#now im not about to Explain at a full fucking lunch table BUT i have the opportunity to make everyone here extremely uncomfortable

[boycritter]

the world if people stopped commenting on what im eating/drinking

[beababoobies]

Helloooo you asked for some Sally face requests and I have one 🤭

Can you write Larry x fem! Reader who struggles w anxiety like hurt comfort kinda thing 💗💗💗💗🫶 THANK UU

Hiya! Absolutely, I’d love to do that for you lovely! Enjoy :) and thank you for the request!

Calm Me Down, Work Me Up.

Larry Johnson X anxious fem!Reader,

(0.6k words)

You had been having the absolute worst day. Whether it was panicking about your math test with Ms.Packerton and convincing yourself you had flunked it, or the fact that you had gotten too nauseous looking at the mystery meat for lunch and been unable to eat, you had practically come to your breaking point.

Sitting in your boyfriends room, huddled up on the corner of his bed while he paints pretty strokes on a canvas, closing your eyes and trying to focus your attention on not falling victim to the current bout of over exhaustion and overstimulation that your brain was falling into, knees hugged tight to your chest as you took deep breaths.

You loved Larry dearly, you really, really did, but the way too loud hard metal music was tipping you over the edge. Normally, you’d bring your headphones or even be in the mood to head bang with him, but the time being? Before you could stop it, you started crying. Full on tears and sobs, falling harder into sobbing when you realized how embarrassingly loud you were crying when Lar turned off his music and came to sit next to you on his bed, looking at you with those confused brown puppy dog eyes.

“hey hey hey, baby, what’s wrong?” He cooed softly, watching you try to take a breath between the sniffles and sobs to actually explain yourself, wiping your cheeks on the back of your hand, watching the black of your eyeliner and mascara wipe off on your skin, sniffling and swallowing thickly as you finally got yourself to speak, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath, feeling him out his hand on your back softly, rubbing circles into your skin.

“I - I don’t know! I just, im so scared about my math test, and and, I don’t know, maybe my blood sugar is just too low right now? I don’t - I’ve been nauseous most of the day because of that stupid fucking mystery lunch meat, I just - I can’t.” You whine out, stopping to sob and whine a couple times, looking up at you with panda-black eyes from rubbing your makeup out all over your face.

“oh, babe, I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Do you want some water? Do you want to cry about it more? Or would you just like me to stop asking you questions when you don’t know what will help and I’ll just do my best?” He asks with a small smile, thick eyebrows pinched and droopy eyes looking into your face for answers, and you just offer up a weak nod, watching him get up to go get what you can only assume is a glass of water and some tissues, so you take the time to let out a few last dry sobs before he walks back into the room.

”here you are my love” he coos softly, handing you a glass of water and watching you bring it up to your shaky lips, taking small sips of it and swallowing softly, leaning in to kiss you on the forehead before taking the empty glass of water from your shaking hands, putting it back on the bedside table before gently placing you to face towards him, gently wiping off the remaining smudged makeup from around your eyes, whatever you hadn’t cried off.

“t-Thank you.” You hiccup out quietly, looking down at your hands, before being wrapped in a warm hug by your beloved boyfriend as he places gentle kisses to your hair, reassuring you as you start to come back to your senses and your own emotions, silently cradled in your boyfriends arms.

~

hope you enjoyed strawberry!! I love your user it’s super cute! <3 sorry it was a little short!

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

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

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[noritoshiikamo]

lunch date

part 2 of this childhood friend drabble (ok fr frshould i name this childhood friend series or public sex series bcs hmm you'll see) pairing: gojo satoru + fem!reader genre: smut bcs i think with my hand down my pants when i see gojo tags//warning: established relationship public sex, gojo thinking with dick part 2, mention of breeding kink tagging: @unabashednightmarepizza @sukirichi @sassyeahhhh [lemme know if wanna be tagged in the next part] note: the obligatory trio of mine: unedited, lowercase intended, the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it.

“toru- ah, that hurts!”

his grip to her thighs tightened, “shhh, they can hear you.”

when gojo satoru suggested that they have lunch together, she happily accepted. she didn't suspected anything odd of his behavior. he was so kind to offer to bring her something over and she has been so stressed with her works, she just accepted it with no questions. it was the first text she’d replied after ignoring his many messages and calls.

it has been two weeks since the staircase incident and she started to suspect that he knew that she was actively trying to avoid him for almost a week. she knows gojo satoru like the back of her own hand, she knows he will not forget his promises, and he will hold against her until he gets it. their newly blossomed relationship was doing okay until he popped the question out so casually as she cooked. she couldn’t forget the look on his face.

