pop up on your phone since you’re usually the one to call him. Nevertheless, you smiled and answered “Hi babe.”

“Hey honey,” he greets.

“I’m glad you called, I was thinking of picking up a few things from the store after work today. Do you need anything?”

“Uh… about that,” he says in a low voice. Your heart immediately sinks, already knowing what he’s going to say next.

“You’re not coming.” A statement, not a question.

“I’m sorry honey. A mission came up and we leave tonight,” he explains and you almost want to laugh. Of course he’s leaving again.

“How long?” you ask. Maybe it’s just for a day and he can still come on Saturday or even Sunday.

“Two days… maybe three,”

You take a moment to process his words. Part of you saw this coming. It seemed too good to be true that you’d finally have him all to yourself. You glance up, trying to fight the sudden feeling of tears in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in the middle of a busy café.

“There’s… there isn’t a chance you can skip this one?” you hesitantly ask. Normally, you’d just accept it, but your patience was running thin. This is the second time in a row he’s cancelled on you.

“You know I can’t. This is important,” he says it so sternly, like he doesn’t realize he’s breaking your heart. The missions are always important. More important than you.

“Yeah, but you’ve been working nonstop. I mean, don’t you want a break? Aren’t there others who can go instead?” you argue, voice raising.

“Y/N, I’m going. I have to,” he insists, leaving no room for an argument. You knew how stubborn Steve could be, so you knew he wasn’t going to change his mind on this. Rationally, you knew he probably had no choice in the matter but you took a chance anyways.

“Okay,” you relent.

You can hear Steve sigh before saying, “I’ll make it up to you.”

He’s been saying that a lot lately, but you know they’re empty promises.

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he says much softer than his previous tone.

“Love you too,” you say back, but your heart hurts.

Before you met Steve, sleeping alone wasn’t so bad. Some nights you would be on your phone, scrolling through social media till you eventually got sleepy. Other times, you’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about your day and mentally planning the next. Too often you found yourself overthinking about something you did, something you wish you could change. Or you would be anxious about something coming up, running through different scenarios of how it’d go. For some reason, your mind wouldn’t let you succumb to the sleep that your body desperately needed. But you were used to it.

Then Steve came along and he’d be there to ease your mind. On the nights he would stay over, sleep came much easier. There would still be nights where your mind kept you awake, but Steve would be lying right next to you. You’d be on his chest, his hand soothingly rubbing your back as you told him about that meeting you were nervous about or how you got in trouble by your boss for a simple mistake. Steve would assure that everything would be okay and you found it easy to believe him.

He always knew when you needed a distraction from your worries, bringing up mundane things like last night’s baseball game or telling you about the modern music he actually started to like. Sometimes, he’d tell you a story from his life in the 40s. Stories like how his friend Bucky would drag him all over town, trying to find a date for the evening. Or about that time he had to star in an action movie when he just started out as Captain America (which you made a mental note to find later on Youtube). You loved hearing about Steve’s old life, curious about what made him into the man you love today.

Sometimes he’d just entertain your wild thoughts, especially when you’re half asleep. Conversations like how different life would be if dinosaurs never went extinct or if flat earth conspiracists were right. You’d be lying with your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist while you mumbled any thoughts that came to mind. He’d listen till he heard your soft snores and he’d give you a gentle kiss on your head before he’d fall asleep too.

Then there would be nights where words would rarely be spoken. A night of soft moans as he took care of your body in ways only he knew how. He’d whisper praises, drawing out moans from you as he hit all the right spots. It was always different and exciting. You never knew what to expect, but he would always be so loving. You’d always stay close, basking in the afterglow.

After having the comfort of Steve in the night, the times he’s not there feel a lot lonelier than before.

Like now, you’ve got your eyes closed but you’re not sleeping. Your thoughts seem louder than ever and they’re all about Steve. It probably doesn’t help that you decided to wear one of his tee shirts to bed, the faint smell of him making you miss him even more. After he cancelled on you (again) this past weekend, you started to wonder if he even wanted to see you at all.

