#in a ‘I’m supposed to be taking this seriously for the angst factor’ way

[white-weasel]

I love comics but by god sometimes the dialogue is the most on the nose shit I’ve ever read ahdkahdks

[munariplans]

all i've ever needed | n. romanoff

natasha romanoff x actress!reader synopsis: a doomed relationship troubled by missed time and misunderstandings, some things take more to fix than a simple 'i'm sorry'. warnings: angst with a fluffy ending word count: 4.5k

There were few things both you and Natasha could agree on, which was what made the relationship so incredulous; for all the fights and arguments you endured throughout the duration of your relationship, you both could mutually agree on one thing. 

And that one thing had been time; the single most important factor in the downfall of your relationship. 

You did not know at which point in time it began; the avoidance, the disdain, the dread, even, of coming home to her. Perhaps it had been when you won the ‘Actress of the Year’ award from your latest film, or when your management started arranging for you and your co-star to be seen hanging around everywhere, or even when you had signed the contract for that film at all.  

For Natasha, it had been definite. It was when Tony finally visited her one night, while she was crying her eyes out over yet another photograph of you and your co-star in public, and yelled at her that this was not normal. 

Perhaps other than time, that damn film had been another factor in your relationship’s deterioration. 

–

“It’s set and filmed in France, and the director’s a rather big hotshot, Nat.” 

Natasha had just finished a training session at the gym when you appeared, showing her the synopsis and premise of the script for a new film you were eager to embark on. 

She looked up at you, in your oversized linen shirt and pants, handing her a water bottle as she dabbled at the beads of perspiration on her forehead. Natasha had been the one training since five in the morning, but you were the one that looked more exhausted than ever. 

The bags under your eyes and the weariness in your body language prompted her to ask, “You sure about this, baby?”

“Well, I’m not saying I’ll get it. A lot of other big name actresses are auditioning too,” you shrugged, taking a moment to sit down. After a full day of filming, your body was way beyond the point of soreness. 

Natasha clucked her tongue. “You’re already the biggest name in the industry. That’s not what I meant. I wanted to ask if you were sure your schedule, and ours, could handle it.”

Perhaps the first warning sign had come from your, “Ours?”

“We’re supposed to spend this month together. It’s the only time I’ve requested for such a long break from missions, and I did so because I knew you were having a free period around this time, too.” Suddenly, the velvet box that had been hiding in Natasha’s room felt all the more prominent to her. 

There was a brief moment of silence, as you gathered your thoughts, before you slowly took the papers back from her and stood. “Natasha.”

“Seriously?”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Nat! This could make or break my career, and if all goes well, I think…” you inhaled deeply, trying to swallow the shame and selfishness you were about to phrase your next few words with, “...I think this could earn me my Academy award.”

There it was again. The talk of your career, your awards, all the accomplishments Natasha wished you did not care so much about. She understood, she did really, that at the point you were at in your career, you had every right to worry about when your Academy award would come. It determined the future trajectory of your roles, and ultimately, your success as an actress, but Natasha just felt that sometimes it all felt a little too unfair. 

Even without your award, you were already one of the biggest names in Hollywood. And although Natasha knew the complications, and risks, in dating a celebrity, she risked it all anyway. Dates became hard to come by, confined in private spaces and in the comfort of your homes, you refused to be seen around in public with her, and Natasha had to swallow the bitterness in her heart each time you were asked if you were seeing someone in an interview, only to answer with a firm ‘no’. 

Each party, each social gathering, each gala and fundraiser, she had to endure the men and women flirting with you and trying to get you home with them, only for her to be introduced as your friend. Even her training in the Red Room had not tested her patience, and tolerance, as much. 

Once again, she clenched her jaw, and when you saw the shift in her expression, you sighed. She spat, “I guess I can’t make you not go, when you pull the awards card.” 

You checked your watch. “I have to go. They need me for a product advertisement in an hour. Let’s not end this conversation like all of our other ones, darling. I came here to try to fix things, to let you get more involved in my life, like you always wanted. I don’t want to start a fight again.”

“I think you should just leave,” she got up from where she was, spotting Steve already making breakfast. 

As she sauntered over to him and left you without more than a goodbye, you could only crush the papers in your hands and storm off as well, too tired to start an argument you were not prepared to end so quickly. 

–

Unsurprisingly to Natasha, you had gotten the role. She could not deny, even from the start, that the role was perfect, the plot and the director suiting your style of acting all too well. And of course, deep down she was proud of you for clinching the role, like you had all of your other roles. 

When you came home that night, expecting Natasha to be at a mission or in the Avengers’ Compound, you were holding on to a bottle of liquor, already prepared to celebrate alone with a drink. You knew Natasha would be upset, and you were not keen on celebrating with your other friends, so the only viable, and deserving, celebration would be with yourself. 

But there she was; by the dining table, decorations behind her spelling ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ and your favourite Chinese takeout spread out below. She had set up candles, and the music had been the exact playlist the both of you played on the night of your first anniversary. It was personal, and comforting, and all the things you felt like you did not deserve. 

Natasha welcomed you with open arms as you embraced her, tears brimming while you muttered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I love you…and thank you.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

–

Natasha visited the set of the new film a few weeks later. Paris was cold, and smelly, and the flight there had been more than uncomfortable for her. But she hadn’t seen you in weeks, so naturally, seeing you trumped everything else that stood as a con for her to visit. 

“Right this way. She’s finishing up a scene,” your assistant had informed her, while leading her through room after room, hallway after hallway. 

What greeted her next made Natasha slightly uncomfortable, as she gripped the visitor’s pass around her neck even harder. 

You were on the bed with your co-star, having just finished a bedroom scene in the most compromising manner possible. But that was not the reason behind her envy. 

You were smiling and laughing, still straddling him, as he grinned back up at you, talking about something Natasha could not bother to listen to. The director and crew had begun packing up the set, but the both of you were still there, his torso between your thighs, your hair falling to shroud the both of your faces. 

It took the set producer another minute to interrupt you two before you got off of him, but not before he sneakily reached up and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Natasha felt more red than her hair had been.

She waited for you to get dressed, before appearing in your dressing room. 

“We’d just finished a scene, Nat, nothing more!” In the next moment, you were arguing, pacing from one end of your dressing room to the other. 

“With you straddling him? Minutes after the scene was over and the crew had started to leave?” Natasha jerked the straw you had been sipping on away from you, squeezing the bottle in anger. “God if I had walked in any earlier would I have caught you fucking him, too?!”

The sentence managed to irk you deeply enough to fight back, a retort you regretted saying as soon as it left your mouth. “Maybe you should have.”

Ultimately, the restaurant she had booked for your dinner that night, along with the museum tickets for the weekend, and the day trip to Marseille she had planned, were cancelled, as Natasha begged for someone to pick her up as quickly as possible, with the Quinjet home. 

–

The next time Natasha spoke to you, it had been at the airport. She was scheduled to take a flight undercover to avoid suspicion, but your desperation, and remorse, had managed to bring you to Steve and asked for her. 

Sat on the uncomfortable plastic bench right by her gate, you watched as passenger after passenger began to slowly fill the room. There was no sight of her. But the boarding time had been delayed by half an hour, so perhaps she was using the time to arrive later. 

The black cap and inconspicuous clothing did not help your situation; instead of a disguise, the outfit felt more like a prison for you, against others recognising who you were. The scarf was itchy, and the black cap was too tight around your head. Your phone was blowing up with texts from your less-than-pleased manager about the shoot in ten minutes, and against your better judgement, you silenced it. 

An hour passed. The gate had opened. The higher priority passengers were starting to file in, but no matter how hard you looked, Natasha was nowhere to be found. You worried she was going to miss the flight, and then for a moment, you worried that Steve had given you the wrong information. But you held her friends in higher regard than that, you trusted Steve.

The majority of the group went in after that, and eventually, the gate began issuing the final boarding calls. Twice a stewardess had asked if you were going to enter, to which you had to shyly reject. You knew you were beyond fucked if you switched your phone back on. 

And finally, when the airport worker came in to shut the last of the gates, Natasha came. She was hidden under a black cap and disguised herself, but you could spot her anywhere. 

“Natasha,” you had appeared right before her, and the look on her face said enough. She was caught off-guard, and at a loss. 

“I have to go, the flight’s–” 

“I know you do. I just…just…” Your throat was closing up, “I’m sorry, Nat. I really am. I didn’t mean what I said, in Paris, and–”

“If you’re coming here to apologise to me with tears and all the words you already memorised from your million other apologies, I have no time for this. The gate’s closing.” Even then, the stewardess was rolling her eyes as Natasha shoved her fake passport under the reader. 

“Please, please, just give me a minute.” It didn’t matter that you had waited hours for her, that you had sacrificed your dignity and time for an important shoot, or that the stewardess was giving the both of you the dirtiest look she had. 

“Ma’am, I really must–” She tried to cut in, but at that moment, you pulled down your scarf and tossed your cap away. Her face went blank as a sheet, her hand flying to cover her mouth agape. 

“Please, just a minute,” you begged, and dragged Natasha to the side. 

She refused to meet your eyes. “Using your fame and privilege to get your way with people now? I thought you said you would never stoop so low.”

You swallowed the insult bubbling at the back of your throat. This is about her, not you. Instead, you let out an exhale, preparing yourself. 

“I’ll do better. I promise.”

Natasha scoffed. “You say that every single time.”

“And I mean it, this time. I’ll do better, Nat,” you held onto her hands, leaning your forehead on hers, “Please, forgive me? Let me try to do better for you?”

Natasha always found it difficult to say no to those pleading eyes. 

–

For a while after, everything seemed normal. You went back on set to shooting the film, Natasha got caught in back-to-back missions, and everything seemed as normal as it could be, in a secret relationship between an award-winning actress and an Avenger. 

You had scheduled a date for the night with Natasha, but throughout the day, you had barely any chance to look at your phone, and Natasha had tried for umpteenth time to call and inform you that the mission was delayed and she could not make it in time for the reservation. 

By the time you could check your phone, you were late for the date too, but the reservation could not be cancelled.

“...And it’s such a waste, cancelling a reservation there,” your co-star chimed in, as you groaned while reading Natasha’s texts, “It takes years for anyone not on Hollywood’s list to even get to the waiting list, and you’re giving it up?”

“Well, my friend couldn’t make it, so what am I supposed to do? Go with you instead?” You were joking, already preparing to forfeit the reservation altogether, but as you turned to him, you found nothing but excitement on his face. “Seriously?”

It took you a moment to consider his proposal, but with a quick fuck it, ultimately, you gave in and ended up sitting across from him at the restaurant. 

You only wished you knew that Natasha had tipped off the restaurant that it had been an anniversary dinner, and that the restaurant would subsequently serve a special dessert she requested. Your co-star assumed that it was because they wanted to serve you both a special treat, but you knew better. And you had a sinking feeling that by doing so, the restaurant was tipping off the paparazzi outside.

That night, as the both of you left the restaurant, the flashing lights and screams from cameramen nearly made you lose your senses. Your co-star must have sensed your worry, and unease, but little did he know, his move to comfort you made things about a million times worse.

In the face of the paparazzi, he put his arm around your waist, and guided you through the crowd. Your body was flushed against his, and as he led you to your chauffeur, he slipped in a quick kiss on your cheek, much to the pleasure of the crowd. 

You did not have to check your phone the next morning to see the army of texts from your manager, filming team, and director. Natasha had only sent a ‘This is you doing better?’

–

“Anticipation for the film is through the roof, this is very good publicity,” your director droned on for the fourth time that day, spinning excitedly in his chair as the rest of you sat in the meeting room, watching him, “You two are brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”

Your co-star looked over to smile at you, but you ignored him, shirking your hand away as he reached out to hold it. Lately, his advances had gotten more bold, fleeting glances lasting far too long, and offers to go on more ‘proper’ dinners more frequent. You wished you had the energy to entertain, but ever since that fateful night, any interaction with him sparked off an argument with Natasha, and at the same time, more publicity for the film. It was the double-edged sword you never imagined receiving. 

Luckily, he was nice enough about it. He listened to all the excuses you listed whenever you rejected going out with him and let you vent out your frustrations over annoying scenes. He never got mad, or unreasonable, and some nights you sought out his comfort instead of Natasha’s, where every exchange and conversation had gotten terse, and the both of you had begun tiptoeing around each other. 

Although your relationship with the Black Widow had reached a stalemate, there was nothing either of you were willing to do about it. She was too tired from her missions to talk it out with you, and secretly, deep down in her heart, she wondered when you would just put her out of her misery and end things altogether. You, on the other hand, were waiting for the perfect opportunity to fix things with her, while juggling a million other things that were demanded of you from your career. 

–

When the film premiered, you and your co-star were scheduled to head to the premiere as dates. Dressed in matching suits and gowns, his arm stayed around your waist the whole night, while your eyes were desperately searching the crowd for someone. 

Natasha was nowhere in the VIP list, even though you had spoken to her about it on the phone, and even sent two rounds of invitation cards for her to RSVP. She had not returned a single one. 

‘Are you coming tonight?’ You sent a text the moment you got a break from the interviews and cameras. 

The message left on delivered, while you were ushered away to meet yet another media interviewer. 

That night, with a cigarette in between your lips for the first time in years (Natasha had managed to persuade you to quit before), and a bottle of whiskey waiting for your indulgence, you wondered if it was only fair she stood you up. 

She only replied the following day with, ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot.’

–

“Hey, is she here today?” You asked Tony, who had been glaring at you the moment you stepped into the compound. Choosing to ignore his hostility, you offered him the gifts you had prepared for the Avengers from your film, after the busiest month from premieres and promotions had blown over. 

“She’s out now, will probably be back in an hour,” he replied curtly. 

You nodded awkwardly, asking if you could take a seat on the counter he was working on while you waited. He shrugged.

Although you were never close with Tony, it was still strange and very uncomfortable, the few minutes the both of you spent in silence. You watched as he tinkered with something, he felt your eyes on him, and the interaction lingered until he broke the silence first.

“You’re breaking her, you know.”

You blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You,” he threw his invention aside for a minute, crossing his arms and staring at you, “Your little stunt, or whatever it is, with that new boytoy of yours. It’s breaking her spirit, slowing down her fighting, and hurting her, so much. I mean, personally, I don’t care, I don’t get involved in my colleague’s personal lives, but–” he cut off in fury, his fists clenching as he tried to control himself, “–but Natasha’s a friend. And you’re hurting my friend, so I feel the need to step in. Do you see what I’m getting at here, buddy?”

You frowned. “We’ve had a rough patch, and–”

“No, no, no, a rough patch is a rough patch. You don’t get to call this a rough patch. God, you’ve been hurting her for nearly a year! Almost every single time we return from a mission, she tries to check on you and what you’re doing, but you push her away. You make her cry, you flaunt your relationship with that co-star of yours while keeping her in the shadows, and this kind of shit breaks someone. So unless you want me and the rest of these guys to step in and decide what’s best for the two of you, you better figure out what you want from her and stop treating your girlfriend like shit.”

Tony sighed, watching you hang your head low. For a moment, he considered saying all the nasty things he had wanted to say to you whenever he saw Natasha crying because of you, but that moment passed quickly when he remembered. She’s the love of my life, please, don’t hurt her too, Tony. 

So he settled for, “She loves you, more than anything. So either fix this with her, or set her free.”

–

You took Natasha on a park date later on that day, still tense and a little intimidated by Tony’s speech. Natasha could sense the change; as you bravely reached out for her hand first and held it the moment you met. 

Although the Avengers’ Compound had always been private and secular by nature, Natasha knew you were always on edge each time you appeared with her outside of the confines of your homes. But this time, you seemed more relaxed in her eyes, less afraid of what people said, or saw, and paying more attention towards her instead. 

It was a welcomed change that she hoped would last, no matter how much she was telling herself to lower her expectations. It was the bare minimum, but lately, the bare minimum had been all the Black Widow allowed herself to hope for with you. 

You asked about her day, she shared about her latest mission, and the both of you then discussed possible pet names for the dog she almost rescued from the mission. It felt easy, and safe, and all the things the two of you had missed so much since the new film was introduced to your lives. 

–

When the invitation for the annual Academy awards came, you had been laying on Natasha’s lap, laughing about something your stylist had forced you to wear for a dinner with investors, while she played with your hair absentmindedly, a loving look on her face.

You looked up for a minute then, and at the smile that she let out, along with the softness in her eyes and knowing look in them, something changed. Suddenly, it all became clear. Crystal clear on where your priorities should have lied, and where they should lie in the future. It had been so obvious, and you must have been too blinded by your career to even realise it. 

She had been more excited than you were that night, as the both of you opened the invitation to receive a notification that you were nominated for ‘Actress of The Year’ as well. 

–

Unfortunately, Natasha broke her ribs in a mission awfully close to the date of the awards, and although bummed that she had to spend the time watching you attend the awards show in her bed at the Compound, she was a little relieved that she did not have to come under the spotlight of the dazzling lights and screaming fans at the show. 

Having forced Clint, Tony, Bruce and Steve to settle into bed with her to watch the show, she was gripping onto your sweatshirt especially hard with how nervous she was. 

You, on the other hand, were somehow more relaxed than anyone in the room. It truly was the biggest night of your life, as your manager had coined, and you knew this of course, but something else had been occupying your head ever since that fateful day with Natasha. It was the only right, and proper decision, you could make. 

Natasha practically flew off of the bed and tackled Bruce as your name flashed on the screen as ‘Actress of The Year’, watching as you shyly, but calmly, made your way up onto the stage.

“She seems awfully calm for someone who’s been waiting her whole life for that award,” Steve tried to joke, but the atmosphere did change, even Natasha noticed, “Wonder what’s up with that.”

At the end of your speech, the team watched as you basked in the glory, the cheers, and the smell of success for a final time, as a tear rolled down your cheek. It oddly felt like you were saying goodbye, the bittersweet smiles you exchanged with your co-stars and friends. Natasha wondered if you knew something she didn’t. 

The camera panned to you waiting for your name to be engraved on the award, even then you looked at peace. Watching as you kissed the award, then waved to the camera, Natasha knew something was different then. 

The very same night, much to Natasha’s protests, you skipped the afterparties and post-show interviews, claiming to want to see and celebrate with her immediately. Against her complaints, you flew to the Avengers’ Compound in a jet, and as you landed and made your way over to her, she saw that you had tears in your eyes again. 

Standing in front of her, she watched as you took her hands, and placed the award in them. “Baby, why are you–”

“I’ve done what I needed to do. I’ve gotten everything I wanted now,” your eyes softened, “All thanks to you.”

“I don’t…” Needless to say, she was confused. 

Instead, you only smiled, and placed your hands over hers on the award. “I’m retiring, Nat. From the fame, from the industry, from my career. It’s you now, and it will only be you, who will have my full priority and attention and time, moving on from here. I submitted my resignation to management last week, and I’ve quit all my remaining jobs.”

The world stopped spinning for Natasha, as she stared straight at you. She could not believe what she was hearing. “But your award…your…this is the start of everything new for you, baby. This award will open all the doors you’ve always wanted!”

“The only thing I want right now is you, Natasha. And I’m sorry that it took me so long to realise that. All of this, the films, the shows, the awards and fame, it doesn’t seem so important to me anymore, not when there’s you. I’ve neglected you for so long, failed to see that all I ever needed, and all that was important for me, was you. I love you, and I wouldn’t trade your love for anything in the world.”

“You’re giving up your career for me?” The award felt much colder in Natasha’s hands then. 

You leaned your forehead against hers, nuzzling into her comfort. “Yeah. I am. Maybe in the future, when opportunities open up and things change, maybe I could take on smaller, newer projects, who knows. But for now, I could care less about that when I have you. We could…we could start the family you always wanted, go out in public as a couple, even just have each other for more than twenty four hours at a time, Nat. Just you and me.”

The award was placed down on the ground. Natasha wrapped her arms tightly around your neck, and yours around her waist, as her tears soaked your dress from the show. You only chuckled, as she whispered words of forever to you, and you reassured her by whispering it right back. 

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY 

also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls. 

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Your place or mine? ;)

He stares at the text.

The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.

“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder. 

“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”

“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”

“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.

“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.” 

“It’s for the good of the tristate area.” 

“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”

“Enemy.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”

“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”

He hates living here. 

The door is left open for him. 

This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof. 

There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.

As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.

‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.

He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”

Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The  best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them. 

“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering. 

“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”

“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list. 

“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”

“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something. 

“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.” 

“So build a better one.” 

“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”

“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.

“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”

“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks. 

“The whole thing.”

He laughs. He stops when you don’t.

“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”

“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”

He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.

“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.

“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”

“You’ll die too,” he points out. 

“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better. 

He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly. 

“You’ll die an idiot.” 

“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”

You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly. 

He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you. 

Something feels off.

“You just-”

The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.

“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”

He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while? 

“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”

After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.

His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.

“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”

He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to. 

Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106. 

“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.” 

He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky. 

He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.

“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”  

You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.

He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.  

He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan. 

He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed? 

He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm. 

“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.

He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again. 

One more shot and-

“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles. 

He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off. 

The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether. 

“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.

He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented. 

“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”

“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.

“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him. 

“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter. 