“so, when are we going to have a baby?” his question that freaked her out lingered in her mind.

a baby

what was she thinking? she smacked her head on the table. “you could’ve asked for a house, or his black card, or something else. but a baby?” her voice strained.

“yes?” the hair on her back stood at the familiar deep voice.

she looked up so fast, her head spun to see her door opened wide. sara, her colleague stood with a slight frown on her face and on her side, gojo satoru. he wore teasing smile, traded his blindfold for his glasses and he looked different. he wore a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up with a pair of black pants and boots. his outfit looked simple and minimalistic, but don’t be fooled. she knew his shirt costs about the same as her monthly rent.

i can’t believe i picked a baby over his black card, her mind cried at the thoughts.

“i’ve tried stopping him,” sara explained, a glare on her face. he interjected. “i don’t need appointment to see my girlfriend,” gojo stepped inside, holding the door. “girlfriend?” sara questioned. she couldn’t help but to feel satisfied at the reaction her assistant’s face held.

“she gave you, her number?” she asked, one night where he came over. the bed sheet wrapped around her bare body as her eyes raked up and down satoru’s own bare body as he leaned against the headboard. his eyes shut close with his arms flexed behind his head. a small satisfactory smile on his face as he said, “right after telling me that you like me.”

“that bitch,” she hissed, gritting her teeth.

“y/n chan,” his eyes opened, a teasing smirk grew on his face. he leaned forward, the blanket pooled around his waist as he cupped her face in his hand, “didn’t see you as a jealous kind.”

it wasn’t that fact that she was jealous that sara is actively into gojo. she was fuming at her assistant for divulging her personal matter to him. that part first, and then maybe she was a little jealous. but then, sara was the reason she finally gets the guy she’s been waiting for; so at the end she still wins. sara will remain a bitch for a reason.

“it’s okay, we are having lunch together. you can leave,” she dismissed her, rubbing her strained eyes. gojo happily slammed the door shut.

“so, wanna tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

she sighed, her fingers ghosting over the keyboard, his presence has disturbed her mind, “i’m not. i-i’m busy.”

he sat on her chair, crossing his legs as he rested his lanky body against the chair. “you can’t even look at me. what is it?” he asked. her finger stopped above the enter key. she wanted to press it, but she can’t. something is holding her back. she knew what he’s doing. she sighed in defeat and turned to face the elephant in the room. her brows frowned when she realised; “where’s the food?” she asked staring at the empty table.

“huh?”

“lunch? you told me we are having lunch?” she frowned. this idiot did not just suggest that they’ll have lunch together, show up at her office without the promised food. gojo looked at her sheepishly, a small smile on his face.

“oh, that. yeah, i just want an excuse to see you,” his small smile turned sinister as he lolled his head to the side, “you could be my lunch.”

her face pressed against the glass window overlooking the city. her floor wasn’t that high, they could see the streets bellow and the office in front of them. she repeatedly told him that they can’t do this. “they can see us,” she panicked, despite being delirious from his kisses as she let him unbutton her shirt. but a few kisses later, her skirt hiked up, panties in his pocket and his dick hitting her cervix roughly, she was convinced.

“you think you can come for me six times?” he heaved, lips against her bare shoulder, accentuating his words with his every thrust, “six for the amount of days you've ignored me. another five to go, buttercup. should be easy.”

his hand trailed down her chest, her belly until he found her neglected clit. a gentle tap of her bundle of nerves had her throwing her hair back. she was about to come undone; he could feel it from the way she was desperately clamping down on his length and her whining. tears streaming down her face as she bit down on her lips to hold herself from screaming, she could taste blood. her body shuddered, her sweaty skin leaving marks on the glass and the way he just mewled against her ears, praising her made her legs buckled.

he was quick to catch her, hands gripping her waist.

they moved to the desk, pushing all her files and pens aside as he laid her down. he showered her with kisses, slowly trailing them down to her cunt. he eyed her glistening slit, mouth watered. grabbing her legs, he held it open, she whined at the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over her. “satoru, i can’t,” she moaned at the first lick, her hand pressed on his head trying to get away, but he held her tight. “n-no more, ah fuck, fuck!” she could feel his eyes on her, watching her every reaction as his tongue worked their ways. the feeling on his teeth grazing her clit, the tip of her tongue teasing around her entrance, before slipping in.

she tasted so good; it was more pleasurable for him than her. she looked pretty squirming to get away as he held her tighter, tongue darting in and out. overstimulation was hitting her full force and she was high in pleasure. her brain couldn’t comprehend; between the feeling of his breath against her slit, his tongue fucking her, his calloused palms against her waist and the sound he was making. she didn’t give two fucks if the office heard them fucking.