You want to be mad at him, but how can you be? He’s Captain America! He has a responsibility that he can’t ignore, not even for his girlfriend. Lately, you can’t help but be worried at how many missions he’s been going on. To make matters worse, you’re left in the dark about all of it. He says it’s safer if you don’t know. You just have to trust him and trust that he needs to go.

But what if he doesn’t actually need to? What if he wants to go so he doesn’t have to see you. Okay, that’s extreme, but it’s a possibility? It seems like he doesn’t even want to talk to you at all sometimes. You’re always the one texting and calling. It’s never really him unless it’s to let you down (again). Maybe you’re just being needy. Were you asking for too much? Are you overreacting? Probably. But it’s normal to be upset about not seeing your boyfriend for weeks, right?

You shake your head, trying to get rid of these thoughts. You pick up your phone from the nightstand. The clock reads 3:12am. You unlock your phone and open your messages to see the last few texts Steve sent.

Steve ♡: I’m sorry.

You: just be safe

—

Steve ♡: I’m back.

You: okay

Your thumb hovers over the call button for a good bit, contemplating if you want to bother him so late at night. Before you can overthink it, you hit the button. You turn to lay on your side with the phone against your ear, anxiously waiting for the ringing to stop.

“Hello,” Steve answers, voice deep and filled with sleep. You feel guilty for waking him up, but at the same time feel relief at the sound of his voice.

“Hi,” you say shyly. Honestly, you weren’t expecting him to actually pick up. You were prepared to just leave a voicemail.

“Is something wrong?” he mumbles.

“No, no. There’s nothing wrong… I just…” you can feel the heat rising in your face, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. “I just miss you,” you say quietly, not even sure if he’s heard you.

You can hear the shuffling of sheets.

“I miss you too sweetheart,” he says and it warms your heart for a moment, “and as much as I wanna talk right now, I have to be up in a couple hours for a mission.”

“Oh,” the small smile you had on your face quickly disappears. You had no idea he was leaving again even though he just got back the day before.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay hon?” he says tiredly.

You feel a lump in your throat forming but you push past it, “yeah… yeah, of course.”

“Love you,”

“Love you too,” you practically whisper.

The phone call ends and the tears start to slide down your face. You didn’t have the energy to fight them anymore.

The last call you had with Steve a few days ago left you torn between logic and your emotions. You knew he was just tired, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between you two. In the past, he never seemed to mind talking to you, even in the odd hours of the morning. You always believed that you guys were so in sync. It seemed like he knew when you needed comfort and would be there to provide it.

You would be able to tell when something was off with Steve and though you would always offer to talk about it, he would brush it off. Thinking back to it, maybe he never really opened up to you for a reason.

You began to question if you are more invested in this relationship than he is. It feels wrong to even think so, considering how sweet and caring he is, especially with you. But everyone has their limits, right? Maybe he’s just gotten tired of you. It’s clear that work is his number one priority right now, maybe he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend anymore. He always makes promises of making it up to you another time, but maybe there will never be another time.

The thought of him leaving completely sends a pang of hurt to your heart.

You: can we talk?

You had sent Steve that text what felt like forever ago, but in reality has only been 20 minutes. You had spent that time repeating in your head what you were going to tell him while you paced back and forth around your living room. You were going to ask for a break. You didn’t want to break up with him completely, no, but you thought that this would be better in the long run. You’re hoping a break will give him the space he needs and then you guys can go back to the way you were. You figured it was better to let him focus on being a hero. You didn’t want to become the clingy girlfriend that he’d eventually resent.