“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”

“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”

You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”

It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.

“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however. 

“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”

“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”

But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.

Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?

His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.

He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later. 

“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.” 

“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute. 

True to your word, his powers do return a while later. 

And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text. 

It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him. 

Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.

Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him. 

He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show. 

Next part

[silversatoru]

HOHO💖THANK YOU 💘 I was thinking one very Angst with Gojo, like.. He realizes he loves his best friend, but when he confesses they heavily reject him saying they could never trust him that way due to his womanizer self(?) and bc they love nanami,, like,, when they see him they're like 🎇💘MMHH YES, I feel awful but I love seeing gojo in pain for somewhat reason

Im so sorry😂🙏 if you don't want to write this, it's okay👌😌 thank you dear💖

too late

a/n: my past like 4 gojo asks have all been about him being a whore,,, y’all love to slander this man and see him in pain (me too)

synopsis: gojo loves you, you love nanami, things are messy 

t/w: angst, gojo is very sad

w/c: 1.4k

you’ve been gojo satoru’s best friend for as long as you can remember — two brainless jujutsu sorcerers who could never take anything seriously. the two of you together were simultaneously the biggest annoyance and also quite a force to be reckoned with. your abilities were no where near those of satoru, but you complimented him perfectly and no one stood a chance if the two of you were together — and you were always together.

in fact you were together right now, grabbing some food after effortlessly taking out some curses a few cities over. satoru enjoyed the sweeter things in life, downing a package of powdered-coated dough balls while you stuck to your savory bowl of spicy rice cakes. this was tradition for the two of you, sitting on a random bench somewhere in a random city munching on snacks and debriefing on the mission you’d just completed.

you loved it, and you loved satoru — like a brother, like a best friend, like a favorite teammate. you loved satoru but not in the way he loved you.

it was a recent realization, that he loved you in a romantic kind of way. he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but recently your eyes have sparkled a little more, your skin glowed a little brighter, and your voice sounded a little smoother when it flowed into his ears. it was right now, while he watched your sauce-covered lips suck down another rice cake, that he realized he wanted nothing more than to kiss you — right here and right in front of everyone. 

the only problem was, he had quite the history of being a womanizer. satoru went through women as if they were a one-time-use disposable product, and you were very aware of this. but none of those women were you, and he promised himself that he’d give you everything you deserved when he finally confessed. 

“can i have one?” you pointed to his near empty package of sweets and shook him out of his thoughts.

satoru wasn’t much for sharing, especially his desserts, but you were an exception. he plucked out a powdery ball (one that he knew was your favorite flavor) and popped it into your mouth. him hand-feeding you should have been weird, but you’ve been friends for so long that you didn’t think twice about it. you bit the sticky dough down between your teeth, a cheesy smile stretching across your face when you noticed he got your flavor right. 

“th-aanks,” you mumbled, mouth stuffed full of sugary confection. 

in the midst of your chewing, you felt a napkin swipe across your mouth to remove the excess powdered sugar. you eyed satoru suspiciously, starting to catch on to how overly-touchy he was being today. but he just shrugged, making snarky comments about how messy of an eater you were.

it wasn’t until the two of you finished your snacks and were walking through the city that you finally questioned him. he’d wrapped his arm through yours, pulling you close so you were walking right next to his side — his weirdly intimate actions today were starting to stack up. 

“what are you doing?” you peered up at him, giving your arm a small yank as you attempted (and failed) to put some space between the two of you. 

“that guy over there was checking you out,” he shamelessly pointed to a dark-haired man further up the street, his voice defensive. 

“okay, and? that bothers you-?” you yanked again, finally pulling your arm free of his embrace.

“no, but he looks like a weirdo, you deserve someone better than that,” he insisted, an evil grin on his face as he turned his pointer finger so it was facing himself. 

“like me!”

“oh, like nanami” 

your voices came out at the exact same time, but the content of your words could not have been more different. 

“nanami!?”

“you!?”

the two of you froze in the middle of the street, faces covered in equal amounts of shock and confusion. satoru had finally confessed his feelings to, and you’d just accidentally and unintentionally shut him down with one word — nanami.

“nanami?” he repeated again, an edge to his voice as he tried to protect his ego and mask his jealousy. 

“yeah, i- uh, i planned to tell you soon that we’ve been seeing each other recently. i had no idea that you-” you scrambled to explain the situation, trying not to let the hurt on your friend’s face get to you, “you’re with other women all the time satoru, how was i supposed to know?”

he winced at the unintentional insult, his history with women weighing heavy on his shoulders as he realized it was a prominent factor in your rejection. 

“ah - it’s fine! nanami beat me to it i guess. i’m happy for you guys,” he attempted a genuine smile, and anyone else may have been fooled by it too, but you knew him better than to fall for his shitty façade. 

you noticed the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow, and the smallest quiver of his lip as he continued to hide and protect his true feelings. it broke your heart in half, having to watch him put on a show like this. 

“i’m sorry,” you let the apology spill from your lips a few times, but he was very quick to remind you that none of this was your fault. 

“we’ll still be friends, right? i don’t know what i’d do without you,” you gave him a somber look, imagining a future without him by your side. 

satoru and nanami were good friends as well, and you’d never forgive yourself if this tore their friendship apart. 

“of course,” he gave you a cheeky smile and then continued walking down the street with a quick wave of his hand, instructing you to follow him. 

you jogged a couple steps to catch up to him, and he immediately started making jokes about a weird-looking man who was selling street food to your left. in a matter of seconds he was back to his typical self — so much so that it seemed as if your conversation had never happened. 

and that's exactly how satoru tried to imagine his life — as if that conversation had never occurred. he knew how important he was to you, but he also saw the way you looked an nanami with stars in your eyes. he knew that you needed them both, and so he stayed and watched you fall in love with someone who wasn’t him. 

whenever you asked, he told you that it had been a weird one-time thing and that he didn’t feel that way towards you anymore. he’d listen to your stories about the ex-business man and force smiles and laughter to make you happy. because that was all he ever wanted, for you to be happy, and if that meant you had to be with someone else, so be it. 

you and satoru were one in the same, so incredibly alike that maybe you would never have worked out anyway. you were raging with energy, energy that satoru only fueled stronger — where as nanami was gentle, peaceful, the opposite of you and your silver-haired counterpart. nanami cooled you down and and kept you centered, and that was what you needed, but it was something satoru would never have been able to give you. 

so when years had gone by and nanami asked him to be the best man at your wedding, he was crippled. he knew how important it was to you but he could hardly stand the thought of watching you vow yourself to the blonde-man. but despite his feelings, he didn’t even hesitate to say yes. you’d be so disappointed if he hadn’t.

and so he threw on his mask one last time, standing tall in a sleek, black suit as he watch you spill your feelings to nanami in a beautiful vow. you looked perfect, so stunning, and it tore him up that he wasn’t the one standing across from you. 

but he laughed and smiled all night, because that’s who he was. gojo satoru was always expected to be the life the party, and it was a heavy burden to carry. he was so tired of keeping up an act for you and for everyone else; all he wanted was to bury his head into your neck and rest. but he’d never have that, he’d never have you, and tonight made it official. 

[tryingmydarndest]

Thank You (Luka Couffaine x Reader)

Summary (Part 1/probably 3): The author goes on a bit of a tangent about how Y/N goes on a bit of a tangent about Viperion. Who may just have a little, big ol' crush on them?

Tags: -not enough actual relationship -fluff -but like, a weird sprinkling of angst that I didn't plan on right at the end???

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Inspired by this fic by @seriously-sirius-black <3. Luka? OOC? Idk, probably, I don’t write fanfic. But I am actually kinda proud of how well Alya turned out. Writing this made me realize how much of a mom friend I apparently headcanon her as. I wrote this gender-and-as-everything-else-neutral as I can make it (lemme know if you see ways I can improve, tho idk how much more fanfic I'll even be writing). Also, I freakin' RAMBLE and overuse italics, but ya get what ya get and ya don't gotta fret. Ooh, important note for future parts (if i write them) - this is a kinda!au where the miraculous users keep their miraculous. also if I had a nickel for every time I get awkwardly specific about the placement of both of a character’s hands I’d have TWO nickels. Happy reading!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part I - Paris's Cutiest Heroes

The look currently on Marinette’s face as she sputtered out a response was priceless, “Cat Noir? Cat Noir!? What makes you think I’d find Cat Noir attractive at all? And- and- HIM- the cutest superhero! Ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous?”

“Nice one, Alya”

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” you gave Alya a high five on your way to your seat next to Juleka and Rose on the couch facing Marinette and Alya. A sunny Friday after school was the perfect place for Kitty Section and their entourage to hang out. Unfortunately without Ivan and Mylène, seeing as their anniversary called for a private celebration. After pushing a couple couches onto the deck of The Liberty, Alya had predictably started talking about Paris's resident hero team. Today, she chose to ask everyone who they deemed the cutest, and she made sure to jump on Marinette's... interesting response, “And girl, he has the same silky golden hair and dreamy emerald eyes as Adrien Agreste. What’s utterly ridiculous is you freaking out and dodging every time we bring up superheroes!”

The designated snack-boy, Luka, walked out precariously carrying three bowls of goodies for everyone, “Alright, I got more popcorn. Sorry, but looks like we’re out of cheese flavoring, Y/N”

“Oh... that’s fine. I honestly wasn’t expecting it since I forgot to ask,” your free hand not reaching for the bowl rubbed the back of your neck, “but thanks for remembering.”

“Oh, um yeah- Always," is it creepy to remember something so specific? Someone as nice as Y/N wouldn't be interested in some creep. Ugh. Luka took a seat with his own bowl after passing Alya and Marinette theirs. He ended up next to you on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch, dangerously close to touching your legs.

Rose reached for the popcorn as she interjected, “You know, Alya does have a point. So Marinette, why don’t you just tell us who you think the cutest superhero is, if you don’t like us guessing?”

Somehow Marinette’s face went even paler as she spoke, “What- I mean, I don’t- I haven’t thought- Wha- what about Y/N? Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

Alya crossed her arms, “Because Y/N says the same thing about the same hero every day. Just watch. Ahem, Y/N, care to weigh in on the cuteness level of our lovely Parisian superheroes?”

You looked up from the bowl you had stolen back from Rose with wide eyes, "Hey! Okay, no, that is not fair! Besides, what is our criteria for 'cute'? I mean... Are we going just by physical characteristics? Is costume a factor? What about the animal they're representing, could our opinion of that make this whole thing unfair? And cuteness is so subjective anyway... Why are we even reducing these amazing and honorable superheroes to just their looks? I mean we could be talking about skill, or their powers or power lev-"

"-And your answer would be exactly the same. Seriously, are you done trying- and might I add, failing- to talk yourself out of this one yet? Or should I just read the article you wrote for the Ladyblog?"

"You said you deleted that!"

Luka had perked his head up at your initial fumbling response and turned to you when he spoke, "You wrote an article? That's pretty cool."

You rubbed your face to try and distract yourself from the burning embarrassment, "Umm, yeah. But it was terrible and extremely not. worth. publishing." You hoped the glare you sent the girl in question was enough to scare her into deleting it on the spot, or to at least lie about it, "So Alya kindly deleted it, right?"

Sitting up with a smug look and crossed arms severely lowered your faith that she'd keep quiet. "A good journalist archives everything. Especially something as juicy as one of her besties going on for five thousand words about how dreamy the great Viperion is," dramatically fake-fainting into Marinette's lap, Alya could barely finish before bursting out in laughter. Of course, quickly followed by the others joining in to varying degrees. Juleka and Rose happily giggled to themselves, Marinette looked more relieved that the heat was off her, and Luka seemed to be shocked, or maybe just holding back to see how you were taking this.

Horribly. Horribly embarrassed would describe how you were taking this conversation. You sat there stock-still as you hoped that none of the others could hear your heart's desperate attempts to pound its way out of your chest. That's certainly all you could hear, at least until Alya's voice brought you out of it, "Hey, it's fine," she made her way over to sit next to you as she continued, "We all have our little hero crushes. That's why I bring it up all the time, to show you that it's totally normal! I mean, we all know how I could go on about Carapace for days," Alya gestured for the others to continue, and used her other hand to try and comfort you.

"Well, I find Ladybug to be just absolutely adorable and so kind.... oh it just makes me so happy knowing she's keeping all of Paris safe," Rose added softly.

Juleka brushed a strand of hair aside as she spoke, "Rena Rouge is super mysterious, pretty rad in my opinion."

Alya was rubbing your back like the mom friend she is to try and help encourage you, "See? Super normal, so go ahead and release all this pent up Viperion energy that I know you have. Maybe it'll encourage Marinette here to finally join in the fun!" Alya stuck her tongue out at her best friend, who responded promptly by smashing her face into a pillow.

You just sighed, "I mean- it’s- it can't just-'' were you supposed to just get over it all just like that? Well, at least the embarrassment was wearing off, maybe you could just entertain her for a bit, "Well- um, you see.... HisHairJustLooksReallySoftAnd- you know what. Nope. Can't do anymore of this. Yep- that's all you're getting out of me!" This time when everyone started giggling, you were able to comfortably join them. It was a nice feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nice evening chilling out with your friends was always welcome, especially with the rising number of akumatizations making that less possible. But the night had come to a close. Alya and Marinette went home, Juleka was walking Rose back herself, and Luka and you had volunteered to clean up. Luka stopped drying the cup in his hand for a minute as he looked at you, “Um, I know it might not be my place, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be embarrassed about the whole... Viperion thing.” God, how am I supposed to take the news that MY crush has a crush on.... Sort of me? Am I supposed to count it as me at all?

“Oh, um. Yeah, thanks. I think I’m over the embarrassment now that it’s out. I don’t know, it’s just that a lot of people think it’s weird since he’s kind of a new hero,” how are you supposed to explain this to him? That you kept such a non-issue secret from him, especially without getting suspiciously defensive about it. “And then people use that to try and say that I only like him for his looks..... And that’s not it! I don’t know, it’s kind of.... A lot? To explain, that is.” This was not going well.

“Oh... Well, what is it? That you like about him, I guess.”

This was so not going well. But he was waiting for a response so... “Uh, well I guess it did kinda start..... that way.... but then I started doing research. I learned about his power and saw videos of his fights. He’s really good! Especially for being so new, which kinda goes into why his power makes me like him so much.” Shit. Rambling, I’m just talking and talking and I need to stop. But how am I supposed to change the subject now? And now Luka’s sitting down, and he seems so invested. Why does this have to happen to me?

“What do you mean by that?”

Luka’s voice kindly shuts your little thought-spiral in its tracks. What were you saying? Oh, Viperion’s powers! You can talk about this, you know this. Just keep talking, at least he seems interested in it, “Well, you know how he can go back and redo the last couple of minutes?” Luka nodded, “Well, we always see the time that worked out. Us civilians get to keep going from the one time it all went right. Just imagine all the times he failed, all the times he couldn’t get it right. It could be dozens, maybe even hundreds of times! He must get so discouraged at some point, I mean I know I would.... I guess I didn’t really think about it at first, but.... but, I doubt I could keep that determination, and I’m so glad Paris has a hero who can, and does.”

Silence. Why was it so quiet? Oh no, he thinks I’m weird. He must think-

“All of this from ‘his hair looks soft’?”

“Hey! You can’t tell me not to be embarrassed, then make fun of me! That’s against the rules!”

Luka chuckled as he said, “Against what rules, exactly?”

“The Rules Of Best Friendship, duh!”

“And who exactly said you were my best friend?”

“Well... your loss, I guess. Now you won’t get an invitation when I plan Rose and Juleka’s wedding,” you brushed off his offended glare as you took the seat next to him.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’d take my side.”

I’d take your side, too. I will always take your side. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A/N the sequel: I am super bad at finishing things, but I really wanna keep motivated to finish this (like I have a full, probably 3 part, plan for this). If you guys want to help, shoot me a message and I'll send you a link to the google doc I'm writing this on. Feel free to leave a little comment (pls be kind, obviously) and see my writing process! Idk, would any of you guys be interested in that? Would you just get annoyed at having already read the thing before I post it?

[woogyu]

28.“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

43.“What, you’ve never thought about us?”

49.“Friends don’t do this kind of shit!”

-

Drabble Prompts; fluff | angst | funny // Requests; OPEN

requested by; @ohmygyaaah​

​notes; ha ha tore my own heart out with this one I did. No but seriously, thank you for requesting. I hope you enjoy this pain served on a silver platter.

wc; ~1432

-

You learned a long time ago that nothing in life is certain. People come and go when it suits them, and situations change no matter how much you wished they wouldn’t. The factors you could control were the ones you created yourself. There was a sense of safety that came with setting boundaries and not letting people get too close. People can’t hurt you if you don’t let them, right?

You told yourself that it was better this way, keep everyone at arms distance and you could hold onto the fragile sense of control you had over your life. You weren’t good with change, especially not when that change could lead to you loosing what you held dear.

Jihoon is a… special case. He’s the only person that called you out on your bullshit and wouldn’t let you push him away. He understood you better than anyone else did, and it absolutely terrified you. The way that he always seemed to know what you were thinking and what lies you were telling yourself.

You were absolutely in love with him. He is your best friend in the entire world. Someone that you grew to rely on despite living by an entirely different philosophy. He made you feel comfortable like no one else could… you could picture a future with him. You could see yourself being with him. You needed him in your life and couldn’t jeopardize the relationship you had formed with him.

“Hurry up and pick a movie already” he groaned, setting a bowl of popcorn and snacks on the coffee table. Right, movie, you were supposed to be picking a movie. He suggested the weekly movie nights after you told him you had never watch The Black Panther, apparently that was unacceptable. He currently was trying to get you through the entire MCU franchise, not that you had any idea what was really going on. You vaguely remembered a talking raccoon at one point.

“Just play whatever Marvel movie is next on the list” you told him, tossing the remote into his lap, not in the mood to make decisions. He shrugged and nodded, flicking a few buttons until Avengers: Infinity War flashed over the screen… the title made you weary of the films run time.

“Okay so, you remember Thanos right, the dude with the weird chin” he started, you nodded along pretending to understand whatever language he was speaking. “So, he’s trying to get these space rocks to snap away half the universes population” he continued, looking over at you with bright excited eyes.

You didn’t know what the was saying, but he said it with so much excitement that you didn’t even care. You knew he really loved these films, and that was enough for you to indulge him.

“Hmmm, I’m going to need you to write me a dictionary” you said, settling into your usual position pressed up against his side. This would be dangerous territory if it were anyone other than Jihoon. On instinct his arms wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into his side as the movie started to play.

“So the red lady is dating that weird cyborg guy that got the space rock pulled out of his head?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand this deranged plot. He blinked at your explanation of it, laughing as he looked down at you.

“Scarlet Witch is dating Vision, yes” he said, supplying the names to your descriptions. “So like you’re Scarlet Witch and I’m Vision in that situation” he said with a cheeky grin, poking your side. He played it off like he was joking, but there was something lingering there that had your stomach twisting a little bit. You rolled his eyes and made a motion akin to, ha ha very funny.

“What, you’ve never thought about us?” he said, grinning but the tone of his voice was serious. This was a conversation you did NOT want to have. You moved away from his side a little bit, eyebrows knitting together as you tried to figure out how to respond to him.

“What do you mean by us… you’re my best friend… t-that’s the us” you said, looking away are you fidgeted with your hands. Silently you prayed that he wouldn’t take it any it any further, that he wouldn’t call you on your bullshit. If he pushed, you didn’t know if you would be able to maintain what the two of you had right now.

He sighed, his hand coming up to card through his hair as he looked over at you. He stayed silent for a moment, weighing his options carefully.

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” He told you blankly, his tone stating an irrefutable fact rather than questioning you about it. Jihoon knew you well and he knew that if he didn’t press you that you would never let him into your life, never give him the chance to make you happy.

“W-what?” you said, whipping around to face him, eyes wide and shaking. You bit down on your bottom lip, shaking your head a few times. He was doing this; he was bringing one of your worst fears to life. No matter what your answer here, you would end up losing him.

“Don’t-��� you said, holding up your hand before he could say anything else. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. Opening them again you looked to him with a pained expression, begging him not to take it any further.

“Please don’t do this Jihoon” you whispered; your voice deflated.

“Friends don’t do this kind of shit!” he said, his hands moving to emphasize his point. “Friends don’t have the kind of bond that we have and share the kinds of things that we do” he further articulated, your heart breaking a little bit more with every word.

“Why couldn’t you have just let things be” you said, voice strained as you stood up and paced a little bit. You could feel your panic rising as you tried to steady your breathing. He composed himself a little bit, standing up and turning toward you.

“Why are you so scared of seeing where this could go?” he whispered, his hand reaching out for yours but pausing before it could reach. “I don’t understand y/n..” he stated, his voice tired and strained. You whipped around to face him, lip quivering as all of your repressed emotions bubbled up inside you.

“Because I can’t lose you too!” you snapped, before letting out a shaky breath. “I can’t lose the one person that makes me feel like I’m home… like I’m safe” you said, your voice growing quieter toward the end. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly turned away from him before he could see them fall.