“close, fuck, toru i want-” her words cut off by her own moan.

his tongue switched, sucking on her swollen clit as his finger took over the fucking. it didn’t take long for her to gush out. her head was pounding, his words went in one ear and out the another. he stood up, drools and her fluid covered his chin and onto his bare chest. he helped her sat, she was beyond exhausted. the feeling of his fingers brushing her hair back brought back to the office, she looked up to him with her eyes half drooped. a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed it on hers. “you okay?” he whispered, planting kisses after kisses. “i miss you so much,” he cooed.

“miss you,” was all she could mustered out.

“did i scare you? with the baby talk?” he asked, pulling her in his arms. truth be told, seducing her into fucking in front of the glass window wasn’t the actual reason gojo was here. but her words were just so inviting, he doesn’t mind a little detour. she tasted delicious. she mumbled something against his chest, but he was sure it was a maybe.

“i thought you wanted it.”

she pouted, finally the first sentence her brain could scrambled, “maybe i change my mind.”

“that’s why you ran away from me? you’re scared?” he tilted her head up, his heart warmed at the little pout she had on, “oh buttercup, i won’t lie. the thoughts of you all round and milky with my child is turning me on-” not a lie, because she could feel his cock pressing against her slit, “but it’s okay. one day i’ll change your mind but for now, i’m fine with a little practise now.” she groaned against his lips as she felt his tip slipped in, stretching her once again.

this one was quicker, she was already sobbing mess, clutching desperately on his chest as he chased his high.

the deeper he pushed into her, the faster he had to circle her clit. he’s not a selfish lover, he wants her to feel as good as him too, despite being borderline torturous as she was clearly an overstimulated mess. “you’re so good to me,” he hummed, “you take me in so well. i love the way your tight cunt suck me in.” she really was, with mouth apart panting his name, eyelids drooped, and fingers dug into his flesh with legs apart.

she’s his good little girl.

she nodded, soft mewls could be heard through her pants. the wet kisses he was peppering her skin soon turned into a desperate attempt to leave a mark. she was beyond exhausted to berate him for doing it, so she learned to enjoy the feeling of his fangs against her flushed skin.

“toru, it feels so good,” she rolled her eyes back and he hummed in agreement.

gojo held her throat, not too harsh but not exactly gentle too, “it does, does it?” he grinned, “come, clench around my cock, y/n chan," he teased, in a sing-song tone, "i’m about to fill you up to the brim.” he tightened the grip, she whined. the way the walls tightening around him, had the world strongest’s sorcerer a moaning mess, as his hips snapped faster.

the sound of their skin slapping each other got louder and louder with the squelching of her cunt. his eyes rolled to the back of his head, as he forced his cock all the way inside, his thick seed shooting directly into her womb. his grip on her waist tightened, he was all choke up. they stayed in each other’s arm, struggling to catch a break.

he pinched her cheek for the fun of it, seeing her annoyed and bothered for his own personal pleasure. “what luck you have, y/n. falling in love with someone like me,” he brushed the tear stains on her cheek.

“who said i love you?”

he pressed his hand on his chest, faking the pained look on his face with an ouch. it was never an exchange of i love yous between them; it was him annoying the fuck out of her and her being constantly concern by his childishness. “would you still come home, y/n. i miss you so much, no lies.” he asked as he pulled his pants back up. "i will," she promised. he helped her off the desk, cleaning the mess they’d made and her chasing him around for her pair of panties. she never got it back, her face was as red as her stilettos as she made her way out of the office bare under her skirt. she could hear him snickering behind her.