You had no idea how he would react. Maybe he would agree. It’ll be tough, but every couple goes through something like this, right? Sure, it’s a special circumstance with you dating an Avenger, but other people have busy partners. You wonder how they manage a relationship when they don’t see each other so often. Maybe you were giving up too easily? But you’re tired of feeling pushed aside, like you aren’t his priority when he’s at the top of your list. You’re tired of feeling guilty for being upset when he can’t come see you. You’re just tired of feeling like you’re losing him.

Just as you start to doubt your whole plan, your ringtone breaks the silence. You pick up your phone with a shaky hand and tap on the answer button.

“Hello,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the nervous tone of your voice.

“Hey honey, you wanted to talk?”

“Uh, yeah…” you reply, already struggling to keep your voice even.

“Is everything alright?” he’s concerned and you can imagine the look on his face.

“Yeah…yeah,” you lie, “I uh… I just wanted to talk… about us.”

“Listen honey, I’m sorry about last week but it was really-“ he begins to apologize, but you shake your head, not wanting to hear another excuse.

“It’s more than that Steve,” you interrupt.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you hesitate, trying to gather your thoughts. “Do you realize it’s almost been a month since we’ve last seen each other?”

There’s a pause before he answers, “…I didn’t know it had been so long.”

“Do you even care?” you ask, voice giving in to the mix of anger and sadness you feel. The tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“Of course I care, you know I do” he defends.

“Do I though?” you question. The rehearsed words you mentally prepared are long gone. “…I’ve been sitting here thinking of what I’m doing wrong because I feel like something’s changed between us.”

“What are you talking about?” he sounds genuinely confused, “Nothing’s changed.”

“Steve… we don’t talk like we used to, I barely get to see you. I miss you all the time.”

“I know I’ve been working a lot lately,“ he acknowledges.

“And I don’t blame you for that,” you clarify.

“I know how important your job is, but… but I’m feeling a little left out here,” your voice cracks at the end. You wipe the few tears that started to fall down your face. “I mean, I feel like I barely know that part of your life. You’re gone most of the time and you never talk to me about it.”

“I can’t, for your safety. We’ve discussed that.”

“Yeah and I thought I could handle it, but you’re giving me nothing here,” you argue. “I wanna be there for you Steve, but it’s hard when you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I... I can’t. I want to but it’s better if you don’t know,” he says pleadingly. You want to believe him, but you just can’t seem to let this go.

The silence lingers over the phone.

“Maybe we should take a break,” you eventually say with defeat.

“A break?”

“Maybe we just need some time to sort things out. You can focus on your work and when things get better… we can try again.”

“No, no…” he starts to argue, “that’s not fair.”

“Steve, please…” you beg, “just try to see where I’m coming from. I still love you, I always will. I just think we need this.”

He doesn’t say a word, making you anxious.

“Steve-”

You’re cut off by the phone hanging up. You sit in disbelief, letting the weight of the conversation fall on you.

You spent the rest of the night just curled up on the couch. You keep questioning your decision. In your mind, this was the right thing to do, despite the heartbreak you knew you’d be feeling. But you didn’t think it would hurt as much as it does now.

Steve’s reaction made you rethink the idea of a break. You worry that he thinks you don’t love him anymore when it’s the complete opposite. You did this because you love him. You didn’t want to lose him completely, but it looks like you lost him anyways. Maybe, deep down, a part of you was trying to save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.

The living room was dark, the only light coming from the street lights outside. The tears have stopped flowing, but the headache lingers. It’s almost 2 in the morning and despite being worn out from crying, you have trouble sleeping. You’re about to get up for a glass of water when you hear a knock on your door.

Your first reaction is to panic, because you weren’t expecting anyone at such a late hour. You mentally run through the self defense moves Steve insisted on teaching you. Slowly, you approach the door, trying to not make any noise.

Knock knock knock.

“It’s me.”

It’s softly spoken, but you hear him loud and clear. You quickly open the door to reveal Steve with a look of sorrow on his face. You can’t help but stare at him in shock, taking in his disheveled appearance.

“I don’t want a break,” he says hoarsely, breaking you out of your trace.