Jihoon’s eyes widened in realization, pieces clicking together and your behaviours starting to make sense. He slowly walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and turning you to face him. Reaching up he gently wiped away the stray tears, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

“When are you going to let me into that beautiful brain you have” he whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in moderate frustration. “When are you going to understand that I’m not going anywhere, that I’m going to stay by your side just as I always have” he continued, his breath fanning over your face. “When are you going to start trusting me” he finally breathed.

You let out a small choked sob, torn between diving into his arms and diving away from them. You wanted to believe him, you wanted so badly to just hand yourself over to him and not think twice about it.

“I-I’m scared…” you managed to whimper out weakly, your shaky hands balling into fists at your side. “I’m really fucking scared” you reiterated, your breathing shaky. He smiled a little bit, sensing a few of the impenetrable walls you had up start to crack.

“Then let me be the brave one for a little bit, okay?” he said, slowly reaching up to stroke his thumb along your cheek. “You’re not fighting this battle alone y/n, you have back up” he told you gently. Sniffling you threw your arms around him and buried your face into his chest.

People can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in… but what if they were always there in the first place?

[sadclearance]

could u do male reader's been friends with todoroki from mha for since ua (they're newly pros now) and tells him ily and is like ik ur not good with that stuff tho so it's no big! i don't expect an ily back! and todoroki's like :O and doesn't say it back but later when reader's hurt during a mission todoroki's like oh dang i do love u but it's too late cuz he died

pairing: shoto todoroki x male!reader

summary: todoroki says "i love you" back eventually. it just happens to be too late.

category: angst

warning(s): death

word count: 1649

key:

s/t - skin tone

italicized - text

he's not sure how he got to this exact moment.

if you had told him at the beginning of his high school years that not even just a year after graduating, he'd be running around a deserted parking lot with the cold breeze of the night air nipping at the skin that wasn't covered by his pajamas--which happen to be from a two-years-old matching christmas set with the person he's trying to catch--todoroki would've looked at you as if you were a lunatic.

never in his wildest dreams could he ever imagine this.

but he thinks this is part of what being friends is, and back then, he never would've dreamt of having one of those either.

he doesn't notice the warm breath right next to his ear until a steady voices says, loud and clear, "i love you."

he turns his head so fast his face almost smacks into y/n's, and y/n laughs out visible puffs in the crisp air.

todoroki doesn't even speak. he just stares with wide eyes, not knowing what to do.

this is all just too new to him, and this came out of absolutely nowhere.

"glad that got your attention," y/n smiles when the silence continues. "you were so lost in your thoughts you just stopped moving. i was starting to think you didn't want your phone back."

todoroki now remembers the reason why he was chasing his best friend of four years around an empty parking lot at this ungodly hour, where half of his body was uncomfortably cold.

he does want his phone back, but he doesn't go back to running.

"was that why you said that?" todoroki eventually asks. was it only for the surprise factor? because if so, he's both relieved and disappointed--two things that he recognizes as contradictory and doesn't understand. well, todoroki's never been too good at understanding feelings, so that's not really news.

"nope," y/n answers without skipping a beat, and if todoroki didn't know better, he'd think y/n wasn't nervous at all. the s/t fingers playing with the edge of todoroki's phone case lets him know otherwise. "don't take it too seriously, though. i get it."

get what?

that answer doesn't make todoroki happy at all. now his brain's just muddled and confused, and he can barely process his surroundings. what's he supposed to make of that interaction? don't take it too seriously? he gets it?

when y/n's ran a lap or two without todoroki making a move to get his phone back, he lies down on the floor.

todoroki settles on "you're going to get dirty" because he wants to get back to the present. his head hurts, and thinking isn't getting him anywhere right now.

"come look at the stars with me," y/n reaches his hand up toward the skies, and he looks ridiculous, but todoroki complies because he wants to enjoy the time they have together for as long as he can. they won't have time to see each other for a while, being busy growing heroes and all. 

"is this considered stargazing?"

"we're gazing at the stars, so yeah, i'd say so," y/n jokes.

and now todoroki's out of things to say that aren't questions about y/n's confession.

y/n turns his head to look at todoroki, and todoroki instinctively does the same.

"you're taking that thing i told you not to take seriously seriously, aren't you?"

"i'm having trouble understanding everything you've said in the past few minutes," todoroki admits, turning his head back to face the stars again.

"okay, well, i love you," y/n says.

"you've said that, but--"

"but i don't want you to take it seriously because i get it."

"again, you've said that in almost those exact words." todoroki feels like a frustrated child who's getting cranky over a math problem he doesn't know how to solve.

"i love you in the way that i want to kiss you and go on dates with you and maybe do more stuff," y/n's face reddens at his own words, but his voice is firm.

todoroki's eyes go back to y/n's, and he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

"i know you don't see me that way, and it's all good. i didn't expect anything in return. i just wanted to say it."

"i... i wish i could give you a response, but... you already know that..." todoroki struggles with his words. were these the right ones to say? which are supposed to come out next?

"that you're not good with people stuff. yeah, i remember the first year of me trying to court you into this friendship," y/n laughs.

todoroki wants to laugh while reminiscing the memories too, but he doesn't feel like doing so, especially with how he's pretty sure he just rejected his best friend.

"i told you, no expectations here. just wanted to get that off my chest." y/n rises from the floor and todoroki's eyes follow. "c'mon, we should get going. it's cold, and our schedules are packed for the week. we can't afford to be getting sick."

"yes, it is late," todoroki nods and gets up as well.

the car beeps to signal that the doors are open, and todoroki's about to get into the driver's seat when he sees y/n walking off somewhere else.

"y/n?" todoroki calls out.

"i'm gonna take the bus," y/n answers before todoroki even asks.

"they aren't running at this hour."

"my place is close. i'm gonna walk."

"but--"

"text me if your schedule clears at all!" y/n waves without turning around to face todoroki.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

it's been a week, and todoroki still feels the pressure of having to give a proper response.

y/n said it was fine, but even someone with as little experience with these types of things as todoroki recognizes that it's not kind.

i haven't thought about--

i've never kissed anyone--

human relationships--familial, romantic, platonic, and otherwise are all things that are new to me--

no matter what he types, he feels like the words are all wrong. what's in his drafts are all things that y/n already knows. that's why he said he "gets it".

but todoroki's still so frustrated. he wants to respond properly. he feels like it's only right.

but holy shit is it hard to come up with anything at all.

before he can come up with another poorly worded apology, excuse--whatever it is that he's trying to say--he gets a notification.

assistance required in x prefecture. requesting all available heroes.

todoroki, being the good hero he is, rushes to the sight as soon as possible.

he recognizes the name of the location, but he brushes it off as past experience. after all, within the past year, due to his rising popularity, he's had a lot of opportunities to work in different places.

"what's the situation?" todoroki asks one of the heroes that's trying to stabilize the building that the villain appeared to be in.

"one guy with a geokinesis quirk. he's alone, but his quirk's pretty strong. took out the whole village one town over. we don't know his goal, but the whole building's stone, and we don't want to take any chances."

"is there any way you would like me to help?"

"i'd say ice the whole building, but this guy's got quick reflexes. try going in discretely and trap him in ice when he's caught in surprise."

todoroki nods and is about to enter the building when

"also, try not to ice the other hero in there. i think his name's y/--"

the building crumbles at an incredible speed, and he barely has time to throw both himself and the other hero out of the way.

once the other man is stable, todoroki goes to assess the damage. the rocks are still tumbling down, but they're slower now.

they feel a lot faster when todoroki catches a glimpse of an all too familiar hero costume.

"y/n!" todoroki shouts as he loses the ability to think rationally. he runs with his heart in his throat and a terrible tense feeling that starts to overwhelm his entire body, trying to reach y/n before the large boulder does.

ice spreads from his feet and meets with the chunk of stone before it can fall on y/n's head.

"i'm going to get you out of here," todoroki promises when he makes it to y/n. he calls for help while looking over the pieces of the building on top of y/n's body.

"todoroki," y/n coughs weakly, and todoroki notices a pool of red slowly start to grow on the concrete below them.

"don't talk." todoroki's voice sounds so weak and helpless, and he hates it.

y/n just smiles, but the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth keep it from spreading warmth and happiness within todoroki like it usually does.

todoroki's already seen lots of tragedy in his one year of hero work, but he's never felt so panicked in his entire life.

he tries to shift a rock, but it only makes y/n groan.

"help!" todoroki yells again, but everyone's too preoccupied with catching the villain and tending to their own serious injuries to come and rescue y/n.

"shhh, todoroki," y/n says weakly.

"don't talk!" todoroki yells this time. it's still helpless, but it's loud, and y/n starts to laugh to the best of his ability.

"hard when... when you're just so funny. that's why... i..."

"don't close your eyes." todoroki feels like his heart's stopped.

"i..." y/n's eyes droop.

"look at me!" todoroki shouts with wild eyes.

and so he does. y/n looks at him with tired eyes, but todoroki can tell that he's straining himself to do so.

"i love you," todoroki's eyes feel heavy and his nose burns. "please... i love you, too..."

but it's too late.

the open eyes are quick to lose their life, and y/n's skin loses its color.

"i love you."

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

a/n;

deadass i was listening to my discover weekly on spotify and when i was writing the last few sentences i love you by wavves came on

i didn't know what to title it so i just left it

i hope it was satisfactory anon!

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

pippin👏 with👏a👏tall👏reader👏 (could you make it veryyyy fluffy?) ((also the reader is human oop))

Big Heart

Fluff and Humor (also a touch of Angst)

----

You met the little hobbit, Pippin, on the journey to destroy the One Ring.

It was by chance that you managed to run into them during their time in Rohan, but completely by design that you ended up their escort to Gondor.

You were one of the best riders and horse tamers in Rohan, so it was only natural that you'd be sent as their guide since the mission was so vital.

And, as time went on, you began to develop feelings for said hobbit.

His mischievousness and humor drew you in easily, and you've never met anyone who could make you laugh as much as him. It was only natural that his winning personality, and ridiculous decisions, would capture your heart eventually.

It's funny, because he wasn't even trying. He's just a natural comedian I suppose (as is his cousin, Merry, who you're also quite fond of).

After all was said and done and the battle for Middle Earth ended, you opted to join the hobbits on their whttps://archiveofourown.org/works/17413022/chapters/70134579/edit#ay back to The Shire and keep them all safe and healthy during their travels even though you and Pippin haven't... discussed anything as of yet.

And, the day before you were scheduled to leave and head back for Rohan, Merry and Pippin approached you sheepishly and asked if you would like to stick around a bit longer.

Now you agreed of course, why wouldn't you? There's nothing left for you back in Rohan, there never really was in the first place other than your title and reputation as a good rider.

Staying in The Shire is nice and all, but there are some things about it that really, really bother you. The scale of everything being one of those things.

The ceiling are low, and the hobbits are even lower than that. You've bumped your head on Pippins high ceilings many times, always forgetting to duck down low since your height was never an issue (much less a factor ) in Rohan.

You'll probably get used to it eventually, but, are you even planning on staying long enough to get used to it? It's not like you've moved there or anything, they just asked you to stay longer.

You and Pippin really need to have a talk.

When this realization hits you, you decide to idly wait in his dinning room while he's out and about.

Now you may be wondering, what on earth does Pippin have to do during the day?

Getting into trouble with Merry, of course!

Sometimes they steal, sometimes they do odd jobs for the other hobbits in The Shire, but, most of the time, they just hang around and smoke outside in the lovely weather.

You, on the other hand, chose to stay inside and enjoy some time to yourself up until these thoughts began to cloud your thoughts.

It isn't until the sun begins to set and the firebugs begin to roam that Pippin comes home, and he returns to a pot of tea and some freshly, baked scones.

It's hard as shit to cook in this tiny little cramped kitchen, but you made it work and the end product was fluffy, flaky, and delicious (so maybe they're more like biscuits).

As soon as the blond-haired hobbit walks in you greet him from the other room, settling on one of the too small chairs with your knees that hit the edge of the table.

He walks into the room you're in and greets you cheerily, zeroing in on the food like someone who has been starving for the last week. It was expected, though, because he's always hungry (even for someone as small as himself).

"Be sure to spare some, Pippin." You warn with a joking edge to your voice, eyeing him with a falsely stern stare, "You need to leave some for me."

Pippin only smiles at you with those shiny white pearls of his and snatches two of the breads from the plate they rest on, "Does one sound fair? It sounds fair to me."

You stare at him blankly and don't offer any sort of quirk our lips or even an eye-crinkle, making it seem like you're wholly unamused by his jokes.

His smile slowly fades when you take on this sudden no nonsense attitude, and you find that you can't keep up the 'unhappy' facade for too long.

Almost in unison do the both of you burst out with laughter, because, clearly, neither of you were actually taking this situation seriously.

You could never joke around like this or enjoy yourself in the likes of Rohan, you had no one to share such moments with in the first place, but it's quite shocking to realize just how much you needed this.

How much longer could your mind have survived such a monotone and honor obsessed environment? This is the exact change of pace that you needed if you wanted to live through your 20's and not die of boredom.  What's so fun or great about being a good horse rider anyways? Well, actually, to be fair it was fun at one point, but then it became your job and everyone had such high expectations that it kind of just sucked the fun out of the one thing that didn't leave you stultified to no end.

Anyways, the both of you cease your laughing eventually and you proceed to swipe and snack on one of those little treats you made, noticing the way that the both of you fall into a mostly comfortable silence.

Your gaze drifts back over to the hobbit sitting in the hair adjacent to yours and you find that he's already looking at you with an expectant edge to his gaze.

Everyone treats him like an idiot, but he's not so much stupid as he is unwise and foolish. He could sense there was some sort of unease rolling off of your shoulders and making the atmosphere slightly tense, definitely not something an idiot could notice so easily.

"You've got something to tell me. Or is it something you want to ask?" He's all business now.

"Yes, I do." You confirm with a shallow nod, gaze flickering over his face, "Something has been troubling me as of recent."

His blond curls bounce a bit when he nods his ascent to continue, and the movement draws your eyes as your brain begins to wander in search of a good way to approach the subject bothering you.

"Truthfully, Pippin, I haven't a clue what I am doing here anymore. You asked me to come to The Shire and I did, and then you asked me to stay, and I did that as well, but we are reaching a point where motivations and reasonings are becoming sparse. I know what my intentions are, and though I have not made them quite clear, which is what we need to talk about. What are we doing, Pippin?"

When you finish speaking your piece and look back at him again, you see that his head is hanging slightly and he refuses to look at you almost.

His eyes are sad and it makes your heart pang painfully in your chest.

"I... I am not so sure myself. I asked you to stay because I... um, Merry and I, don't wish to see you go." He puts down the hardly eaten 'scone' and scoots his chair closer to yours, looking up at you with a slight frown, "If I'm being honest, I can hardly imagine what it would be like if you were to leave, now."

"Yes, I know that much. But what am I doing here? I have little purpose at the time being, all I do is sit here or outside all day and do nothing . I wait around for you to get back because you and Merry never invite me to your schemes, and you do not invite me because I stick out. Literally."

You surprise even yourself with this 'outburst' because you thought your insecurities were only Pippin-deep. As much fun as you have with Pippin, you still feel like an outsider. Who do you talk to really besides Pippin, Merry, and sometimes Sam.

He looks even more sad than before, and you realize it probably sounds like you're thinking of leaving.

"I suppose feeling purposeless just bothers me-"

"I-I don't want you to go." He starts, surprising you slightly since he never really interrupts anyone. "You never treat me like a fool, and you always listen to what I have to say even when I don't make sense. Like, now I suppose. But it is more than that, too. T-The way I am and I feel when you are around is unlike anything I've known before, and, well, I don't wish to lose that or you."

You sit and listen quietly while he pours his little hobbity heart out and even wait some more after that, because this is exactly what you've been wanting in terms of communication.

"It's strange, you know I'm not usually like this, but even thinking about you leaving at this point is painful. Would I be too hasty in saying that I...," he trails off, seemingly contemplating what he needs to say next, "I may have fallen for you?"

There it is, that's exactly what you were waiting, and hoping, for.

"No, it wouldn't be. I've confessed as much myself already; in fact, I'd say you were quite late in saying it." You can't help but to tease him, and it appears to work out well for you because his face flushes and a sheepish expression softens his determined countenance. "Well, anyway. That is all well and good, but I must also say that it doesn't change my lack of excitement. And since you are the one keeping me here, it is your responsibility to mend this fact."

His forehead creases as he thinks it over and his mouth twists with thought, then his eyes light up and he smiles brightly. "Well, Merry and I could get you into all sorts of trouble, if you ask us to. We don't leave you out because you're too tall, we do it because you do not seem to be the scheming type.”

Well, that’s fair. And also unexpected. The whole ‘height thing’ was your primary suspect, but it seems like you’ll have to let it go.

“You don’t know that for sure. I can scheme like no other if I choose to. I just… do not normally choose to, is all. Take me with you, I demand it.”

The lightheartedness returns, and it successfully brings up the mood as well.

You reach your hand across the table and place it over his carefully, offering a fond and warm smile to him which he returns in kind. What a strange thing, being comforted by someone half your size with double the personality that you possess.

“Alright, Merry will be excited to hear that.”

“He’d better be.”

"But...," he trails off and you fall silent to show him he has your full attention, "I wouldn't be truthful if I were to say that I haven't had my own troubles."

You nod your head once and allow your hand to fall back to your lap.

"I think you are beautiful. One of the loveliest people I have ever seen, meanwhile I... am a short, foolish hobbit that few people take seriously. Surely you could have, and do, more than what I offer. A hobbit hole with... low ceilings that your forehead has met many times and clutter in almost every corner."

You're shocked that such a thing could bother someone as uncaring as Pippin - well, uncaring in a sense that he doesn't care for others opinions on himself - and it pulls at your heart strings.

"Pippin, if I had any care for something as trivial as height then I would be a hypocrite. If you're too short then I must be much too tall. And if your house is a mess than Rohan must be incomprehensibly disastrous." All of these things are true in your eyes, and you hope to help him see through the same lens as you. "Those things matter to me not, I wish I had made you understand that sooner."

He smiles at you and you smile back, and in this moment you feel at peace. A couple of shared words won't immediately extinguish the insecurities and issues that have come to surface over time, but they make it easier to bear.

"Besides, you may not be a big person, but that heart of yours is one of the biggest I've ever had the pleasure of benefitting from."

He blushes again, and it does things to your heart.

You never thought you'd fall in love with someone so short and mischievous, but here you are.

It's peculiar.

"Well, I suppose we should seek out Merry. I'm ready to get into some trouble."

"That makes two of us."

[leiasfanaccount648]

I’m So Sorry

Keigo Takami [Hawks] x Fem!Reader

Request from Anon: Hello i am new to your account, and i think it's great. Im a hawks simp so you might get more requests of him if thats okay lol. Uhm can my first request be a hawks x fem reader angst, if you write that and uh can it be an imagine where he gets mad at her and ends up hurting her, angst with happy ending? .i hope that is okay but its up to u. Thank youuu!!

A/N: Thank you again so much for your request! I hope you don’t mind, but I did change this up a little bit. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings/Contains: Angst, this takes place during/after the last two episodes of season 4 so slight manga spoilers? (I haven’t read much so this is mostly just hypothetical speculation from what I have read), cursing, argument, reader being shoved by Keigo.

Word Count: 2031

He knew it was risky, but then again, what else was he supposed to do? He had no other option. He had to be careful on how he went about this, as anyone could be watching or listening. Hell, for all he knew someone already knew of what he was planning to do or already done and was waiting for the perfect moment to chance to blackmail him.

However, he couldn’t think of that right now. He had to focus on what his plans were. If one thing went wrong or was out of place, it could sabotage everything.

“Keigo?”

The winged man flinched slightly as he heard his name being called out so suddenly. He had been so lost in thought that he had stopped eating the dinner that his girlfriend prepared for him. Keigo looked up at her, blinking to get rid of any possible look he had in his eyes that could worry her.

“Hm? What is it, baby?”

“Are you okay? You kinda spaced out there.”

(Y/N) let out a chuckle, finding it a little funny how her boyfriend would sometimes focus on the smallest things. She didn’t find it out of the ordinary, but she did find it odd that something other than herself managed to tear Keigo away from the precious chicken parmesan you made him. As he replied to her, part of her began to take notice how out of place he seemed to be every now and then over the last few weeks; this was just the first time she had taken the time to ask him about it.

“Oh,” Keigo laughed along with her, nodding his head. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking about work is all.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” (Y/N) took a bite from the food on her plate, her tone being very easy going as it was obvious to her boyfriend that he didn’t have to tell her, but she was still there to listen if he needed her. At the same time, she wanted to know in case something was seriously wrong. He was a pro hero after all, and that job comes with many risks.

“No, it’s alright. A certain case has just been in my mind after hearing about it today.” Keigo took a bite of the chicken, humming in satisfaction at the taste. He swore he would never get tired of his girlfriend’s cooking. “Dinner’s great, by the way. Thank you for making it.” He smiled, knowing that he changed the subject smoothly enough to make both of them move on from the previous topic.

(Y/N) proceeded to thank him, going on to say that she had to run to the store at the last minute to get an ingredient that they didn’t have in the kitchen. Of course, Keigo’s thoughts remained elsewhere while his eyes were trained on the one he loved.