“c-cancel the rest of my day please, sara. i have some business to take care off,” she glared at the white-haired man running toward the elevator. lunch time was over, and she was beyond fucked to continue her work. literally. not when gojo had made sure to give her the fucking of her life, she couldn’t focus on her work no more. sara gave her a glare, a dirty one, as she eyed her skewered hair and wrinkled clothes. she placed the files on her assistant’s desk, rushing as gojo held the elevator opened.

she made in, jumping instantly in his arms as the door closed. it was just two of them in the empty lift.

she giggled in his arms; his huge smile was contagious. he kissed her so gently, thumb on her back rubbing shapes. his smile grew wider as they pulled away. she tilted her head, confusion on her face and he nudged his head to the door. she turned around only to see their reflection on the elevator’s door. “look closer,” he whispered, and her eyes widened as she realised a trail of his cum, peaking out of her skirt down her legs. her face got even redder as she wasn’t sure if it had just happened or gojo has been letting her walk around with his cum down her legs.

“i’ll murder you, satoru.”

the lift suddenly halted. the number stopped at the ninth floor and she cursed. the lift wasn’t malfunction; she knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“not going to lie, seeing my cum down your legs, it looks hot,” he said sheepishly, a kiss on her cheek while his hands already made their way underneath her blouse. his brows raised up suggestively.

“will you stop thinking with your dick, satoru?”

“you still owe me two more orgasm, buttercup.”

the light of the lift suddenly tripped, engulfing them in a pitch-black darkness. she jolted in his arms. the emergency light turned on and under the dimmed light, she could see his blue eyes on her like a predatory to its prey. she could feel her throat drying as a kiss landed on her neck.

“we better make our time worth.”

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: Call This The ‘Can This Man Cook’ Section

(….. I don’t think these men can cook 😔)

First post pog :D I wrote a majority of these super late at night, so please forgive and let me know of any mistakes you find <3 Also, it’s a little long lol

Characters: Dream, George, SapNap, Badboyhalo, Wilbur, Technoblade, Philza, Quackity, Fundy, Schlatt.

Warnings: None, except for a kinda risqué comment in Philza’s. Oh and I guess there’s mentions of eating meat in case someone wants the warning :3

Song Recommendation: I Love You So- The Walters

Hella fluffy! Hope you enjoy <3

From best to worst:

#1: BadBoyHalo-

Bad is the best at cooking on the server. He is the creme of the crop, absolute top one percent, king shit at cooking.

He can cook, bake, and temper chocolate perfectly, what more could you want?

His favorite to-go recipes are cheesy garlic bread and a special spicy chicken and rice recipe which he typically makes when the boys are over at his house for the night. When he’s with you he goes for something a little smoother, some mulled sweet berry cider with a smoked cod fillet, eaten under the light of candles while you quietly chat about life and your fellow friends. It’s always one of Bad’s most anticipated hangouts, and he’s very careful about planning when it comes to those days.

While he appreciates being complimented on his food or his skills, deep down he wants to have someone to cook and share his knowledge with so the cooking process becomes much richer. He’s cooked for so long and learned so much, but it means nothing if he can’t share it with another person. The moment you come to him and ask him for help on any kind of recipe, he’ll drop almost everything to help you.

Side note; he absolutely carried lunch and dinner for his fellow DTeam members. While Sapnap would mostly take over breakfast, Bad would be hounded by begging puppy looks from these adult men who couldn’t cook and kind of just sigh and get the ‘kiss the cook’ apron ready. It’s not like he hates it or anything, but the endearing factor kinda slips off after a few years of adult men groveling.

(Bad’s hands rest over yours, dwarfing them entirely as he helps you cut the pasta sheet straightly. “There you go!” He encourages, squeezing your hand gently and stepping away, moving back to dice the vegetables on the cutting board next to you. A comfortable silence falls, and with it comes something in Bad’s heart softening. The worries and exhaustion in his mind ease, and he slips into a contented routine of finely chopping and slicing. It’s been a while since he’s felt so calm. There’s nothing that can ruin this- 

The front door slams open. Footsteps walk in and approach the kitchen and you both hear it, 

“Baaaaaaaaad.” Bad cringes, taking a step back.

“Baaaaaaaaaaad, we’re hungry.” Sapnap. 

“Yeah Bad, feeeeeeeed uuuuuuus.” George. 

And then, from around the door frame, a white mask peeks in. Nobody says a word, but you can feel Bad deflate next to you like let go balloon. 

“It’s alright, big guy.” You laugh, grabbing his forearm and leaning up against him. His sad puppy eyes make you smile a little, and you try to reassure him. “We can hang out alone another time. Let’s keep working on the pasta.” He sighs, but still returns your smile. “Yeah, another time.”)