You all but pounce toward him and wrap your arms around his neck. He immediately wraps his arms tightly around your waist. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent that reminds you of home. Despite everything that happened over the phone, you feel a flood of relief from finally being in his arms.

You stood in his embrace, relishing the feeling of him being there for a good minute before you pulled away. You meet his eyes, noticing the tears surrounding them and it hurts your heart.

“We should talk,” you say, voice rough from the crying just hours ago.

You’re sitting side by side on your couch. You look at him and can’t believe that he drove all the way to your place in the middle of the night. You can see the worry on his face and you want nothing more than to comfort him, but you hold back because you want an explanation first.

“So..” you start off, “you don’t want a break?”

“Y/N, I know I’ve messed up, but please don’t give up on us,” he says with pleading eyes.

“I don’t want to. I thought that’s what you would’ve wanted. I thought…” you shy away from his stare, “maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

Steve looks at you with guilt, realizing for the first time how much he’s hurt you, “I’m sorry… I know I’ve been saying that a lot lately but I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t want to be with you.”

“Then what's been going on?” you ask, looking back at him, determined to know why it took you asking for a break to get him here.

Steve looks down at his hands, visibly nervous. Why? You have no idea.

“Talk to me Steve,” you encourage him. “Please.”

He turns to look at you, taking a breath before saying “I’ve been looking for Bucky.”

You’re immediately confused. Out of all the things you thought of him saying, this was never one of them.

“Bucky? Bucky Barnes?” you question. You knew of his friend from the stories he would tell you. Bucky was practically a brother to Steve.

“Yes,” he says easily, but it just makes you more confused. The thought of Steve going crazy briefly crosses your mind.

“He’s the Winter Soldier,” he explains. You recognize that name from the news. He was a part of the incident that happened in DC.

“What? H-How would that even be possible?” you question, not really being able to wrap your head around it. From what you knew, Bucky died in war back in the 40s.

“HYDRA was using him. They found him after he fell from the train and they brainwashed him for decades until I was able to snap him out of it when we fought in DC,” Steve continues, “After he saved my life, he disappeared.”

The pain in his voice is evident as he talks about his friend. You scoot closer to him and you take his hand into yours, offering him comfort.

“Sam and I have been following any lead we could to find him,” he explains, “I’ve been doing that along with all the other missions I get sent on. That’s why I’ve been gone so much.”

It finally makes sense to you.

“Oh Steve,” you say, “I wish you would’ve told me this sooner.”

“I know honey, I should have…” he squeezes your hand, which you reciprocate.

“HYDRA is evil. I’ve seen how cruel they can be,” he continues. “The thought of them coming anywhere near you kills me,” his voice filled with emotion and his eyes gloss over with tears. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to get out of that headspace…”

He looks away from you, head down, “you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

You reach over with your free hand to touch his face. “Steve,” you turn his head to look at you. His blue eyes shine even in the dim lighting. “Please don’t shut me out. I want to know these things. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I just want to be there for you. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

Your eyes beg him to understand you. “And I get it now. Bucky is your friend and I know you’ll find him again someday. Just don’t put all that stress on yourself,” your thumb wipes away a stray tear falling down his face. “I want to help you in any way I can. You can always come back to me.”

He subtly nods and looks at you, faces only a breath apart. “I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, like he’s in disbelief.

He closes the distance, lips finally meeting yours. Your eyes flutter shut, as you continue to cradle his face in your palms. You focus on conveying all your love for him into the kiss. You pull away briefly to move on to his lap as he leans back into the couch. His hands naturally fall on your hips as you get impossibly close.

You break the kiss again, “Promise not to leave me again,” you plead, but your tone is much lighter this time. You never wanted to leave his arms again.

He looks up at you, eyebrows furrowing a bit, “I can’t promise that,” you give him a sad smile, already knowing that. His hand leaves your hip to push a stray hair behind your ear, “but I can promise that I will talk to you more and show you how much you mean to me more often. ”

You genuinely smile at that.