The next morning, Keigo had gotten up a little bit earlier than usual before leaving for work. Granted, he did have to make a stop first before the hero rankings happened later that day.

Keigo had arrived at the warehouse first, looking around the building to make sure no one could possibly see him before walking inside.

“About time you got here.”

Keigo had barely taken 3 steps inside before he heard the voice. Even if he had expected it, he still pulled out one of his longest and sharpest feathers and pointed it in the direction he heard it in. He kept the hard glare on his face as he stared at the man. “You should be more careful about keeping yourself out of sight, Dabi.”

The man chuckled, obviously sarcastic as he shrugged his shoulders while his hands rested in his pockets. “Please, if anyone else stumbled across this place I would have taken care of them without you even knowing.” He smirked slightly, almost making Keigo question whether or not Dabi really had done that before he arrived.

Either way, he rolled his eyes and lowered the feather in his hand. They had work to do soon that could not be treated nicely. “Let’s just finalize the details and get this over and done with, shall we?”

~     ~     ~

Keigo smiled to himself, proud of the fact that he managed to bring Endeavor to his hometown of Fukuoka just like he planned. Now, all that was left to do was seal the deal and wait for everything to go down the next day, or so he had thought.

He and Endeavor were eating lunch to discuss all that was going on when it happened, and part of Keigo was annoyed at himself for thinking that it would happen this way. Nevertheless, he and Endeavor fought the Nomu that Dabi and himself had planned for in hopes that everything would turn out like the plan originally intended to go.

It was a hard fight, one that even he didn’t expect to go the way it did. Of course, he couldn’t focus on that factor for long, as he still had a job to do. Sadly, it fell short as Endeavor had won the battle against the Nomu. Even though he was hoping for the end of Endeavor like Dabi was, he couldn’t help but admire the pro for always trying to get to the number one spot.

Endeavor always kept trying to get there unlike others who simply stood by thinking it was impossible. Keigo strived to be like that too, even if he claimed to want a lower hero ranking. He wanted to be able to create a laidback world so that heroes didn’t have to work so hard all the time, and he would do anything in order to do so. Including killing the man who had inspired him.

While he was upset about the plan not going the way he had hoped, and the fact that Dabi had acted without telling him, Keigo couldn’t help but feel stressed due to the fact that everything he had done in order to pull this off was now a waste. And he had no idea when he would be able to get another chance like this again.

He managed to reason with Dabi so that they could come up with another plan to end the current number one hero later in time, but for now, all he wanted to do was go home and relax in attempt to get rid of the pounding in his head and aches in his body from the fight he had.

The moment Keigo stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him, (Y/N) made her way to the door to greet him, walking faster than usual. She knew that he was okay, as he had called her shortly before meeting with Dabi to let her know, but worry was still written all over her face.

“Keigo,” (Y/N)’s hands raised to her mouth as she noticed that most of his wings were gone after the fight. Even if they would grow back over the course of a couple days, it was still an unusual sight to see from her boyfriend. “Your wings.” She stepped towards him again, reaching out to hold his cheek so he’d look her in the eye.

Instead, Keigo moved her hand away before she could touch him and took off his coat followed by his shoes. “I’m fine, (Y/N).”

The tone in his voice was one (Y/N) knew all too well: stress. “You’re not, and we both know it.”

Keigo didn’t say a word and simply walked past her to the kitchen. He reached into one cabinet and grabbed a glass, then into another to grab a bottle of gin and seltzer water. (Y/N) followed him, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind, whether you do or not. But please tell me how I can help you.”

“You can be quiet, that’s how you can help.”

(Y/N) eyed him, part of her hurt from his words and part of her annoyed. “Excuse me?” “You may say that you can help, but right now, all I need from you is silence and to leave me alone.” Kiego’s back faced her while he spoke, making the cocktail that he decided on. He turned around and took a big sip; he took in the expression she now wore herself.

“What on earth happened to make you start acting like this?” (Y/N) took a step forward, still hoping that she could figure out what was actually going on. There was definitely a reason as to why he acted so different compared to the way he did after a hard day at work, so what caused it?

“What do you want me to say when I come home from work, (Y/N)? That everything was all fine and dandy? No crime happened throughout the city? The district? The country?” He let out a short yet sarcastic laugh. “Well guess what sweetheart? That just isn’t the case, is it?” He took another swig of his drink before setting it down on the counter.

(Y/N) held back from sounding so harsh, becoming more and more ticked off as her boyfriend dodged question after question thrown at him. “Keigo, please,” she stepped forward, reaching out to him again. “Just answer my question so I can help you.”

Keigo eyed her as she got close, her words starting to get to him. He was a hero, so he should be helping other people, not the other way around. But, with his plans in flames from Dabi, the world he was hoping for was now even further out of his reach.

He stepped away to walk out of the kitchen, mumbling under his breath. “I’m going to get a shower.”

(Y/N) trailed after him, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to stop him as Keigo began to step into the hallway. “No, you’re not.” It was then that Keigo would turn to regret everything.

“I told you to leave me alone!”

In less than a second, Keigo turned around to move (Y/N)’s hand off of him, but in the process of doing so, he accidentally put too much strength into his movements and slammed (Y/N) into the cabinets next to her with just his arm.

(Y/N) lost her breath as well as her footing from hitting the wood so hard and fell to the floor. She hesitantly looked up at her boyfriend, seeing as he was now glaring harsher at her with his teeth slightly bared. She could almost feel the anger now radiating off of him, and she was terrified.

The realization of what Keigo had just done sunk in mere seconds after it happened. He felt his heart drop at the sight of the one he loved on the ground from his actions, now scared of him and what he would possibly do to her next. “(Y/N),” was all he could get out.

“No, don’t.” (Y/N) moved back on the floor as best as she could in her scared state. She eventually stood up, backing up away from him while her arms wrapped around herself. “If you’re going to act like this, then I’m going to leave before you do anything worse.”

Keigo couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes, instead staring at the floor. He didn’t even move when (Y/N) walked past him with tears in her eyes. He could hear her grab her keys and put on her shoes before leaving, slamming the door for good measure.

Keigo didn’t try running after her, instead raising a hand to grip his hair tightly and leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. “Fuck.” This all happened because of him and his selfish actions, and there was no other way to look at the situation. “I’m sorry.”

He knew that one simple apology wasn’t going to solve anything, but then again he didn’t know what he could do to turn this around. He grit his teeth and his other hand hit the wall beside him. “I’m so sorry.”

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader 

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

X

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 5)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader characters: bucky barnes, reader, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, tony stark, pietro maximoff, crystal amaquelin, clint barton, sam wilson, sharon carter,  word count: 7k+ warnings: curse words, flirty bucky, flirty tony, angst, sad friends summary: things are changing and its startng to get hard to keep up a/n: hi, welcome to the slowest update and slowest burn story ever, but its here now--and let me tell you, this chapter is NOT how i planned... still like the outcome and really, it just means that the next ch is going to be just as long (im also looking for someone to beta future chapters ;o; so if youre interested, lemme know)

prev || all || next

“Natasha?” you call out, entering the eerily quiet apartment. The lights are off, the television quiet and dark, everything you used for breakfast is still in the sink, none of it put away—she hates seeing a full sink, but hates washing dishes in the morning even more, preferring to do them when she gets home when it’s her turn.

You call out for her again, your footsteps echoing as you make your way to her bedroom. Knocking, you wait for a beat before opening the door, and just like the rest of your shared home, her room is dark—even the neon lights she likes leaving on occasionally are turned off. 

Where could she be?

There’s a note on the island counter that has you frowning—Out for the day. It reads in Natasha’s cursive writing. I’ll be home for dinner.

You don’t share any classes with Natasha, today. In fact, you don’t have any classes Tuesdays, something you’re grateful for because having classes everyday last year really stressed you out, and while you’re still stressed having three classes on three days of the week, you have more days to relax and study if need be. 

Your free days also give you the chance to spend time with Natasha, something you both take seriously. Afterall, you made a promise to one another senior year of highschool that you’d always carve out a little bit of time for each other and that you’d always tell one another what was on your mind, never letting it fester.

It feels… weird knowing something is wrong and not knowing what it could be. But you just have to give her space and wait for her to tell you on her own, just as she gives you space when you need it.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though.

With a loud sigh, you leave your apartment.

You shoot him a quick text to let him know you’re here, and he replies by giving you the code for the building and his floor and apartment number. 

Seriously, Bucky? Why is he making you go up?

Grumbling, you take the elevator to the fourth floor and knock on his door, ready to rip him a new one for having you meet at his place rather than somewhere else when it opens to reveal… not Bucky?

Naked torso and bright blue eyes greet you, and widen in surprise as a small squeak escapes your lips. You try to ignore the heat clawing its way up your neck and to your face, desperately hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He says your name breathlessly and you return the gesture with another squeal, head lightheaded and you’re pretty sure it’s not healthy to have all your blood rush to your face like this.

“Steve!” You avert your eyes and focus on the wooden door and the gold numbers 404 instead of his pretty, hairless chest. But it’s kind of hard to keep your focus on something else when your eyes keep wanting to move his way! “Bucky told me to meet him here?”

As if he was waiting for his name, his head pops over Steve’s shoulder, a small smirk on his face—has it always been this punchable? Because your fingers are itching to clock him and wipe that smug look off of his face—that’s becoming a thing isn’t it?

“You’re finally here!” He pushes Steve aside and opens the door wide for you, ignoring the protests of his best friend. He latches onto your wrist, not allowing you a chance to look over the open spaced apartment and pulls you along with him towards the elevator. “I’m taking the car! And put a shirt on!”

You chance a glance over your shoulder to find Steve staring after you both with raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips. Fuck.

“What the hell, Bucky?” you ask as soon as you’re in the privacy of the elevator. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, pressing the button for B—basement you’re assuming.

“You’re welcome?” You repeat incredulously. “For what?”

“What do you mean for what? You got to see a shirtless Steve thanks to me!”

He has a point, the little voice in your head says, but you refuse to listen. Pursing your lips, you turn your eyes away to stare at the blinking numbers over the sliding doors. “I’m not thanking you for that.”

He pouts and it’s so uncharastically Bucky, or at least it's uncharacteristic for the Bucky you thought you knew, that it throws you off guard for a moment. You clear your throat and try to recover. “Come on! I did good! You saw a shirtless, Steve! What are the odds of that happening?”

“Literally none.” He grins at your deadpan words. “Still don’t appreciate it, Bucky! That was embarrassing, for him and me.”

He sighs, slouching back into the elevator wall like a little kid having been scolded for stealing a piece of chocolate. “Okay, I get it. I get it, no more tricking you into seeing a shirtless Steve.”

You resist the urge to sigh heavily at his words. “I hate you.”

He grins toothily.

You watch him as he smiles at the poor girl behind the register ringing him up for a pair of sunglasses. She ducks her head shyly, curling a lock of her hair behind her ear as does her best to quell the blushing on her cheek. 

He had told you to keep an eye on them, watch him as he tries to win over the cashier with his charm, but from where you’re standing? You’re not seeing shit.

He thanks her with another smile, taking his card that she hands back to him before making his way to you. 

You quickly look away when her eyes begin to drift from him to you.

“Did you see?” he asks as he settles into step with you to lead you to another store.

You nod and cock an eyebrow. “What exactly was I supposed to learn from that?”

He makes a face—nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed. “How easy it is to flirt?”

“I saw none of that,” you deadpan.

He sighs deeply as if completely disappointed in your lack of attention and you have to resist the urge to smack him and roll your eyes. “Did you not see how I—you know what. Never mind.” Before you can even question him, he continues on: “We’re not just here to teach you how to flirt, we’re also here because you need an outfit for the party. Two birds,” two fingers lift into the air and then one finger goes down, “one stone.”

You do a double take, blinking slowly and letting his words process. “I need an—no, I don’t!”

“Oh, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow as he opens the door. “What were you thinking about wearing, then?”

“I don’t know?” You reply indignantly. What exactly is he getting at? “Some jeans and a shirt? You know, like casual clothes.”

When you don’t make a move to enter, he grabs your arm and pulls you along with an eye roll. “That’d be fine for any other party, but this is a Stark party. People dress up to impress, and those that don’t, stick out like a sore thumb.”

Great.

“Come on, sourpuss.”

That’s rich coming from him.

But then again, he hasn’t been much of a sourpuss with you anymore has he? 

“What about this?” he asks, amusement laced in his words as he grins stupidly at you. In his hands is a short and skimpy dress that you would never wear out of fear of what you might accidentally end up flaunting.

A glare is all he gets as a response and he laughs loudly. “I’m joking!”

You miss sourpuss Bucky.

He has you searching the floor for something—anything, he deems acceptable for Stark’s party, but you honestly don’t understand why you can’t just wear casual clothes. And when you voice it, he keeps emphasizing the whole “sticking out like a sore thumb” bit. As if he knew you liked blending with the crowd rather than stand out. You relent, allowing him to help you pick something out, too, but you still don’t like the idea of dressing up for a College party.

A blue romper is suddenly shoved in your line of vision and you took a step back to follow the arm attached to the shimmery romper. “Pretty, right?”

You wrinkle your nose involuntarily. It is a pretty romper (better than the first one), with a low open back and a sweetheart neckline. You’d wear it, but it looks more suitable for clubbing than a college party.

“I think it’ll look good on you!”

You reluctantly grab it from his thrusting hand. “Isn’t it too much?” You check the tag. “Besides, not my size.”

“It’s perfect for Tony’s party,” he muses as he ushers you towards the rack where he found the romper, encouraging you to find your correct size. “And it’s actually pretty tame compared to what you’ll see others wearing.”

“You know, you’ve been really making me dread going to this party,” you grumble, pulling out a romper that’s in your size. “You keep making it sound like it’s the event of the year.”

He nudges you towards the changing rooms. “It might as well be. A lot of people look forward to his parties, use it as a chance to completely unwind without any rules binding them to the usual frat party rules.”

Which would make sense as to why Natasha is looking forward to it, especially when she seems to be stressed from outside factors.

“That still doesn’t make me feel better.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop being a baby.”

The dressing room attendant allows you both in with a smile, pointing to a stall you may use, and you both thank her.

The music is a little louder in the dressing room area than it was on the floor, Dua Lipa’s New Rules blasting loudly, enough to make you drum your finger against the hanger.

“Besides,” he starts from the other side of the door. Through the crack, you can see him with his back turned towards you and waiting. “Going to this party will be your chance to open flirty dialogue with Steve, show him you’re actually interested in him.”

You take your time undressing. “None of what I’ve seen so far will help, Bucky. Smiling and touching someone isn’t flirting.”

“It will!” he assures you over the music. “It’s part of the basics on how to flirt.”

“Okay? But what else?” You were really hoping for more. He made teaching you how to flirt seem like such a big deal the other day. 

He doesn’t answer you.

“Bucky?” When he doesn’t answer again, you quickly scramble to put on the romper, not bothering to check yourself in the mirror. You call his name again. No answer. Again. “Are you—“ You open the door to your dressing room and to your surprise, Bucky is still standing outside of your dressing room, closer to the one next to yours. “Why weren’t you answering?”

He leans against the door with his shoulder, hands in his pockets and stormy eyes meet yours when you poke your head out. “Well? Aren’t you gonna show me?” Your forehead creases as your eyebrows curve inward. He motions to the side with his head as if asking you to step out. 

With a reluctant step, you come out of hiding, showing him the outfit with a ducked head.

His eyes sweep over you and his hands come out of his pockets, a lopsided grin appearing on his lips. “Wow—you look—you look great, doll.” 

Doll? You don’t question it even though you’re curious about the sudden pet name, besides, you’re a little flustered at the genuinity in his voice “You think so?”

“It’s gonna be hard for anyone to look away from you,” he says, eyes twinkling with some kind of emotion that you can’t read. Mischief, maybe?

You pause, the heat that had been gathering in your cheeks suddenly cools as the hair on your arms stand awkwardly. You can’t help the small shiver that runs down your spine, or the small noise of disgruntlement that escapes your lips. What was wrong with him? “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, reaching for a lock of your hair and you jerked away. 

Your eyes narrow as you watch the smile on his face grow, but soon they widen as the realization hit you. “Are you—are you trying to flirt with me?”

His smile drops and it’s your turn for your smile to grow, a laugh escaping your lips. His lips form a pout and he groans. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. I’m teaching you how to flirt!”

“By giving me chills?”

He leans away from you, in shock that you’d think he’d ever do such a thing! “I did not give you chills!”

“You did!” you assert as you lift your arm to show him the bumps and awkwardly standing arm hair.

“There’s no way I caused that!”

You shove your arm further into his direction. “You totally did!”

He stares at you unblinkingly, your words processing in his head and taking in your form, until finally, he groans loudly, gaining the attention of the attendant. “But my flirting has never failed!”

You laugh, stepping away from him. “Well, your mom did say you seem to be under a dry spell.”

“Hey!” He sputters. “Just get changed!”

You shake your head with a smile and head back into the changing room to change out of the romper and back into your regular clothes.

After paying for the romper and walking around aimlessly, you two find yourself at the food court sitting across from one another with ice creams in hand. 

“Since—apparently—showing you wasn't the best way to reach you how to flirt, telling you might be,” he says after a spoonful of his strawberry cheesecake ice cream. “Flirting isn’t rocket science, doll. Everyone can do it.”

“Not everyone.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Flirting is all about conversation and being confident while doing it,” he says, straightening his back. “A lot of people have this… idea, that you have to be coy and charming to flirt, but you don’t have to be. Sometimes it’s all about compliments, other times it’s about subtle touching, or most of the time—both.”

You close your lips around your spoon, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Try it on me.”

Your spoon almost drops from your hands at his words. “What?”

“Try flirting with me.”

“Bucky—“

“You’ve seen me flirt twice—“

“I learned nothing from either time.” 

He blatantly ignores you and you can’t help but laugh under your breath. “So, you have an idea of what you should do when flirting with someone.”

“I don’t know—“

“Just compliment me, talk to me, reach for my hand or something.” He smiles. “You’ve got this.”

You take a deep breath and finally relent. Placing your spoon back into the cup with your melting ice cream, your eyes meet his expectant gaze.

Sweeping over his eager gaze, your eyes fall on the red beaded bracelet wrapped around his wrist. It’s homemade, a little worn out by the look of the scratches on some of the beads. But it’s cute, reminds you of something you would’ve made when you were in middle school for Natasha, or something your younger brother would’ve made for you. Did one of his sisters make it for him? Shyly, and nervously, you reach for the beaded bracelet, gently running your index finger over the small beads. 

“I like your bracelet.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a wide grin, stormy eyes watching you carefully and you can’t help the heat licking at your skin—god, this is embarrassing!

“Yeah, it’s cute… looks good on you,” you mutter, hooking a finger under the bracelet and flashing your eyes up at him from under your lashes, still feeling hot and embarrassed, and if you cry, holy shit you’re going to die. You can’t even read Bucky’s expression, there’s a smile on his face but his eyes are pretty neutral. Fuck. What if you’re messing up? What if you’re only making a fool out of yourself? “No!” You gasp softly, extracting your finger from his bracelet and covering your face with both hands. “No, I can’t do it!”

“Come on,” he drawls and gently takes hold of your wrists to coax your hands away from your face. “You were doing great!”

You let him pull down your hands and purse your lips, not completely believing him, but he sounds genuine enough. “Was I really?” 

“Yes, you were!” he says, patting your hands in his. “You complimented something on me and me, found an excuse to touch me and kept eye contact for most of it! That’s pretty fucking amazing.”

You slip your hands from his to cup your jaw and groan. “I wish I could believe you.”

“All you really had to do was ask questions, prolong the conversation, make me think you’re interested in knowing more about me,” he advises softly. “If you do something similar like this to Steve? He’ll be putty in your hands.”

Giddiness bubbles in your stomach as you think of Steve flirting back, but… “But what if I get too nervous? Or fail?”

“Then you breathe, remind yourself you’re having a conversation to get to know him outside of what you already do know.” He waits for a beat, eyes searching your face for a moment and sighs. “Some people like to lay it on thick with the charm because that’s what they’re good at. You? You’re just… you. Doe-eyed, a little awkward, more than a little blunt sometimes. So use that to your advantage.”

You don’t fully believe him, but he sounds so sure of himself that you can’t help but agree to try it. “All right. Okay, I’ll do my best.” 

“That’s all you need.” He grins and tilts his head towards one of the many entrances of the mall. “Want to head home?”

You look down at the ice cream pooling in your cup and decide to throw it out along with Bucky’s empty cup. “Mind if I check out the Disney store before we go?”

He remains seated, thanking you as you take his trash with yours. “Was afraid you wouldn’t ask.”

Throwing the two cups, you look at Bucky over your shoulder, ignoring the family of four that cuts between you to occupy a table. “You like Disney?”

He scoffs, offended that you even thought of asking such a heinous question. “Of course, I do.”

You shrug, laughing under your breath as you wipe the imaginary dust from your hands. “Most guys hide their affinity for Disney.”

Without thinking much of it, Bucky grabs the bag carrying your romper from the empty chair. When you make a grab for it, he tells you he’s got it and begins to lead you towards the Disney store. You follow after him, thankful. “I’m not most guys,” he quips back. “But… uh… does Natasha not like guys that like Disney?”