#2: Philza 

Sigh…. he can cook. Not quite as good as Bad can, but better than Quackity. A solid second place. It stems mainly from being so knowledgeable that he just knows and has tried so many different foods, but since he doesn't actually do much cooking, I'm making him a flaky second place.

Doesn’t mind cooking, but doesn’t love doing it either. He’s always focused on so many different things that he’ll forgo eating to keep working on what he’s doing. He mostly cooks for Techno and Ranboo or the few guests (you) they seem to receive. Makes great stew, and even better roasted chicken, is absolutely immaculate when it comes to cooking bird.

He didn’t teach Wilbur or Techno shit! I wish I could say it’s because he wanted to but just couldn’t, but he was literally like “hmm. Im a little busy now, maybe next year” every year!! But, this being said, if you ask him to make something with you or teach you how to cook a particular dish, he will agree to help you. Old age has really mellowed him out, and after certain events, he realizes he needs to stay a bit closer to those he cares about from now on.

He likes sweets well enough, and will always thank you for any gifts you make for him. Along with growing older, he’s had time to lose his pickiness he had in his youth. If he does end up cooking with you, he’ll prefer doing the harder recipes over easy ones. He will lose it laughing if it turns out bad, so don’t worry about any disappointment (his children make up enough of that ^^).

(“Now,” Phil starts, washing his hands quickly as you wait for him next to the cutting board. “Pufferfish needs to be prepared perfectly, or we will die when we eat it. But I don’t need to explain to you how a pufferfish works, now do I?” 

When you shake your head no, he comes up behind you, tarnished wings bound and hair pulled up in a pony tail. 

“The meat of a pufferfish is very delectable, and much better with a glass of wine.” He grins cheekily, “ If this works out well, which I’m sure it will, dinner will be delicious.” 

It falls quiet for a second, and as your hesitantly looking over the fish that may be your last, you gasp when you feel him press up against you back and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be other delicious things to eat as well,” He murmurs into you ear, before leaning back and busting out laughing. Your face feels stupidly hot. Dilfza quest activated.)

#3: Quackity-

Quackity:

Quackity can cook. I know!! I’d say he’s like the third best cooker on the list. And he’s not half bad at baking either.

He likes making up stupid bad recipes and trying them out with you, even if at the end of it the one of you up chucks your damned creations the hour after. Despite his reigning need for chaos though, he knows how to make a decent amount of recipes and strives for praise when he’s actually putting forward effort. He’ll arrange little dinner dates (“A handsome man and his very pretty friend, good food made by yours truly, and La Chona, what do you say, baby?”) and will sit there with a 🥺 look on his face until you tell him if you liked it or not.

He tries to act like he’s unaffected by your words, but even a small, “That was really good.” will make him turn red and giggle like a schoolgirl. He tries to play it off, but it’s easy to tell he loves the complements. Will also never tell you anything you make is bad. You are a deity descended upon  minecraft Earth and he is but your prettiest disciple who will uphold your honor and treat you like you should be treated!!!! But he’ll then promptly choose to help you with and guide you into cooking/baking better ^^; He loves you!

As for baking, he really likes making cakes because of how simple they can be. It helps calm him down when he can just slip into bake mode and follow a recipe and make something nice at the end of it. Speaking of, he also has a sweet tooth, but not quite as bad as Techno does. Any sweets or food you make for him is always eaten, and always held in high regard. Will try to entice you into feeding him 👀👀 so watch out.

(He’s doing it again. You try to avoid looking directly at the dopey lovesick smile Quackity has on his face at the moment, but as you lift the fork up, you get a better idea. 

You look at him (to which he seems to melt a little under your gaze), look at the fork, and then back to him, raising the piece of cake up to his lips. His expression turns flabbergasted and his blush deepens. 

He doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, until you nudge the cake close and flash him a smile. Then it’s like a switch has been flicked; he giggles, blushing, and eats the cake right off the fork. He’s gone back to smiling that silly smile again, this time even brighter, but it’s okay. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest when he begs you for another piece.)

#4: Schlatt-

Another cooker~! He specializes with formal dinners more than anything else, and adores a good steak.

During his presidency, he didn’t cook very often. Quackity and you had to keep him fed through most of it, and the memory of watching you cook in his kitchen while he looked over work papers at his dining table leaves a mark on him, sealing a new crave for domesticity that he hadn’t ever wanted before.