“This is important to me,” he says, pulling you closer, emphasizing his words, “you’re important to me.”

“I love you”

“I love you too,”

You lean back in to kiss him again, smiling in between because you’re happy to have your Steve back. And you know things will get better from here. There’s still going to be some tough nights when you miss him and he can’t be there, but you know he’ll be missing you just as much. You won’t have to doubt his love for you again.

You pull away once more, “Remember how you said, you’d make it up to me?” you question with a mischievous look in your eye.

“Yeah,” he says looking at you expectantly.

You simply raise your eyebrows and smirk at him. He catches on and mouths an “oh”.

You’re lifted from the couch so you latch onto Steve’s shoulders, giggling loudly at the sudden movement. He carries you into your bedroom, where he definitely made up for lost time.

You slept much easier that night.

hope you enjoyed reading! 🤍 reblogs and feedback are much appreciated!! let me know if you liked it :)

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers oneshot

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hookingminor · 4 years

Text

4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal

a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff

word count: 4,733

summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic

tagging @davidpastrsnack so kate can get on the barzy train

To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.

Or so you thought.

You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.

Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.

When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.

“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.

“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.

“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.

“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.

You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.

“You’re actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.

“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.

Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.

“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.

“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.

With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.

“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.

A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.

Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.

“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.

“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.

“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.

“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.

“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.

You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.

“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.

They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.

“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.

“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.

“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.

“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.

“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.

“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.

“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.

You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.

It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.

After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.

“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.

“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.

“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.

They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.

That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.

“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.

“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.

“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.

“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.

A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.

“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.

You were sadly mistaken.

“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.

You both groaned out a “Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.

When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“

It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.

“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.

“Practice what?” You asked.

“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.

“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.

“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.

Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.

After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.

It was a braid.

An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.

“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.

You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”

Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.

It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast

“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.

A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.

“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.

“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.

“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.

“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.

“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.

“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.

Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.

“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.

You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.

When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.

“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.

“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.

The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.

It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.

“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.

You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.

You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.

“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.

“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.

You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.

“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Go!”

After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.

“I think I won,” you stated confidently.

“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.

“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”

“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.

“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.

He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.

After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.

“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”

“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.

It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.

“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.

You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.

You won the instagram poll too.

+ 1

It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.

It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.

Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.

The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.

You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.

Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.

“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.

“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.

“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.

“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.

He paused for a second.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.

You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.

“What are you trying to say, Mat?”

He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.

You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.

“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”

“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.

“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”

“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.

“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.

The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.

“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”

You unlocked your phone.

“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #nhl fic #my writing #isles13

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redpandaramblings · 3 years

Text

The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader

This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.

Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.

“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”

You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.

“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”

“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”

You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.

“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.

He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.

“And I’m just going to let you go?”

“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.

“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.

“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.

“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”

“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.

Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.

Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.

With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.

Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.

Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market. After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.

“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”

You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”

“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”

“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”

Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”

You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.

As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.

“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”

While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.

“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”

“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.

“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”

You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.

“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”

Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”

“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”

“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”

You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”

“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”

“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”

“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”

“Anything?” she grins at you.

“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”

“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”

You blink. “A date?”

“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”

“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”

“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”

“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”

“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.

Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you’d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.

Fuck.

Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.

That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!

You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.

You continued to stare.

He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”

You nodded weakly.

Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-

“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”

Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.

“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”

You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”

“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”

You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”

“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”

You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”

“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.

“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.

“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”

The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.

“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”

“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”

He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.

“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.

“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.

“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”

Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.

“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”

“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”

“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“Pretty good idea, actually.”

“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”

You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”

Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”

You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”

Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.

“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”

“Promise?” you giggled.

You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.

#the deku agenda escapes no one collab #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #deku x y/n #deku x you #gender neutral reader #izuku midoria x reader #aged up characters #bnha reader insert

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