You blink, processing his shy inquiry and then throw your head back in laughter. 

“Hey! It’s a legit question, if she doesn’t—“

You fall into step with him, smothering your laughter with the back of your hand. “What? Are you going to hide your love for the mouse from her if she doesn’t?”

“Maybe?”

You roll your eyes. “I suggest you don’t, Bucky. Natasha… she likes authenticity.” He knows this! But he’s really gung-ho on changing himself for her, isn’t he?

“It’s not like I’m going to lie about it! I’ll just be… omitting the truth.”

“That is lying,” you say with a bit of whine and drawl in your voice. “Lying by omission.”

 “Whatever gets her attention.” His lips turn down and his eyes sweep down at you with a semi glazed look before staring forward. “That’s the whole point of this, right? Getting their attention?”

You try to hide the wince and find that you can’t bring yourself to refute him.

Your eyes meet your own in your mirror’s reflection, and with a deep breath, you leave your bedroom.

Natasha is on her phone, fingers tapping away at the screen barely acknowledging you other than a, “Finally!”

“Sorry,” you start as you make a beeline to the fridge for water. “I’m just a little unsure of what I’m wearing.”

She looks up, twisting in her seat to take a look at you and she lets out a strange noise that sounds akin to excitement. “Where have you been hiding this little number?”

You purse your lips. “It’s okay?”

“Are you kidding me?” She stands and makes her way over to you, smirking wickedly, hand to her chest as she buckles her knees. “I am in love!”

You gently push her away and she cackles. “God, you’re so weird.”

“You love me!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

Pietro: bruh, i am in awe

Pietro: i shit you not, you’re going to be fucking blown away when you guys get here

You: His place that nice?

Pietro: what do you think?

Attached to the message is a picture of Pietro making a face at a large chocolate fountain in the middle of who knows where and you honestly can’t believe it. You really fucking can’t. Who fucking owns a chocolate fountain other than a fictional character?

“Are you seeing this?” you ask Natasha, who sits beside you in the moving taxi, staring incredulously at your phone screen as you receive another message from Pietro, but this time of him sticking a marshmallow into the fountain with a stick.

She hums. “Seeing what?”

“What Pietro just sent—group chat?”

“Oh,” she says. “No.”

Sighing, you put away your phone, ignoring the incoming text from Pietro most likely asking how far away you are. “Who do you keep texting?”

“Huh?” She looks up at you after a moment of silence. “Oh, a friend—hey, you don’t mind if I invited them to tag along, right?”

A friend? You try to keep yourself from frowning, keeping a more neutral, curious expression. “I don’t mind, but, who did you invite?” You’re pretty sure you know everyone she knows or at least know of the people she deems worthy enough to call friends—which aren’t many (and are literally the same people you call friends).

“He’s one of the guards at the center,” she says, returning her attention to her phone, a smile appearing on her lips as she types out another message. “I had trouble on the first day and he helped me.”

“Wait, you had trouble?” Why didn’t she tell you that? She had only mentioned that it went well, but the kids could be a bit too much if she wasn’t stern enough.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, got lost. Not a big deal.”

She got lost and made a friend on her first day and it’s no big deal? “Right.”

She raises her head to look at you once more, eyebrow cocked and ready to say or ask something, but the driver pulling up slowly and saying, “Here we are,” distracts you both, stealing your attention for a moment and making you both glance out the window.

“Wow,” is all you can manage to say as you stare up at the modern home—mansion, really—as you push open the car door to step out, Natasha right behind you. You knew Tony was rich, but this, this is crazy rich.

The chocolate fountain now makes sense.

You both thank your driver and the man nods, wishing you both a fun night before driving off.

“And I thought your parent’s home was big,” you tell Natasha.

She chuckles, clapping your back before beginning to lead you towards the main entrance and closer to the loud music playing indoors. “Pietro and Crystal are already here, right?”

“Yep. They might be by the chocolate fountain, wherever that is.”

“Cool, I’m going to look for my friend,” she says, pushing open the door and allowing the music to escape from the enclosed space—“Meet you there?”

She’s seriously not thinking of leaving you—oh my god, she is. She’s really leaving you!

Before you can even begin to protest, she’s become one with the sea of bodies occupying the open space and you can no longer see your friend among the masses.

Great. Now what?

You frown and when a person knocks into you by accident, giving you a hasty apology as they keep moving, you can’t help but sigh. Why did you even decide to come?

You pull out your phone and read the message Pietro sent you earlier, and reply telling him that you’ve arrived. In a matter of seconds, you receive a message from him saying he’s still by the chocolate fountain and to hurry the fuck up.

Well, at least you still have Pietro. 

Just as you’re about to put your phone away, it vibrates with a text notification, your text tone completely drowned out by the music.

James Bucky: How’s the party?

You: Just got here

James Bucky: Barely?

The music is loud around you as you push through the crowd, people not really caring if you bump into them, all of them in their own little world as the bass reverberates through their bones. 

You: Wasnt super keen on the romper.

You: Jumped around a lot of outfits

James Bucky: But I thought you looked great! 

James Bucky: You ARE wearing it, right?

You: yes, zazu gosh

James Bucky: wait

James Bucky: Zazu from the Lion King?

James Bucky: are you calling me an overbearing bird?

You: 🤷🏻‍♀️ 

You: if the shoe fits

James Bucky: listen, if I’m anyone from the movie, I’m Simba

You snort as you reply back: Sure you are

James Bucky: Rude!

James Bucky: Have you seen Steve, yet?

You: no. 

You: Looking for Pietro and his girlfriend first

James Bucky: All right

James Bucky: Guess I’ll let you go

James Bucky: just remember to relax! You’ve got this!

Yeah! You do got this!

Thanks, Bucky.

Your search for the fountain leads you outside to a small courtyard where it’s a little less crowded, but just as noisy with the music and talking. In the middle of it all is the glorious chocolate fountain and in front of it a long table of fruits and other assortments that could be dipped into the chocolate. 

“What do you think?” A voice suddenly says next to your ear and you can’t help but let out a surprised squeal as you jump around to face the culprit. “Cool right?”

“Tony! What the hell?”

He chuckles and looks you over, his eyes still obscured by his dark glasses. “You look good.” He sounds sincere enough, but you can’t help but raise your eyebrow in suspicion.

“Thanks?”

He grins. “You’re welcome.” He looks around you. “Came alone?”

“Ah, no, I came with Natasha, but she went searching for someone.”

“And you?” He asks, removing his eyewear and hooking it’s leg into the collar of his shirt. “You’re not searching for anyone?”

“I am…” you say, a little hesitant, unsure of what his question is meant to mean. “My friend Pietro.”

He tilts his head to the side. “You mean silver haired kid over there?”

You follow his line of vision, head twisting to look over your shoulder where Pietro and his girlfriend are sitting on a wooden bench, gorging on strawberries covered in chocolate. “Thanks.”

“Buckaroo didn’t come with you?” he asks, stopping you from making your way over to Pietro and Crystal.

“Uh, no. Said he didn’t feel like it.”

Tony snorts, he sounds a little bitter. “Of course, he did.”

Curious. “Did you want him to come?”

He presses his lips thinly, before smiling wickedly. “I’d like for someone else to come.”

“Seriously?”

He grins, head ducking and glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose, but he does nothing to stop them. “Sorry, bad joke.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“Do you usually do that?”

He catches your gaze over the rim of his glasses. “What? Make bad jokes?” He shrugs. “Probably.”

“No,” you start slowly, pausing for a moment to search his eyes, study him as much as possible before he can grow offended by your next words, words that you probably wouldn’t say to a stranger and shouldn’t say to a stranger, but still do. “Do you usually deflect when someone goes into uncharted territory?”

He tenses, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching, it only lasts for a second, but you catch it. And that’s enough for you to know you’re right. He lets out a dramatic sigh and looks away from you, pushing his glasses back up. “Ah, and here I thought you’d be more fun than most of these people.”

You purse your lips, ready to retort, but before you can, a hand lands on your shoulder, pulling you away from Tony and to a muscular body—Pietro.

“Is he bothering you?” Pietro asks, eyes locked on to Tony, not even bothering to look down at you. It’s the big brother act.

“Pietro!” You scold him, pushing him away from you and  from confronting Tony. “It’s fine. We were just talking.”

“And now we’re not,” Tony announces, eyes moving from Pietro to you. “Have fun, gorgeous.”

“What was that about?” Pietro mutters, confused as you both stare after Tony. And you can’t help but watch as he joins a group, laughing and smiling with them for only a moment before moving on to the next one. Never staying in one place.

“I don’t know,” you admit, a small frown making a home on your features.

You can never truly tell what the hell is going on with Pietro and Crystal. One moment they’re both laughing and having the time of their life and the next they’re arguing about the little things—this time the little thing being, well, you.

You’ve always known that Crystal wasn’t and isn’t particularly fond of you and Natasha, sometimes seeing both of you as some kind of threat or rivals for Pietro’s love, but you and Natasha usually pay her no mind. This time, however, it’s a little hard to ignore them when she’s whining about the fact you’re third wheeling their date, forgetting the fact that you and Natasha had invited Pietro in the first place, and he had decided to bring his girlfriend along. 

Where’s Natasha when you need her?

Why did you decide to come anyway? Bucky wasn’t joking when he said a Stark party wasn’t a place for striking up conversation, yet somehow he encouraged you to come and said it would be the perfect opportunity to flirt with Steve. Who, by the way, you haven’t seen since you arrived! Granted, you haven’t moved from your spot in the courtyard, but you aren’t so sure going around specifically looking for Steve would be such a good idea. What if you do start dating Steve and you one day tell him that you frantically looked around for him at a Stark party, actively avoiding everyone just to be able to talk to him? He’d most likely freak and call you a freak, and you’d much rather avoid that.

“Then go,” you hear Pietro snap, pulling you from your rambling thoughts to look at him and Crystal, both of them practically in each other’s faces.

His blonde girlfriend with wide blue eyes falters, eyes drifting from him to you and back, and you watch as her bottom lip wobbles for dramatic effect before throwing her hands up in the air and pushing Pietro away from her. “Fine! I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party anyway!”

Pietro sighs heavily as she storms off.

“You sure letting her leave like that is a good idea?”

“Yeah,” he says through a grimace, falling back down onto the bench he and Crystal has been occupying. “It’s fine. We’ll work it out tomorrow. We always do.”

You have no doubt they’ll work it out, because he’s right, they always do. But you still can’t help but worry. How much more fighting and arguing can they take before they break? “Okay. Do you want me to get you a drink?”

He shakes his head and reaches for the red plastic cup by his feet. “I’m good, thank you.” He scoots over and pats the seat next to him. 

You flash him a small smile and drop yourself down next to him, taking the chocolate strawberry he offers you before pressing his own strawberry against yours and scarfing it down.

“What’s with the doom and gloom?” Natasha finally joins you, finding you and Pietro sitting on the wooden bench, gorging on chocolate covered fruit. “It’s a party!”

You and Pietro don’t bother reacting to her shimmy of the arms, you instead cock an eyebrow. “Did you find your friend?”

She nods, smiling, looking over her shoulder and making a come here motion with her hand—and who exactly she motions over isn’t who you were expecting.

Not only is it Steve, but it’s Steve. Handsome, blue eyes, pretty Steve, who flashes you a bright smile even after you’ve seen him half naked.

Your mouth falls open in surprise. Steve? Why would it be Steve? As far as you knew, Steve doesn’t work as a security guard. Not at campus, not at the accounting firm he’s interning, and definitely not at a recreational center! He would’ve mentioned it, right? You look at Natasha, but she’s not looking at you, and she’s not looking at Steve either, you note.

She’s looking at someone behind him, someone shorter with darker hair—dirtier, and darker blue eyes—“Clint?”

All eyes snap in your direction, but you pay them no mind, you’re completely transfixed by the man wearing a purple hoodie and acid wash jeans, who immediately recognizes you and smiles cheekily.

“You know each other?” Natasha asks and it's Clint who explains with a nod.

“She’s a regular at the museum, usually comes in during my shift.”

“Huh.” Natasha huffs out a breath. “Small world.”

Steve chuckles and that sound would usually cause your heart to flutter, but you’re currently very much in awe of the fact that Natasha has adopted Clint as her friend. “Guess that makes it easier with the introductions.”

“Uh, excuse you. I don’t know who he is. Hi, I’m Pietro. And you are?”

“Clint Barton, security guard extraordinaire.”

Natasha smiles in Clint’s direction and leans against him, surprisingly enough—which is putting it lightly. You’re more than surprised, you’re absolutely floored, Pietro is too because he turns to you with wide eyes and mouths “what the fuck?”

What the fuck indeed.

Natasha isn't the type to be so… hands on or touchy with strangers (well, then again, Clint isn’t exactly a stranger). It took months—half a year to be exact—for her to be comfortable with touching Pietro, and being touched by him. But here she is, having known Clint for a couple of weeks—BARELY—and is already using Clint as a resting post.

Yeah.

It’s official.

Bucky is screwed.

A Stark party is a sensitive overload, if you’re being honest. 

Here you are being rewarded with Steve looking mighty fine in a yellow button down and dark, regular jeans, but you’re somehow distracted by the way your best friend refuses to leave Clint’s side.  

She’s smiling, chuckling that soft, genuine chuckle of hers when he cracks a joke or tells a funny story. There’s a spark in her smile and eyes that you haven’t seen in such a long time—not since high school. 

You’re happy for her…. but…

This is going to hurt Bucky, isn’t it?

“Hey,” Steve’s warm voice reaches your ears and your body reacts without a minute to waste. Heat crawling up your neck as you practically rip your eyes from them to him.

“Steve, hey.”

“You look beautiful.” Your heart practically beats out of your chest, eyes widening at his sincere compliment and how he studies you with a warm gaze. It takes all of your energy to stay upright, even when the blood rushes to your head and your knees buckle.

He called you beautiful. Steve. Steve freaking Rogers!

Breathe and relax, doll. Flirting is simple conversation. Not an art. “Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, but still managing to be heard over the music if the tick of his lips is anything to go by. “You do too. Yellow is a good color on you.”

What? What kind of compliment is that?! Every color is a good color on Steve!

He chuckles, his eyes slipping down to the button down he’s wearing. “Thanks. This is actually Bucky’s. Told me I should wear it for tonight.” He fixes the collar of his shirt as the first button comes undone, and you can’t help but avert your gaze shyly. What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s just some skin, you dumbass! “You wouldn’t think so, but Bucky actually has an eye for picking out clothes,” he says fondly, proud of his best friend. “It’s one of his hidden talents.”

You return your gaze to him, but this time focus on his eyes, smiling when his own gaze meets yours. “I actually believe you. He helped pick out this romper for me.”

His eyes brows quirk upward. “Bucky did? Really?

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Did you say the wrong thing?

You almost grow worried when the silence between the two of you stretches for a moment longer until he smiles again, eyes softening. “I’m glad you’ve become Bucky’s friend.”

You’re not so sure you and Bucky ARE friends, especially not after he reiterated why you're both talking and helping eachother, but under Steve’s sincere gaze you can’t help the, “I’m glad too,” that slips from your lips. And you definitely don’t regret it when his smile widens.

“Ah, listen, I want to apologize about the other day,” he says, his cheeks red as he rubs the side of his neck and eyes drifting shyly off to the side. “I don’t usually open the door shirtless, but Bucky was hurrying me… and…”

Of course he was. God damn that Bucky! “No, no, it’s your home. You’re allowed to be comfortable. I’m sorry I was so awkward about it. I just--I have never seen that.” Steve’s eyes snap up in your direction and for a moment, you replay your words—have never seen that—what the hell is wrong with you? “I mean, I have. I definitely have seen a shirtless man before. Who hasn’t? I meant to say I have never seen you—you know what? I’m just going to shut up now.”

He blinks slowly and without warning he lets out a loud laugh that takes you off guard, but it fills your chest with warmth. You recognize this laugh; it’s his genuine laugh. The one that makes him throw his head back, hand clutching his chest, and laugh without any inhibitions. And you caused it. You.

You can’t help but chuckle along with him.

And when Steve finally calms down, he glances down at you with crescent eyes and a genuine smile. “You’re cute.”

Heat crawls to your neck and you can’t believe it’s possible to even get this hot and embarrassed. “Thank you?” you squeak.

This is good right? Steve across from you, drink in his hand and smiling down at you as if you’re the only people in the room. And you might as well be, because the music sounds so distant and Pietro’s laughter is muffled. 

This is your chance.

This is where you put a hand on his shoulder; lean into his space a little and flash him your doe eyes that Bucky mentioned. This is it! This is where you hint at your feelings, this is—

“Steve!”

Damn it, Sam! 

“Look who I found!”

The smile on his face drops and you can't help the way your body jerks when he mumbles the name, “Sharon,” so breathless.

You’re no longer the only two people in the room. The world spins and tilts, and it moves faster than you thought possible—all noise and music coming back to life and deafening you as Steve doesn’t spare you a glance to walk towards the beautiful blonde with kind brown eyes smiling at him.

You push through the crowd, needing to get away from whatever the fuck is going on inside. Steve barely even glanced at you after Sharon had appeared, which shouldn’t be surprising, really. His ex-girlfriend is beautiful and the two didn’t exactly break up on bad terms. They had decided that while she studied abroad at Cambridge for the year, it would be best for them to break up. 

So really, you should’ve known that the moment she would showed up, you wouldn’t have a chance.

Not like you had a chance before. But you had hoped with all of your heart that maybe you could have a chance.

You were wrong. Bucky was wrong.

The fresh, cool air hits you as soon as you’re out on the front porch, and you release an exhale.

“Tough night, gorgeous?”

Your eyes snap to Tony, who sits on one of the porch chairs, legs kicked up on the small rounded table, and a cigarette in his hands. “You could say that.”

Tony puts out the cigarette by smashing the tip into the ashtray by his feet.

“Why aren’t you inside playing host?”

A smirk lifts his lips. “Taking a break. Hosting is a lot of work.”

You snort. “I’m sure.”

“Why aren’t you inside?” You shrug and watch as he stands up and moves to the chair over, pointedly looking at the now empty one as if inviting you to sit with him. You do. “Saw you getting chummy with Steve earlier. Didn’t know you had it in you, gorgeous. Bucky and Steve?”

You freeze, eyes widening as you sputter. “What? Bucky and I are just friends and Steve… Steve… is just a friend too.”

He chuckles. “So not gaga over Buckaroo, but definitely deep in the feels for golden boy. Got it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Sure it isn’t.” He grins, but there’s no malice in his teasing and for some strange reason, you don’t mind it.

The music is muffled, even with the loud volume it’s set on. But you can make out Ariana Grande’s voice as she sings thank u, next.

“So, were you rejected by golden boy? Is that why you’re out here?”

“Rejected would imply I had a chance.”

“Why wouldn’t you have a chance?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Sharon.”

“Ah, the ex girlfriend.” He tilts his head back against the headrest. “Is she back? I heard she was back. But you know how rumors are.” Is he alluding to himself? 

You watch him and he all does is lift his lips into a smirk that has you shaking your head. Best not to dwell on it. Turning away from him to pull out your phone, you notice you have messages from Bucky and Pietro, but you don’t read either of them, instead going into the Uber app to get a ride home. “Guess so.” 

He leans closer to you, peeking at your screen for a second before pulling back. “Ordering yourself a ride?”

You nod, watching as the screen changes when you confirm the addresses and the arrival time and map show up. In a couple of mins you’ll be on your way home. Thank god. “Yeah. I’m just—I’m just really tired.”

“Mind if I come with you?” he jokes, lopsided grin in his face.

You put your phone away once your ride is confirmed and find him no longer staring at you, but instead watching the empty streets, the occasional night drifter passing by. “For someone who likes throwing parties, you don’t seem to like being in yours.”

He chuckles. “Would you believe me if I told you I get tired?”

“Why throw them?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer and again, you don’t push him to either. You barely know him, and you have a feeling he’s told you more than he’s told anyone else in one seating. 

“Okay,” you murmur and his eyes flicker in your direction before nodding and returning his gaze to the streets.

The two of you remain that way until your uber comes to pick you up. He walks you to the car door and opens the door for you, wishing you a goodnight and waiting until you’re far enough to head back inside.

Tony is an enigma, isn’t he? Everyone thinks they have him figured out, but you’re not so sure Tony even knows who he is himself. 

Does Bucky?

You’re about ready to drop dead on your feet as you push open the front door and flick on the light to your apartment, your phone in hand as you mindlessly reading Pietro’s “where’d you go?” text. Honestly, you have half a mind to drop yourself on the sofa instead of your bed, even if your bedroom is only a few steps away from the sofa. 

Just as you’re about to close the door behind you and are about to click on your text message thread with Bucky, the creaking of wooden flooring meets your ears and your eyes whip up, finding an unfamiliar woman standing next to your dining table with a hesitant smile and wide, green eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?”

[redxblueihateloveyou]

This is a personal opinion but from where I see it the Given movie and the anime itself definitely was... something that I would question because somethings just.. didn't make sense to me. The development of the Characters were either super fast or super slow and it made the pacing really really weird for me idk. But I do think that a huge reason so many people love the Given movie is because of the fact that when you compare Given to OTHER JP BL animes, there's very very slight improvement in terms of the story itself of Given. Is the story poorly executed? Fucking hell, who the hell is going to say no here. But is it better then some of the JP BLs out there? That's depended on how you view BL to be. For a lot of people things like Super Lovers or Hitorijime My Hero are super unbearable to watch because it's "problematic" (which honestly okay, you do you BB) which then leads them to look for BL animes that DON'T have such "themes." Leading them to actually liking things poorly executed but just "not problematic", Given for example.

Given is “not problematic”? Debatable.

Their first kiss was right after Mafuyu finally had a courage to sing a song about his ex who commited a suicide. ???

Problematic doesn’t only mean stuff like “he’s underage”. What about using someone to get over your grief or getting into a relationship with someone who is still not over his ex death and is vulnerable at the moment? Is this suddenly “not problematic” bc they’re same age and he haven’t pushed him into a wall in throws of passion?

To me it’s not even about the fact if it’s problematic or not (it’s rarely not tho, no matter what ppl think), it’s about whether its believable and feels genuine or not. It depends on many factors: situation, characters past, traumas, etc, etc. It depends on the story and how you write it.

Change some stuff and it’s gonna be a completely different thing. Make it like Uenoyama only hugged Mafuyu after the song, even tho he wanted to kiss him, but knows that it’s not the right moment. Make Mafuyu heal first, make Uenoyama be in his own angst that he loves Mafuyu so much for example, but cares about him recover more, so he doesn’t expect for it to go somewhere, then he tries to date someone and Mafuyu first starts getting out there, when he feels like he can start trying again. Someday he gets sick and Uenoyama cancels his date to take care of him even tho it’s nothing serious and then the realization comes. Make Mafuyu kiss him first and take the first step. This would’ve changed everything so much. He should’ve made the first step when he was ready, this would’ve felt so right. Uenoyama kissing him after that song is just.. it feels, I was like ehhhmmm.. weird?

Seeing someone saying that Given is a masterpiece is hilarious to me. The fact that it includes heavy themes like suicide, doesn’t make it a masterpiece, esp when it’s handled this badly. Once again, if you pick such thing as a base for a love story, do it right then, not in a “bibbidi bobbidi boo” kind of thing. 

BL or not BL, any relationships, it depends on whether you watch it and it feels plausable or not. 

For example, if Yuu says that he can’t live with Mika, my tongue won’t even twist to call it “unhealthy” or be like “dude why”. But if some high schooler in slice of life anime who has a caring family tried to end himself bc his two weeks friend left him, I would’ve yelled “bitch go see a doctor”. 

Depending on the story you can sell some feelings or not.

Nezumi and Shion are also problematic according to ppl’s logic these days. But I 100% believe they’re each other’s true loves. Only 11 episodes and it’s sold.

In Given I didn’t believe it. Bc it’s ridiculous, ok? It wasn’t the right place or time to start this relationship. It is not a new love story, it’s just a sad story. 

Given movie is slightly better compared to other japanese BL? Why would you offend Sekaiichi Hatsukoi, Uragiri wa boku no namae, No.6 and many others?

Also better where? They kept the same old “’stop, i don’t want to’, but he did it anyway” stuff AND on top of that the story sucks.

The way he used him knowing very well that he was unrequitedly in love with him for so long is so disgusting that it leaves a much grosser feeling than many yaois combined. You’re saying “it’s slightly better” bc they’re of age or don’t have an age difference? I don’t get it. It somehow makes everything better?

No, thanks. I’d rather watch Onodera sleep with Takano in high school with them being genuinely into each other and it going great than whatever happened in the Given movie. I don’t care if they’re both 18 there, it made me feel bad.

I didn’t feel bad, when Wei Wuxian thought “why the fuck didn't I have sex with Lan Zhan back when I was 15? I've really pissed away all my days, haven't I?”. I wonder why is that.

Like what you’re saying here is that their opinion on BL is so low that they automatically would give it 10 out of 10 bc it’s slightly better than smth that they find “unbearable” to watch? What kind of evaluation is that exactly? Maybe also let’s compare each anime to “boku no pico”, then everything will look like a masterpiece.

Like excuse me for the fact that when I watch some shonen-ai and yaoi, I judge it the same way I judge any other genre and any other relationships (hetero or gay) in animes. On a scale whether I care or don’t care, whether I believe that they love each other or don’t, whether it’s a good story or not. I don’t get what it means “it’s good for yaoi”. It’s just not good. This movie is trash, I mean, the relationship in it is trash. Who the fuck cares gay or not gay. Trash relationships are trash. Bad story is a bad story. Whether it’s a bad gay story or a bad hetero story, I don’t give a shit.

The reason I’m more into boy on boy ships is because I love the relationships there more than relationships in most heterosexual couples. My fav hetero ships are either “from hate/attraction to love” stories like “gone with the wind”, “anastasia” or “pride and prejudice” or stuff like “equals without pink goo, who only see each other and don’t need no one else and would die for each other, epic soulmates” like Richard and Kahlan. In anime 99% of those fit bromances, not romances. Like I don’t find Midoriya/Uraraka appealing at all for a reason that “she said ‘hi’, he blushed as a tomato, now they’re supposed to be each other’s romantic interests” is not what I find romantic. I find romantic the fact that Todoroki is forever devoted to Midoriya bc he knows he’s amazing and is not afraid to say it; and he’ll always be there for him when he needs him, no matter what it is, him just sitting there crying, some villain trying to kill him or if he’s too late out ther grossery shopping. Uraraka most of the times doesn’t even care where he is.

Most hetero romantic animes, I just find ridiculous, too cheesy and unrealistic and I’m not ready to watch 50 episodes for them to hold hands. I’m not in that age and I also never found things like this romantic before either. Stuff like Kisa/Yukine, when you meet someone, find him attractive, wanna fuck him, then fall in love accidentally.. yeah, that’s understandable to me. Stuff like Takano/Onodera “I was an naive idiot in high school, but now life made me a sassy bitch and I can’t open up to people as easily” also yes, relatable. 

When you’re turning into a tomato bc someone said ��penis” and think holding hands will take your virginity or smth, that’s not my thing.

So when I watch BL, I expect more, not less. So if it’s bad, I just say it’s bad, I’m not gonna be like “hmm... unproblematic... then 10/10″ like what? 

1stly, even “little mermaid” and “cinderella” are problematic. 

2ndly everyone is so focused on purity these days, like storyline don’t matter at all. It’s like any great love story is automatically trash if they have age difference. Any trash love story is great, if they don’t?

Let’s then also rate “Dororo” as 1, bc it’s like 24 episodes of them falling for each other while she’s 11 and he’s 16. Wow, such gross relationships they have during the whole story. Doesn’t matter that she grew up at the end of the last episode, the whole anime she’s a child. And let’s rate Noragami 0, bc 2000 years old perverted Yato is into 15 year olds.

No one has to fuck asap (heck even in the same hella problematic “Super Lovers” you talk about, Haru refused to fuck Ren even tho he was 17 in s2 and wanted to fuck another guy) and the rule “you can only fall in love after 18″ doesn’t exist. Also underage is not BL thing, it’s all anime thing. It’s time to shut it already. There are zillions of age gap couples out there who are great. Hyakkimaru waited for Dororo to grow up, it’s fine, seriously, they love each other in the right way, he didn’t want to fuck her when she was 11, okay? They did love each other tho already then. Pls excuse them for that.

3rdly, some relationship that ppl here call unproblematic are 20 times more problematic, than what they call problematic.

4tly, why the heck it’s like couples who have an amazing character and relationship progression, who love each other to death and will do anything for each other, ppl go: “wow, at the very beginning, he grabbed his wrist, he needs to go to jail”. Meanwhile a relationship who has no base, no story, no logical progression, no anything are “yes, best love story in the world”. Yeah... who cares if it feels like it’s all been pulled out of an ass and doesn’t make sense, very healthy tho.

It sounds lately like if most ppl here had two stories in front of them and one would be about two men who just met and the next day one proposed and they lived happily ever after and 2nd would be some complicated incredible story with a natural progression of the relationship, but they yelled at each other once, they’d be like “1st is better”. Well, not to me, no.

[justimajin]

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 18

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 5.6k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; we’re still on an angsty train

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, July 14

Your calendar has been marked with multiple clumsy crosses, a pattern following the giant date circled in a bright reddish hue. 

Tomorrow’s date.  

Your initial reaction is to be excited, anticipation building up in the pit of your stomach and a wave of euphoria surging out. You’ve been waiting for this opportunity since the day you joined the team, the chance of professionally playing in nationals seeming like a far-fetched dream until now. 

And yet the experience in preparing for the blissful moment is nothing like that.

A sudden rift occurs with your practices, the wheel changing course completely. Before it was about achieving your personal best and being lenient towards ensuring you were capable enough to play during games – but now, now it was about training vigorously until you perfected every single flaw, painless mistakes no longer being tolerated.

It’s as if someone took the dial and raised it up to a turbulent rampage, absolutely nothing bracing you from the ramifications. 

“Something isn’t right.” Jinyoung ticks, his eyes sending a venomous glare in Hoseok’s direction, “You’re not taking this seriously enough.”

Hoseok pauses in the midst of dribbling, form tensing up, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your shots have gotten weaker Jung,” Jinyoung scoffs, eyes narrowing onto Hoseok’s current stance, “Who even takes that many steps while shooting?”

The basketball in Hoseok’s hands suddenly slams onto the ground, his hands clenched in fists as he strides over to Jinyoung.

“My shots are perfectly fine, okay? If there’s something you want to criticize then maybe you should work on your shitty passing skills.”

The cord completely snaps and before you know it, Hoseok and Jinyoung are lunging at each other. A whistle breaks through the silence and immediately there’s two hands pushing them away, Namjoon’s eyes emitting a fiery edge. 

“Both of you, calm down!” You’re taken aback by the sharpness in his voice, watching him step back when Hoseok and Jinyoung leave some space in between. 

Namjoon huffs like he’s been running a marathon, “I know things are stressful right now, but the last thing we need to do is take it out on each other.”

Both of them stay mute and Namjoon sighs, “If there’s a problem, then work on it. There’s no need for all this.”

He gestures to the distance they’ve created and Jinyoung rolls his eyes, snatching a basketball and stalking away. Hoseok stays put instead, crossing his arms with a distasteful pout on his lips.

Namjoon sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He whirls around, staring helplessly at the remaining members.

“Everyone else, continue practicing.” When that earns him a nod, he walks away, frustration still lingering on his features.

You turn to Jungkook and Taehyung at his departure, who don’t seem as fazed as you do with the argument.

“Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much.” Taehyung exhales, “I’m surprised it was Hoseok this time around though, he’s not the type to be involved in fights like that.”

You hum, eyes wandering over to his deflated form, “I guess the stress of nationals can get to anybody…”

“It’s a lot when you think about it. Ten games against ten different schools, having to beat all of them in order to win the championship.” Taehyung glances at Jungkook, “It’s been hard, right?”

“It’s even harder if you get injured, because then you can’t even participate anymore.” Jungkook quietly mutters.

“If Bangtan wins this year, wouldn’t it be your third time in a row?” You ponder, but Taehyung and Jungkook visibly shudder at the thought.

“If we can survive that is…” Taehyung whispers, looking more dismayed than you’ve ever seen him. Jungkook nods, acknowledging a factor that you hadn’t taken into consideration.

“The competition has gotten worse. Just think about it, anyone would be gearing up to defeat the Bangtan Sondeyeon after we’ve been successful for two years in a row.”

“There’s a lot of people trying to take you down…” You quietly say.

Jungkook hums, starting to dribble his basketball again with a sad smile, “There’s more than you can imagine Y/N.” 

He whips around, occupying himself with practice again. You clutch your basketball tighter, the words replaying in your mind over and over again. You had always known about Bangtan’s history for a while, but now that you’re a part of them, it’s strange to know how clouded their victory’s have become because of those wanting to take their title for themselves.

With a sigh, you attempt to dribble again, failing to properly get a flow as the looming atmosphere draws heavier on you. Taking a glimpse around, you suppose its for the best if you step out for a moment. 

***

Thankfully the atmosphere outside isn’t as threatening and suffocating as the one inside the gym. You end up planting yourself down on a bench near the lockers, watching the volleyball team practice for a game through the thin glass of their practice room.

Your ears perk up at the sound of footsteps shuffling, making their way over to the bench before a weight sinks down. From the corner of your eye, you can see his hand is placed on top of his cheek as he observes the game you’re watching.

“Why are you out here?” You inquire, noticing how Namjoon had been the only one inside the gym throughout the entire practice.

“Same reason as you.” Yoongi simply says, “The tension in the gym is usually at its max during this time of the year.”

You hum, eyes drawing onto the way a player serves the volleyball, “But are nationals really that bad? To the point where it’s hard to even stay in the gym?”

“Depends.” Yoongi leans back on the bench, following the flying volleyball with his line of sight as well, “Nationals are just like any other game with the only difference being the stakes are now higher.”

“What about the competition though? I heard there’s a lot of people wanting to see our team lose.”

“There’s always going to be people who hate you.” Yoongi smirks, “So doesn’t that give us even more of a reason to prove that they’re underestimating our team?”

You chuckle at that and he softly smiles, “That’s true…I just hope we can all get through this. After all, that’s what I came here for…”

The volleyball abruptly strikes the ground, a point being called in for the other team as the referee blows a whistle. Your somber eyes watch it roll away, only blinking when you feel the warmth of Yoongi’s hand draw closer to your own. 

You glance at him but he’s still trained on the way the team quickly creates a huddle, discussing a new strategy all together.

“This is your first time playing at nationals. I can’t say you’re completely inexperienced playing professionally anymore but this isn’t something you’ve dealt with before,” He faces you now, stare intent, “So it really comes down to if you want to do this or not.”

The tone Yoongi uses is utterly blunt and you appreciate the honesty. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what happens or what doesn’t happen. What matters most is if you want to do this and if you’re prepared to see it through to the finish line.

You sigh, watching the team depart and try again in the game. “This is exactly what I wanted to sign myself up for, so I think it would be a shame if I didn’t see it all the way to the end.”

Yoongi nods, a small smile curling on his lips as he refocuses back on the thin glass. The ball harshly slams onto the wall, rolling over onto the opposing team’s ground.

“Isn’t that a foul?” You lean forward, brows contorted. Yoongi narrows his eyes as well, humming in agreement. The referee then retrieves the ball, changing the score to an additional point for the team as they erupt into a loud cheer.

“Oh.” Both you and Yoongi mutter at the same time, exchanging a genuinely surprised look with one another in a moment of drawn out silence. Your collective attention is diverted back to the scoreboard, watching the team's new point get added on. 

“I guess it’s a relief we chose to become basketball players instead.” Yoongi whispers, but your ears manage to catch onto it and your body shakes as you laugh. Yoongi smiles, getting up from the bench and reaching his hand out to you.

“Come on. Let’s head back to the gym before we make anymore bad predictions.” You smile as you take his hand, briefly peering back in confusion at the game’s rules. You eventually shrug it off by the time you and Yoongi reach the gym doors, knowing that at this crucial point in time there was an entirely different game waiting for you behind those doors. 

***

You suck in a deep breath.

The first game is luckily scheduled to take place at your school, but the moment you cross paths with the other team, you catch sight of a certain someone you didn’t know you would be facing.

He kindly smiles, though it completely contradicts the nuanced look he holds in his eyes when he glides past you. Nothing major seems to have changed in his appearance, the same shade of blonde hair and characteristic confidence radiating off of him as if you had just seen him yesterday.

“Who knew Bangtan would ever have such cute players?” Seokjin sing-songs, joining his team from across you. Taehyung holds back a scowl beside you, his eyes sending daggers in Seokjin’s direction.

You on the other hand, attempt to shrink just enough to hide behind Taehyung, not needing to be told twice about the team’s rival captain. Even though you had thoroughly prepared yourself for the start of nationals, nothing could have prepared you enough for the team you were about to face.

Namjoon strides in, being followed by Yoongi who is dressed in his signature jersey just like the rest of you. As Namjoon darts into the gym to check on the set-up, Yoongi stands in front of his team’s line-up as you all patiently wait to be called into the gym. Being fully aware that you’ll be stuck waiting for a couple of minutes, a smile quips on Seokjin’s lips.

“It’s going to be quite the game out there.” He sighs, a cheeky stare directed at you, “Don’t you think, Y/N?”

You wonder why he would even consider focusing on you when you’re currently using Taehyung as a shield and avoiding all eye-contact, but when you hesitate and try to answer, another voice cuts in.

“It sure is. Starting off nationals by defeating your team is definitely going to be a treat.”

You naively blink for a moment when Yoongi smirks, crossing his arms and standing head to head with Seokjin. Anyone in a distance can see the pure electricity brewing in between them from the way they stare at each other and you notice that Yoongi’s response almost pulls something else out of Seokjin, his friendly demeanour diminishing.

“You’re crossing bit of a line, Captain Min.” Seokjin presses, aware that Yoongi was throwing these words out in the open where everyone including the opposing team can hear them.

Yoongi however, frankly doesn’t seem to care. He steps forward, startling you a bit when he abruptly stands right in front of you.

“You’ve already crossed a line, Captain Kim.” Yoongi grits out, your eyes widening when the air between them grows even thicker. Taking a sideways glance at Taehyung, you realize he’s grinning at Yoongi’s posture and for some reason, it makes you suddenly extremely flustered.

Thankfully, Namjoon soon returns. Yoongi steps back and gets into the line-up, listening intently as Namjoon quickly briefs the entire team.

The gym doors finally crack open and a tsunami of roars erupt into the air. Your eyes can only dramatically widen at the sight of the bleachers, rows of people lined up on their seats just to see you play. The large fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling give you a clear view of the many faces present, including a handful that have you breaking out into a huge grin.

Junki is standing up and enthusiastically waving in your direction, Yoonji sitting beside him with her legs crossed and a knowing smirk on her features. Your eyes are drawn over to the elder man seated adjacent to her, a deep scowl maring his lips at the unforeseen raise of volume near him. When you do make eye contact, his expression naturally doesn’t change in the slightest, but you genuinely smile when his line of sight is seemingly attached to Yoongi’s every step. 

You tug on the back of Yoongi’s jersey and he swivels, taking a glimpse in your direction in bewilderment until you maneuver him to look in that one single spot in the bleachers. His eyes make contact with his father’s right away and neither display a reaction. However, your eyes grow tender when Yoongi scoffs, a small unmistaken smile gracing his lips.

Once you’re left standing in the centre of the court, you can only marvel at how different your gym appears. Since the stakes are immensely higher now, your gym appears to have been redesigned to compensate for a larger crowd and competitive game. The lines that are used on the grounds are now outstretched for more room, the bleachers have been expanded to fit around the entire room and the lights flashing above the new and improved scoreboard are more eye-catching.

You’re almost taken back to the game you and Yoongi watched in the stadium, everything being on a much grander scale with hiked up tensions.

After you’ve had your fair share of gaping at the court in pure awe, you redirect your focus back onto the team surrounding you. This time around, Namjoon had chosen you, Yoongi, Jungkook, Hoseok and Jimin to play, creating a nicer blend of offense and defense compared to the last time you had faced off with this team.

Speaking of which, you can only anxiously catch glimpses at Yoongi every so often when he’s basically glaring at Seokjin from across him, the latter only growing more and more relied up as Yoongi surprisingly doesn’t appear to be backing down. You take a deep breath, the spiteful memories of what occurred last time still remaining all too fresh in the back of your mind.

The referee strides in, adorned in a bright black and white shirt with a whistle strung around his neck and the light in the room reflecting off the basketball he carries. Standing right in front of Seokjin and Yoongi, he takes a quick survey around to ensure all players are remaining inside the lines before he resumes his attention back to the basketball.

“This is game one out of ten. Whichever team secures victory today will advance into game two of nationals and be a step forward to earning the title for this year’s league.” The referee declares, his voice resonating through the large speakers positioned at each end of the basket. “First team to three points wins.”

Everyone nods in a consensus as the referee’s eyes roam around. He grabs onto his whistle, bringing it to his mouth and eliciting the whole crowd to calm down, the room cutting into a tense silence.

The sharp sound of the whistle breaks it as the basketball is launched into the air, Seokjin and Yoongi both simultaneously lunging for it. Yoongi strikes the side of it with his fist and the ball goes slamming onto the ground, resulting in a cascade of scrambling from every person present on the court.

Jungkook manages to get a grasp on the basketball, accelerating his speed tenfold to avoid all the eager hands in his path. His feet skate against the floor until a sudden impact from behind loosens his grip, a member on the opposing team racing towards your basket.

You and Jimin jump at the opportunity of halting him in his steps, but he still tries to bypass it and takes a shot.

His aim thankfully doesn’t allow for that and Jimin hurriedly snatches up the ball before passing it along to you. Hoseok catches your sight and you throw it in his direction, his legs skyrocketing in order to clasp onto the flying ball.

But when Hoseok turns, he’s completely surrounded. He tries his best to somehow soar through it all, however it soon morphs into a game of cat and mouse when the ball gets passed back and forth.

The loud buzzer breaks the vigor of the game, your eyes landing on the giant red timer that has run out of it’s minutes. The referee blows his whistle and you all intervene at the centre again, this time huffing compared to before.

Seokjin takes charge of the ball this time, swooping to pass it to one of his members behind him. You recall his strategy of bulleting through the swarm of players to get a point within a couple of seconds, but his plans are foiled when Yoongi intercepts the ball.

A tick leaves him when he’s left with no empty space, becoming increasingly trapped the longer he searches for a member to pass the ball to. But when your shoes loudly squeak behind him, Yoongi grits his teeth and practically throws the ball in your direction before he’s completely overtaken by the other team.

You eye the disappearing numbers on the timer when you pivot around, taking notice of Jungkook’s jersey number flashing by from the corner of your eye. Hastily propelling the ball over to him, Jungkook considers the time you have as well when he decides to increase his speed immensely.

You sprint alongside him, navigating yourself against the sea of people as he reaches the basket. He shoots before they can catch up to him and you stand beneath the basket, prepared to send the ball in his direction in case he misses.

He doesn’t.

A sigh of relief leaves you the same time the buzzer resonates through the room. Jungkook high-fives you with an exhausted smile and you swipe the perspiration dripping from your face before jogging back into position.

When the ball is tossed into the air again, Seokjin catches it. Despite all of Yoongi’s strikes at retrieving the ball, he soars past him and throws it to one of his members.

Hoseok  is the first one up on his heels, bolting across the court to somehow deflect the ball. It nicks past his fingertips and lands into the opposing team’s hands, who then races over to your basket.

Although Jimin jumps to push the ball out of the member’s grasp, it ends up heading straight for the hoop and the buzzer sounds.

The scoreboard illuminates the giant one to one ratio and you narrow your eyes at the timer, fifteen minutes having flown by like they were mere seconds. Resuming your stance on the court, the referee signals for the next game to begin and you instantly race for the opportunity.

Yoongi is successful with getting the basketball in his clutches, whirling around to send it in your direction. You then pass it over to Jimin, who unfortunately gets intercepted by one of Seokjin’s members, the ball escaping from his hands and passed down to the opposing team’s captain instead.

As soon as Seokjin starts sprinting, Jungkook tailgates after him. The captain is cut short of options with Jungkook’s constant blocking, the pent-up frustration building inside him when he takes a sudden pause and is forced to scan around.

One of his members comes into view and he has no choice but to try his luck. The ball is propelled towards that member, their hands so close to grasping it until another firm hand shoots out.

You wince when the ball practically smacks against your hand, but you keep a tightened grip on it and clench your teeth. Hoseok appears in sight and you bounce it towards him, hope spiking within you as he grabs it and the air swooshes near him.

Carefully eyeing the timer, you can only pray that he gets to the basket before the buzzer sounds, but it seems like he ran into some trouble when the ball is smacked out of his hands. Your eyes widen when the direction is suddenly changed, your basket left guarded only by Jimin.

With a shape inhale, you’re left scurrying over to the player that has his hands on the basketball, intercepting right away when he shoots. Gritting your teeth, your feet dramatically escalate and you begin sprinting up a storm while avoiding any of the other’s team attempts. Everything morphs into a blur when all you know is that you’re running out of time and the sooner the ball in your hands gets into the basket, the sooner you’ll be at winning this game.

You hastily hurl the basketball into the hoop, gasping for air when your feet land back onto the ground. It sinks right in and the buzzer loudly resonates, but you nearly collapse onto your knees.

“Half-time!” The referee declares, allowing both teams to have a ten-minute break before resuming the game. You pant in relief, the sound of your teammate’s voice tugging you out of your immediate exhaustion. 

“Nice one Y/N!” Hoseok places his hands on your shoulders, nearly toppling over you in the process. 

Jungkook and Taehyung soon follow, slumping onto the ground abruptly in a way that makes you laugh. Yoongi marches over as well, his eyes quirking up at how Hoseok is practically glued to you. He pokes him with his foot, directing his gaze to the spot next to you.

Hoseok slides over and Yoongi plops down, appearing as fatigued as the rest of the members around you. It’s a little strange to see your team tired out so soon when this is normally how you appear after the game is done, but you’re aware that nationals is a whole other story. 

Namjoon finds all of you on the floor, having jogged over with a handful of water bottles in his hands. He chuckles when there’s a collective sigh of gratitude from his appearance, handing them out to every member before he sits down too.

“We just need one more point.” Namjoon hurriedly states, eyes flickering over to the giant illuminated scoreboard, “How are you guys feeling so far?”

“Like I’m dying.” Yoongi sarcastically mutters, earning a baffled look from Namjoon. He lowers his water bottle down, pointing at the other team, “What do you think are the chances of them catching up?”

“It’s hard to say…” Namjoon narrows his eyes at Seokjin, a questionable gaze in them, “I’m more worried about the Captain than anything else.”

“I agree.” Yoongi takes a sip of his water, eyeing the timer. 

“We won’t have much time to finish this game, so we need to make every minute count.” You all nod at Yoongi’s words, too aware that the only way to win this match is to get ahead.

After the ten minutes are done, you strain against your body to stand up. You’re extremely grateful when Yoongi reaches out a hand and tugs you up, the soreness radiating in your legs not aiding you much with the matter.

Heading back to the court, your eyes scan the opposite team. They appear to be in the same condition as the majority of you – heavy breaths escaping them and their jersey’s absolutely drenched with sweat. It gives some hope that you’re not the only ones suffering underneath the brutality of the game conditions, luckily recuperating enough to make it onto the court once more.

You instantly snap into action at the sound of the whistle. Seokjin snatches up the ball, seemingly more determined now to knab a basket than ever before.

Yoongi is right on his toes every time Seokjin checks around for someone to pass the ball to. He ends up being blocked entirely and the ball lands in Jimin’s hands, who dribbles and sprints away.

You accelerate your speed so that Jimin has someone to transfer it to, but unfortunately he spots Jungkook surrounded and decides to give it to him instead.

The ball barely makes it to him and Seokjin secures it in his grasp once again. He quickly tosses it to another one of his members and before you can do anything, the ball loops through your basket.

You sigh in exasperation and Yoongi appears right beside you, his keen eyes observing the scoreboard.

You know exactly what he’s thinking when the two matching numbers appear.

You were tied.

Being cornered into a box now, the next step you take can make or break your next step into nationals. With an unwavering stare and tightened jaw, you wait for the referee to make his way back to the middle of the court.

Sucking in a sharp inhale, the last whistle of today’s game is blown and you practically bolt. Your feet loudly trample against the floor when Yoongi has grabbed the ball, stretching out your arms in a desperate attempt for him to pass to you.

Your vision is completely blocked.

Your brows contort at the sudden appearance in front of you, scattering to catch a glimpse of the basketball when you are yet again seeing nothing but the large font of the opposing team’s jersey. From the corner of your eye, the timer is rapidly decreasing and the crowd is peaking with their cheers so with a clench of your fists, you pace yourself and create your own view.

Seokjin runs right when you do, his last resort turning out to be a repetition of the last game you had with him. However, this time it’s no longer taken as a storm of surprise by you.

Yoongi finds your eyes right away and he takes a long jump, sending the ball flying over. A huge smile gracing your lips when it makes contact with your hands and you begin dribbling towards the opposite team’s basket.

Yoongi seems to catch on what exactly the captain following you is doing, so he ensures he has enough space for you to keep making passes to him when he gets close. The strategy seemingly works out and you find yourself right below the basket, quickly swiveling to see the timer running to it’s dear end.

Before anyone gets ahead of you, the risky move of taking the final shot is placed into your hands as the ball is sent whirling towards the basket. Deep heaves are escaping you by the minute as you anxiously watch, eyes widening and your hands coming across to cover your mouth when it plunges in.

The loud buzzer rings and for a moment, everything tunes out. You’re trembling to the verge of frantically shaking and tears well up in your eyes. When you twist around, you see the shock overcoming Yoongi’s exhausted features for a split second before they solidify into absolute joy.

All you can do is smile and tightly embrace him back when he tugs you into his arms, the exhilaration drumming through him.

“You did it!” Yoongi exclaims, separating from you in awe as you sheepishly smile. “I could just kiss you right now.” 

Both your eyes widen at the words he’s just blurted out and Yoongi completely separates from you in realization. A small giggle bubbles up in you from his embarrassment, but soon you’re being embraced by a clutter of your own teammates.

“WE WON!” Hoseok shrieks, his loud voice in your ear making you wince.

“We’re heading into round two!!” Jungkook joins in, eyes crinkled and a wide grin on his lips. Jimin smiles graciously next to him, ecstatic with the victory.

“Yah, don’t get so happy yet. We still have nine more games to go.” Yoongi scolds, though Namjoon comes up behind him and laughs.

“At least we overcame the first obstacle Yoongi.” He smiles, “Really good work guys. Looks like all that training and hard work paid off, you should be really proud of yourselves.”

You warmly grin at that, feeling someone poke the side of your arm. Twisting around, Yoonji holds a smug smile.

“That was a good game.” She admits, “You guys aren’t so bad at this after all.”

“Yoonji, how could you say that!?” Junki’s voice breaks out, “It was so amazing to watch. You two were fantastic!”

He darts his eyes frantically between you and Yoongi, a bashful smile curling at the corner of your lips. But Yoongi’s victorious expression completely falls when a third person approaches him, your eyes widening.  

“I suppose you were decent…” His father mumbles, still holding an impassable expression.

Yoongi’s lips quirk up, his words firm, “I’m going to continue playing either way.”

His father hums, but there’s no distaste in his tone anymore, “Good luck with that.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen and you can feel him shift next to you to say something, but his father turns to Junki and Yoonji.

“Let’s get going now.” You smile when he gestures to not hold the exhausted team up for any longer to Yoongi’s brother and sister. You return Junki’s wave and Yoonji’s smile, watching them depart.

When you face Yoongi, you catch the soft smile he holds from the interaction, his eyes tenderly meeting yours. His smile ends up being contagious and you eventually reach out your hand, letting him tightly hold onto you. 

***

The aftermath of the game is like a wave of ecstasy.

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won, that you’ve taken the first step towards the dream you had been endlessly chasing after for so long. The cherry on top was to see Yoongi’s father appear at the game, his demeanour shifting from the last time you had seen him and the lasting effects of it being apparent on Yoongi.

That being said, you glance down at the device clutched firmly in your hands. Your thoughts are aimlessly swimming, bouncing back and forth the longer you simply stare at it.

With a rush of encouragement, you call back.

On the second ring, a voice speaks. “Hello?”

“Uh, I-“ You suddenly stammer, attempting to recollect yourself, “I-It’s me…Y/N.”

The line on the other side goes completely silent and you tap your feet against the ground, the cool breeze outside of the gym nipping at your skin.

“Y/N?” There’s a mixture of shock and awe, something that actually manages to make you smile, “You finally called back, we tried so many times–“

“I know.” You whisper, voice beginning to break, “I-I just didn’t know how to tell you….”  

“How dare you not call us back Y/N?! So much has happened to your brother and we wanted to at least give you the chance to hear about his good news!” You deeply sigh at the implications, continuing to listen to the ongoing rambles, “First place Y/N! He won first place! They were literally singing praises about him and we felt so prou–“

“I changed schools,” You quietly mutter, letting out a shaky exhale and squeezing your eyes shut, “and started playing competitive basketball.”

Silence greets you once again. 

“You WHAT?!”

“I won my first game today.” Your grip on the phone tightens, “I’ll be moving into the second round of nationals.”

“Y/N….” The layer of disappointment that causes a wave of tears to well up in your eyes, “Why did you change schools for basketball? And you have to stop lying to yourself already, there’s no way you could have made it to nationals. You need to come back right this instant an–“

“I won.” You repeat, but the words no longer seem to hold weight anymore, “I-I wanted you to be happy for me.”

Before you can hear any other blunder of why basketball is a horrible choice and that it’s something you won’t make it in, the phone call is cut off. Water streams down your cheeks and you lightly laugh, wondering to yourself why you let the rush of euphoria from the game convince you that things would have at least changed by now.

Letting out a sniffle, you discard the device back into your pocket and pivot around, only to be frozen in your tracks when your eyes come into contact with Yoongi’s.

His arms are crossed as he leans against the wall, but the dejected look in his eyes is decipherable enough. He pushes himself off from it, striding over you as you hurriedly attempt to wipe away the excess from your eyes, but then he embraces you and everything else is forgotten.

You’re not sure why hugging him almost elicits a whirlwind of tears to unleash from your eyes, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind when your sobs are being muffled by his jersey.  He leans down to your ear and he whispers the string of words you’ve been so desperate to hear, being all too aware that you wouldn’t be receiving them from those that mattered the most to you.

“I’m proud of you.”

[daehgub-bughead]

I hope I'm not bothering you, so feel free to ignore this, but I yearn to know: if you had full creative control of the show, how would you run season 5? You can pick and choose whatever leaks you want to include.

So it's better late than never. Seriously for don't answer before and make you wait I didn't forget it I just this was more difficult than I expected every time I saw the white page on my computer I didn't felt the inspiration or have the energy to do it but it's 3 am, I can't sleep sooooo

let's started:

*jughead won't be alcoholic *Veronica isn't married *that awful song doesn't exist, that dint happen was just a collective nightmare instead veronica sings "I kissed a girl" to betty bcs I want to. * maybe is unpopular but I'm not excited for the idea of all working on the high school post-time jump give me glee flashbacks and I hate it. * I will ignore all the new interviews, stills, spoilers. I choose delusion. * I use the phrase "rebuild the truth" a lot Even when I hate it I will give more priority to the cheating storyline and the arcs of the characters how this will affect not only their relationship romantic/friendship. I would put a really heart-heart conversation between Jarchie, Beronica, and Barchie; Ba comes clear apologizing bcs they make a mistake and being sincere with JV. Talking about Ba I dig more into their thinking, motivations, and feelings for both, Give to Archie his point of view and give MORE priority to the core 4 trauma and how they deal with it. And then try to figure out how it could move the plot of the mystery like maybe when Jughead finds out about the kiss he tries to distract himself and go more into the mystery as we see before. Archie's having the things clear in the end but Veronica choosing herself first and deciding that break up would be the best even when it would hurt both. I would show a bit of their life's out on Riverdale Just to the end of the episode, there's some reason everybody comes back to the town probably related to the death (I still think that pops will die). Veronica would be a successful businesswoman, she is an icon in New York and dates a beautiful woman called Rebbeca but when veronica decides to come back to RVD they break up, bcs Rebecca wants to take a time to work on herself, and Veronica comebacks to Riverdale to take control again of pops and start to work with Tabitha remodeling pops maybe and maybe try to become it a franchise. I'm not sure what I would do with Archie but the writers either, so I'll keep the firefighter storyline but he would use a shirt all the time bcs I'm tired of seeing KJ on shirtless (at this point is every man of this show) also he will take total control of Fred's construction company. Veronica contracts Fred's company and varied start to spend more and more time together and try to be just friends while finding their way back to each other and obviously angsty, pining, longing maybe a bit more of angsty and Pining Archie fight for V love. I'll give Toni the screentime that she deserves and let her shine for herself I would like that the show makes justice to the choni/Toni storyline this season but I learn don't get my hope up with this show focusing on the Toni family and her backstory more and making her an individual character again. I'll love to see more musicals moments Vannesa and drew singing together, and Toni and fangs being on a band give to me now. I think first I will talk about ba and then about betty. Love triangle: No más eso no sirve. So I will end with that before time jump they will still felt guilty and regretful for hurt JV and lose them. Archie always be the boy that betty dreamed of for too long and Bettys will always have on Archies heart also they don't idealize each other anymore but still, they will love each other but in a different way.I'm not against the show exploring new relationships and least to betty dating someone else I always expected that the writers will explore ba at some point, I just expected something different, so I'm not against ba dating post time jump for any reason that the writers could think but the thing I would do its ba talking about their feelings for one another, discussing how to live could've been if he never rejected her (not so much bcs Jason was already death, anyways) make a what-if episode/ or an Au episode where Archie don't reject betty but ultimately in that episode it is shown that they are better off as friends & that the road not taken still would lead to bugvarchie.

One thing that I love about the s1 is that in a way or another everybody was involved in the mystery the core 6 with Toni and the serpents could be a good way to get information. One of the points of the season will be the redemption and the rebuild of the seasons so I will go to a semi-slow-burn with the friendships of the shows, I never feel what I supposed to feel for Jarchie but one of the things that I love about some fics saw the rebuild of beronica friendship so I would put so much effort on that and put more moments when we could appreciate the friendship of the core 4 to make it feel more genuine.  Veronica will forgive Betty when seeing how much betty misses her and try to fix the things between them.

As a lot of people do I think that bughead won't break up pre-time jump, Jughead will forgive betty and they will try a long-distance relationship I would like to say that they will leave the cheating behind we would see them being happy and walking to the sunset and live happily ever after but a cheating storyline for them breaking up for the distance doesn't feel good to me so the cheating will affect their relationship and they will try to get over it but it will be a little factor+ the distance and all the responsibilities that have on the university combined make them realize that the timing isn't right, time apart for growing individually, met other people, so they talk about and decide that break up is the best and have a friendly break up.

I think that betty would meet a lot of people some serious relationships other not so serious she will meet some idiots sadly wemet some idiots (that she later will tell veronica and they would laugh together about the looser that stood up Betty and didn't see her on that beautiful readdress) and some really nice guys, Charmings that will care about her and he will want her but sadly the things won't work out. Betty being an FBI agent I'm in, betty being a full badass I'm in, her struggling to follow the rules of the FBI I'm in that's the betty that we love. I have not problems with our favs having difficult times I would keep him having writers' block but not one hit writer I will go to him having problems to find the inspiration to write the end of the story that he starts a long time ago. And for Jessica even when I would like to see jealous betty it seems that every relationship at the beginning of the time jump its borrow time and that's unfair for her so they will be together like 2 or 3 eps max, I think Jughead will love her but on a different way that he loves betty and their relationship seems that isn't on a good moment since the beginning so betty being again on jughead life will be just little factor on their relationship I would put betty investigating the disappearance of Polly and jughead with the Mothman they investigating in different paths until the next episode to see that their investigation is related and start to work together. I'm here to see bughead being single for a time, see their relationships as friends then I will go to the undercover/fake dating/kissing for a cover route I will go for angst, the pining, jealousy, Longing looks, and denial of their feelings and there would be conflict both being scare pf their feelings, let the walls that the build after years being apart down until they can hide the fact that never stop loving to each other. Also, I add this of last moment while we explore bughead future I would show more about bughead backstory, go more into their friendship and pre-pilot relationship, they reading together young Jughead pining for young betty I'm a sucker for that.

[sarah-writes-marvel]

Imposter (2/2): Avengers x gn!Reader

S.S: sorry about the wait on this second part, havent had a lot of motivation to do much for a while. Im not sure how much I like this ending but I hope yall like it!

p.s::: Also, I write these as my own character first so if there are mentions of an OC let me know so I can fix it so everyone can enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, language, nothing else I dont think...

Word count: 1449

MASTERLIST  Pt1

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

My door slammed behind me as rage fumed from my being.

“What a bitch.” I muttered moving to my bathroom and stripping from my sweaty clothes and turning on the shower.

The lukewarm shower felt nice against my hot skin, creating a calming effect. It was nice. Relaxing almost. Until a sudden pounding at my door broke the peace.

“What!” I yelled, not bothering to get out of the shower not really caring who was there, just the fact that they interrupted my relaxation.

“Y/N, open the door we need to talk! Now!” Tony’s distinct voice called through the door. Mumbling a few curses as I reluctantly stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my torso and opening my bedroom door to an angry looking Tony and Steve face of disappointment.

“Im kinda busy, what do you want?” I asked.

“What the hell did you say to Brooke? She's in tears.” Tony barked, eliciting an eyeroll.

“What a drama queen.” I mumbled under my breath.

“The hell did you say?” Tony said, gripping my wrist. I glared at him ripping my wrist from his hand.

“I said she’s a drama queen. Get over it.” I said clearly. “I told her that I didn’t trust her. I have the right not to trust someone who has been a part of Shield for the last 4 years, just come out about her powers.” I restated the conversation from earlier.

“Why would you say that to her? She's just trying to fit in.” Steve said in a sad sympathetic tone.

“Well, she seems to have fit in quite well, now hasn’t she.” I sent the two a fake smile “I’m going back to my shower.” I closed the door, ignoring the pounding knocks on the door as I walked back to my shower. 

The pounding against my door finally ceased and I got out a few minutes afterwards, changing to sweats and a loose shirt. 

I ran my finger through my tangled hair as I made my way to the kitchen to grab something to eat. As soon as I turned into the living room, the team was there coddling to the sniffling Brooke on the couch.

“Seriously, you’re still crying? It’s been an hour and a half.” I scoff at the sight, eyes all turning to me, looks of rage across each face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to be an asshole or something?” Sam questioned, standing from his seat and making his way towards me.

“I’m just trying to show you that not everything is as it seems.” I sneered peering at Brooke over his shoulder.

“You’re a monster.” She whimpered quietly.

“Then maybe you should watch yourself. Monsters are dangerous.” I mocked moving past Sam to the kitchen. 

Suddenly the quiet room went into chaos as Brooke stood up, placing her hand onto my clothed shoulder turning me to face her. Her hand still on my shoulder I took her wrist into my hand, tightening the grip.

A collective gasp came from the group, many standing from their spots on the couch. Brooke's eyes widened, frozen in shock before she realized that she was supposed to collapse right about now. As soon as I felt her knees buckle, falsely, I gripped her shoulders.

“Don’t play games with me. Don't ever, ever think you’re capable of that.” I chided, staring into her brown eyes.

Her mouth opened like a fish out of water, still in shock that her facade had been broken.

“I saw who you are. You really are a monster. The people you killed, families, innocent children.” She said, loud enough for the Avengers to hear, thinking she was really doing something. And she was, her words got under my skin. 

“Oh ya? What else did you see? How I killed them? How I watched each of their souls leave their body before I determined it was a completed mission?” I sneered, seeing the tears in her eyes.

“You killed so many.” she whimpered pathetically.

“Do you know why?” I asked, truly testing her. Noone really knew the reason behind my mercenary days, they believed that I had been manipulated like Bucky and forced into it. Which was accurate if you looked at it sideways and squinted.

“You were manipulated. You were under Hydra’s control.” she stated confidently, tears still evident in her eyes. Another false. 

“Bravo, you've read my file.” I smirked, “I was never manipulated into anything. And It wasn't Hydra, it was called The Mist.” 

Brooke’s eyes widened, being caught in her lie, tears dripping down her cheeks. She took a timid step back, which I responded with taking a step towards her.

“Believe me, I've brushed against your skin plenty of times before this. If your powers were true you would be curled up on the floor in unconsolable tears right now.” I remarked.

I looked over her shoulder to the Avengers standing guard, Tony looking through archives coming across a secret file under my name. “You really should have done your research before coming after me.” I directed to Brooke looking at her again.

“Well, I’m sure now that your true past has been exposed they don't want anything to do with you anyways, considering how awful you really were.” Brooke sneered.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to have someone untrustworthy on the team.” I started. “But I’ve proven myself trustworthy enough times to show that I’m not some bitch trying to wiggle her way into the Avengers.”

“I’ve been loyal to them, showed them they could trust me.” she argued her defenses high.

“I’m sure you have, every time you told them something from their past, something that could be found within a file.” I countered. “Every time you touched someone, even though you supposedly avoided contact, just so one of the guys could catch you and coddle you.” I moved towards her, causing her to step backwards. “Every mission that someone had to come to your aid because you couldn't handle fighting like an Avenger.” 

Her legs hit the couch and her knees buckled causing her to fall into the cushions. I planted myself in front of her, towering over her terrified figure.

“Your nothing but a liar. You’re not Avenger material, and after this scheme you're not even worth being a SHIELD agent.” I sneered. Her brown eyes widened as tears threatened to spill. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” she muttered quietly.

“God! You really don't know when you’ve lost do you? Get over yourself. You lost. You don't deserve a spot on this team or in this organization. Get out before I do something I might regret.” I emphasized. 

At that she leapt up from the couch and retreated to her room, packed her bags and ran through the compound exiting the doors.

“Friday, call Fury. Tell him we have a stray agent.” I call out, turning back to the kitchen.

My way was blocked by a broadening figure. I looked up to see Steve, his face twisted with regret.

“I don't need an apology from any of you. I get it. Misguidance can be one hell of a factor in doing something you regret.” I stated before brushing past the Captain, hiding the rageful tears in my eyes.

I heard the sound of footsteps following me through the doorway, the sound of boots against the wooden floor of the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tony questioned. His tone was soft and filled with worry.

“Well, considering the welcoming party thrown for Bucky, that was talked about all over the world, I figured that if you truly knew my history my party wouldn't be as kind.” I turned to face them with a knowing look.

Ranges of guilt and empathy passed over the faces of the heros in front of me.

“Besides, ‘The Mist’ was disassembled eons ago after I left. I didn't think it was appropriate to bring up a ghost story of another evil organization. We have enough shit to deal with.” I gave a half-hearted smile to them, which was slimmly returned.

“We’re sorry. For everything.” Nat apologized, her green eyes boring into mine. I gave her a soft smile.

“Like I said, Misguidance is a hell of a thing. So no more apologizing let's just get back to the way things were and hope to God that Wanda comes home soon.” A quiet chuckle rumbles from the few in front of me as they move in for a quick hug.

Though there was still some healing to be done, everything went back to normal and we were the compatible team that people believed we always were.

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

S.S: Again tell me what you think! Let me know of any errors or anything so I can fix them!! Thanks again for reading!

[moonshroooms]

So like, here’s a part-angst-part-fluff Ponytail!Dib AU oneshot here ya go! I kinda imagined this lil scenario to be after but not-too-long after these Sad Idiots confessed their Undying Love to each other (I’m totally positive that’s the exact scenario reyna’s gonna take her au, trust me on this I’m a doctor).

Now the beginning of this is definitely more angst and Sad but it do get cuter at the end I promise VwV But anyways, here! *throws this on the ground and runs away*

=

Dib laid out all the ingredients on the counter, double checking he had everything the recipe called for. Flour, eggs, sugar, check, check, check. Getting everything without alerting Zim what he was up to had been more than a challenge but somehow he’d managed to get past the sneaky bug. All that was left to do was wait for Zim to be busy long enough to enact his plan.

“Alright, it’s a shortcake, how hard could it be?” He pulled up the recipe on his phone, mumbling to himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice taunted that he’d mess it up somehow. He mentally shoved it into a box and sealed the lid. It’s fine, he’d be fine. Just follow the instructions, he could do that.

With his best attempt at a determined nod Dib opened up the flour, pulling a large bowl out of the cupboard, giving a glance at the instructions.

“Mix strawberries with sugar and ffuh mhmm…” His sentence trailed off as his brain rewired itself to focus on the strawberries. “Alright, strawberries first, then.” He dumped the carton of berries in a little bowl of their own, scooping out a few spoonfuls of sugar and stirring. And put them in the fridge. Okay, step one done. See? Wasn’t so bad. A part of him felt kind of dump pep-talking himself, but he knew how much his self-deprecation bothered Zim, so he was trying to fight it. Most said step one was talking positively, even if you didn’t really believe it, so that’s what he was gonna do.

Dib pulled out the flour and measured it, pouring it in the mixing bowl once it was at the right level. Next was baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and heavy cream. Dib ran his eyes across the bottle of cream for not the first time. The store didn’t exactly have just “heavy cream.” “Heavy whipping cream,” it read. The names were pretty close and he was going to try and make whipped cream anyways. It was probably the same, right? He couldn’t find anything saying it was different (not that he found anything saying it was the same, either). Somewhere that voice trapped in the box whispered that he was already fucking up. He was probably fine. If it was the only one the store had it was probably the most common one anyways.

As he mixed the ingredients together Dib allowed his mind to wander. That cold winter in his car, being sick in his apartment, lunch after lunch of carefully crafted meals, all wrapped in hearts and flowers. He found himself thinking about those times a lot. A large part of him laughed, wondering how he was able to jump through so many hoops to explain why Zim would go through all that trouble, what nefarious plot they could possibly be apart of, when the answer was (quite literally) written in front of him. A larger part said he was stupid if he really thought this was real, that this wasn’t just some long con at his expense and the ball would drop soon enough.

It wasn’t surprising the lunches were on his mind now, anyways. It’s what spurred the baking adventure he was currently on. Zim tried so hard despite Dib’s bad attitude, his denial, even his blatant refusal to eat at times. He wanted to return the favor, at least a little bit.

Dib let out a sigh as the mixture was finally done, rolling his shoulder a bit. Somehow the mixing was surprisingly tiring. Sure, he could keep up with the plots of an alien invader with technology far more advanced than his own since he was 12, but mixing cake batter was the real test of strength. Repetitive motion, he supposed. He poured the mix into the baking pan and stuffed it in the oven. Oh, shit, he forgot to preheat it. Did anyone really even do that? Seemed like a waste of power, honestly. He set his phone timer for an extra 10 minutes than the recipe called for, hoping that’d make up for it.

Alright, all that was left to do was the whipped cream. He was breezing through this recipe! He could almost imagine the look on Zim’s face when he got back. Sure, Dib didn’t have fancy wrapping paper, and honestly, the cake would probably look like shit. But as long as it tasted fine that was the most important part, right?

Dib pulled a separate bowl from the upper cupboard, combined the whipped cream ingredients, and got to work on stirring. The recipe said to use a mixer but he didn’t exactly have one of those, so he was stuck using good ol’ elbow grease. He tried to make up for it by mixing faster but figured the speed wasn’t gonna be a huge factor in the outcome.

Or, so he thought, at least.

Five minutes of mixing later and the cream hadn’t taken on any kind of fluffy quality. Just the same white goop. It was supposed to get light and fluffy two minutes in. Did he forget something? He rechecked the recipe. Cream, sugar, vanilla, lemon zest. It was all in there. Was he just not going fast enough? Maybe the mixer was more crucial than he thought. He plopped himself on the ground and kicked his whisking up a notch. Another few minutes and the only significant change was that the goop was maybe a little thicker. That, and he definitely got a good portion of it all over his shirt. Great.

Alright, the recipe did stress the heavy cream needed to be chilled before mixing. Did he let it sit outside the fridge too long? He could leave it in the freezer for a bit, let the cold firm it up a little? He swallowed down the rising disgust at himself, he was such a fucking idiot, he didn’t even know how to fix his mistake. Yeah, that’d work. With a grunt he got to his feet-

SMACK.

“Shit, goddamn it!” Dib instantly recoiled, clutching at the back of his head where the open cupboard lovingly smacked into his skull. He slammed the door shut with bang, the loud sound satisfying his anger a little bit. Stomping over to the freezer he shoved aside the assortment of raw meats and frozen veggies (things Zim planned on cooking at some point), and stuffed the whipped cream in, slamming the door shut.

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Nothing’s ruined, it’ll be fine.” Wow you’re trying really hard to sell this, huh? Can’t even convince yourself to buy your own words without lying first.

Dib leaned against the kitchen counter, silently fuming at the throb on the back of his head. He could feel self-loathing spilling into his brain like a fog, seeping out from that mental lockbox he tried to shove it in. He shook his head and did his best to focus on the goal. Zim would be so happy Dib made him a present, he’d get to see that huge smile that had his heart squeezing funny, ruby eyes lighting up with appreciation. The idea soothed his mind a bit. He could get through a few hang-ups if he got to see that expression and…

Was something burning?

“Seriously?!” Dib yelled as he pushed away from the counter. He threw the oven open and grabbed the baking tin only to recoil back in pain as his hand came into contact with the hot metal. Dib cursed, shaking out his hand and grabbing the oven mitt staring him in the face. Sure, go ahead, just fucking break yourself while making your thank you gift. Nothing says “I appreciate you” like making him clean up your fucking mess.

The tin landed on the stove with a clatter as Dib quickly turned away to grab ice for his hand.

Only to be greeted with a freezer that had whipped cream spilled all over it. The half-empty mixing bowl clattered to the floor as the door swung open, a few splatters of not-quite-frozen whipped cream leaping to the floor as it did. No, it’s fine, it’s okay. They could always just buy whipped cream at the store. He was pretty sure Zim wasn’t allergic to normal whipped cream anyways. You can’t even put something in the fridge without fucking it up? Why are you even bothering?

Dib stuffed a few ice cubes into a plastic bag and clutched his fingers around it. With a grimace he turned off the phone timer that only decided to start ringing just now and looked over the cake. Honestly, it wasn’t even burned that much, they could just not eat the bottom. Geez, you’re really going for a record trying to screw up every stage of this project huh?

Was the cake… supposed to look like a biscuit? He tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth. Was it also supposed to taste bland as hell like a biscuit, too?

Despite the bag of ice pain stabbed through the skin of Dib’s hand anyways, only adding to the misery of his failed creation. Look, he couldn’t expect things to be perfect. It was his first time trying to bake something. Plenty of people probably messed things like this up. You couldn’t even make a damn cake. Honestly, why did you even bother trying? How many other things have you fucked up that were way easier than cooking and you couldn’t even do those right? What made you think you could get this right?

Dib slid to the floor, focusing on the quiet sting of his burned hand. He felt that urge to visit the nearby drugstore. He might’ve bought a bottle of something, too, were his wallet not thoroughly cleaned out from buying all the cake ingredients. Couldn’t get drunk if he wanted to.

And damn he wanted to right now.

Amber eyes glanced around the kitchen, taking in the few splatters of whipped cream on the floor, quickly melting into puddles now. He… could at least up the mess he made before Zim got back.

The frown on his face deepened.

Well, knowing you, you’ll probably find a way to fuck that up, too.

 =

 Zim slid the window to the apartment open, wasting no time scurrying in and ripping off his disguise. How Gir escaped view of his cameras long enough to floor half the base he’d never know. Computer wasn’t any help telling him what happened either. Zim suspected whatever started the whole “beach party” idea was both Gir and Computer’s idea.

Zim’s internal ranting didn’t have long to continue before his now-freed antenna picked up the scent of something burnt, as well as something sweet and almost… milky? Compound eyes were greeted with a less-than-clean kitchen, used and abandoned cooking utensils, and a few tiny puddles of something melted on the floor. Confusion buzzed around the Irken’s mind before worry crept up his throat when he realized he couldn’t see Dib in the small space around him.

Slow-creeping dread dropped like a rock in his gut as anxiety moved his limbs. “Dib?” Zim called, receiving no answer. As terrifying rooftop rescues were at least they were known. What was Zim supposed to do for this new situation? What was the protocol?

His panic didn’t last for long as he skidded past the kitchen and caught sight of his human’s familiar form. Relief quickly flooded over him and he ran to Dib’s side.

“Dib-beast, what happened, are you okay?”

Dib jumped a little, as if startled from sleep, and looked at Zim. “Oh, hey space boy, welcome back.”

Zim frowned. Dib had that… look in his eyes that he didn’t like. That faraway look he often had during drunken hazes, staring off into nothing like there was a storm brewing in his head with threats of nothing good.

The alien grabbed Dib’s face with both hands, turning him left and right to check for injuries, Dib scrunching his eyes as he did. Zim pursed his lips when he noticed the melting pack of ice in his human’s grip.

“Burned myself on the stove, no biggie.” Dib shrugged. Zim’s brow furrowed, giving Dib’s cheeks a squeeze before getting up to grab some first-aid things.

“So, were you going to tell me what happened here or do I have to check the cameras?” Zim plopped back down next to Dib, pulling the injured hand into his lap to treat it.

Dib snorted. “Ha, nice try, I already found ‘em all.”

“Mhm, yup, you certainly did. No use looking for more, they’re all gone.”

Zim couldn’t resist a grin at the glare and eyeroll he received. He didn’t know if Dib had actually found all his cameras yet, but no sense in letting the stinky know if there were actually more or not.

“Sorry about the mess,” Dib mumbled. “I was gonna clean it up before you got back. I got kinda...” A sigh. “Distracted.”

Zim finished wrapping up Dib’s injury with a band-aid and glanced around the kitchen once more. It seemed to have been some sort of… baking attempt, from what he could gather. But why wait until he was gone to do it?

“You are forgiven… only if you tell Zim was all this-” he gestured to the mess “-was about.”

Zim watched his human’s expression as he started back at him, seeming to debate whether he wanted to elaborate or not. Finally, he looked away with a sigh and Zim thought he saw the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“I was uh, trying to bake.” Zim could only just barely understand Dib through his purposeful mumbling. “A cake. For, uh, for you. To say thanks, you know. For all the food you’re always making me.” As he spoke his cheeks got redder and he started scratching at the back of his neck, a habit Zim noticed he usually did when he was nervous. “As you can see it didn’t really work out that well.” Dib gave a laugh but it felt so hollow to Zim’s antenna. The kind of laugh you did when you were trying to assure others you were fine but couldn’t really put any effort in it.

As the Irken glanced around he could spot all the different bowls, measuring spoons, and other utensils his Dib used. He… tried really hard, didn’t he? And now he was on the floor, looking like the entire world was crashing down and it was his own fault. Sad and warm feelings both swirled around Zim’s gut, a confusing swirl of emotion he wasn’t sure how to process.

Zim placed his hand on Dib’s leg and leaned up to press his lips to Dib’s, much to the human’s surprise. Zim felt Dib stiffen only slightly before relaxing in his hold, reciprocating the kiss. Zim’s antenna instinctively wrapped themselves around the untied scythe of hair atop Dib’s head. Hmm, it was getting long. They’d need to cut it again soon.

Zim pulled back from the kiss only slightly, resting his forehead against Dib’s as he brought up a hand to stroke Dib’s cheek. “Thank you, Dib-beast.”

Despite the slightly flustered look Dib managed to pull himself together enough to furrow his brows. “For what? The cake’s not even good. Trust me, I tried it. All I managed to make is a huge mess.”

One of Zim’s antenna bent down to lightly bop Dib’s cheek. “For trying so hard to make something special for me. For going out of your way to make it a surprise. For telling me you appreciated the things I did.” Zim leaned forward to nuzzle against Dib. “Thank you for all of that.”

Dib let out a sigh and Zim felt arms wrap around his waist and hoist him into Dib’s lap. His human easily nuzzled into his shoulder and Zim did the same, feeling long legs bending up and resting against his PAK. They fell into their embrace so easily, like they were supposed to fit together. Zim was sure he’d be perfectly happy just sitting like this with Dib for the rest of time.

The two stayed like that for a long while, Dib’s lanky arms wrapped around Zim in a tight vice, Zim content to breathe in Dib’s presence. Eventually they were interrupted by a low grumbling centered at Dib’s stomach. Zim let out a snicker at the very graceful noise, earning him a slightly embarrassed “shut up” from Dib. Zim gave a smell peck on the lips to placate his human and rose to his feet, offering Dib a hand to help hoist him up.

“What do you say we try and make a cake some other time?” Zim offered. “Now that I know I’m owed a gift, of course.”

Dib looked down with a rueful smile. “Not worried I’ll mess it up?” He said with a slight scoff.

Zim’s brows furrowed as he rose up on his PAK legs to be at eye-level with his human. “Not at all because I know how smart you are. Besides,” Zim said, running a finger along a glob of wet goop and popping it in his mouth. Hm, slightly sweet. “You know baking is like, level 20 cooking, right?”

“Hah?”

“Yeah.” Zim reached into the fridge, looking for some leftovers for Dib, his eye spotting the tub of strawberries soaking in sugar. Oh, those looked good, they could probably use those tomorrow. “If you’re going to try something new you’re supposed to start at level 1, stinky. Most cooking you can just kind of eyeball how much seasoning you want for things. But baking is very exact a lot of the time. You humans took cooking and decided to make it as finicky as chemistry for no good reason.” He pulled a tub of spaghetti from the fridge and popped it in the microwave.

“With both of us tackling it we’ll make a cake that rivals anything some dookie-brained ‘top chef’ could make.” Zim plopped himself on a clean section of counter, antenna sticking up as he boasted for the both of them.

Dib scoffed with a laugh and pulled the spaghetti out of the microwave once it was done. He pulled a fork from the sink of yet-to-be-put-away dishes and leaned against the counter next to Zim. “If you say so, space boy.”

Zim’s antenna quickly accosted Dib’s hair as he neared, tangling and wrapping themselves into place, vibrating with a happiness that said they were exactly where they belonged. “I know so,” he replied matter-of-factly.

=

The two made the shortcake later that week, despite Dib’s quiet protests. Zim even stole obtained an electric mixer just for the whipped cream. Dib complained that Zim was making him do all the work (Zim’s repeated answer to that was “it’s a present for me, why should I have to do the work?”) Once it was all done though Dib had to admit, it didn’t look bad. Granted, it didn’t exactly look magazine-worthy, but it was presentable. Better yet, it actually tasted pretty damn good. Good enough that he had to fight Zim over the last piece.

For once, that voice inside his mental lockbox had nothing to say.

=

How in-character is this oneshot actually? It’s a mystery, who knows, certainly not me. It’s been sent out into the world how in character they are is no longer my problem that’s a y’all kinda issue now 💅🏽

Go! Take! A gander! At! @reynaruina ‘s Ponytail Dib! AU! If! You Like! To Cry! (Though things have been looking up in those little blurbs and comics reyna’s making so hopefully there will be less crying soon 🎉)

Fun fact: a huge chunk of Dib’s failure to make a strawberry shortcake from scratch was based on my own failed attempt. I still don’t know if there’s a difference between heavy cream and heavy whipping cream or if an electric mixer mattered. No, stuffing the whipped cream into the freezer didn’t help make it fluffy either. RIP my shortcake 2019-2019 🤘🏽😔

Double fun fact: Did you know apparently classic strawberry shortcakes are actually gross disgusting lumpy buscuit-ass lookin’ mutherfuckers and not fluffy sweet cake things? Whoever the hell thought purposefully bland cake was what strawberry shortcakes needed to be should be forced to step on legos forever. They also owe me 20 bucks cuz I thought I was making the sweet fluffy kind of cake and instead of forced to eat a flavorless biscuit with strawberries on it. EVIL.