Sometimes he would cook though. You, Quackity, and Tubbo would all gather around and eat together every once in a blue moon, when Schlatt was sober and calm. It feels tense at the table but also not in a way? Schlatt always seems to be chillest during dinner, a mix of the alcohol wearing off and the emphatic family feel that comes with Tubbo, Quackity, and you surrounding him.

He loves cake! It’s one of the few desserts he’ll eat, but you have to watch him closely or he’ll gorge himself of the treat. Indulge him and invite him to make a cake with you, and it will be one of the most interesting bakes of your life. How Schlatt got three eggs to stick to the ceiling is beyond you, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s completely fucking sober and hamming up his own cluelessness. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for him hiding all the other eggs around your kitchen as well. How did he get one on the top of your door without it falling when you opened it? That’s between him and god.

Overall, a good 4th place on the list.

(“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Schlatt says, deadpanned, looking you right in the fucking eyes with an undisturbed egg sitting perfectly straight on his head. 

“Where are the eggs, Schlatt.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Schlatt.” 

“Yes.” 

The container you kept them in is completely empty on your kitchen counter, once full of eggs but now reduced to a desolate husk of its former glory. Speaking of former glories, your president turns around, arms crossed and stands there silently. 

You look around. Theres one in the door handle of in the pantry, another wedged between two slices of bread in your bread box, and- oh god. On the fucking ceiling. Three, stuck to the ceiling, unmovable. After a full minute of dead silence you manage a “What the fuck have you done?”, and Schlatt turns to look. 

“Oh hey. There they are.” Your mind turns into a rock, shatters, and crumbles into dust.)

#5: Dream-

Honestly if you’re looking for edible food that tastes range from ok to good Dream is your man. 5th place.

He knows a lot of ‘depression era’ type recipes just because he’s pretty homeless and his man hunts don’t allow him much time to hone his skills. Stuff like bread or mushroom stew comes easy to him after so many times of having to do it on the run. Bread is the only baking he won’t screw up.

Can cook meat well enough too, but doesn’t really do anything special to it (besides his sauces).

To elaborate: Over the unknown span of his life, he’s acquired these recipes for forgotten and questionable sauces that he’ll store in little jars and leave at your house for you to use. They’re odd, and the ingredients aren’t ever what you think might be edible, but they’re surprisingly tasty none the less. He likes to show you a new one every month or so to keep things fresh.

Pretty general about sweets, but has a severe love for chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Has never had one, but dreams about chocolate cake. It’s high on his bucket list and written another four times over.

One of his favorite things to do with you is bake, mainly because of how ruinous it always turns out. No matter your skill, Dream’s vibes decimates any luck the two of you will have while baking. It’s scientifically proven. You left the cupcakes in for a minute-JUST a minute over what they should’ve been and they came out rock solid. Dream tried to eat one anyway. Best part was watching him try to bite through the shell.)

(He thinks he’s over selling it, half-gnawing on the brown cupcake (it was supposed to be vanilla, he thought) and making stupid growls when his teeth barely break through the surface, but the feeling he gets when you start laughing hysterically next to him wipes away any negative thought he had and fills him with utter joy. 

It's very late into the night, and you’re both a little loopy, but all the while you still lean against him as you giggle, the spot tingling where your hand rests on his arm. 

His heart thumps crazily, before sinking. Oh god. He’s in love with you.)

#6: Technoblade-

Knows a lot, but very little. He can cook the meat perfectly fine, but there’s a difference between being cooked and tasting good. He doesn’t know how to season them. Salt is the bare minimum you get.

6th place ^^; sorry king.

He’s good with potatoes though. I like to think that the countless hours spent potato farming had to account for something. He likes having cheese and butter on them every once in a while, but for the most part just eats them salted like an animal. It’s practically a show to watch him eat a cooked potato in three bites without anything but salt on it.

Big man loves food though, even if he doesn’t eat like it. Steak and cooked fish are high on his list of foods, but only if it’s cooked by Philza. And eventually you fall into his “I trust to eat this from you” category as well, but he has a special place in his heart for Phil’s cooking. Rabbit stew is at the very top.

He also eats a lot, being 6’10 and 200 something pounds of muscle, gotta consume quite a bit to keep him moving.

As for the sweeter variety of food, he’s got a massive sweet tooth. The moment you make him an apple pie or honey candy or anything of the like, he’s immediately enamored with you. Sweet things are hard to come by on the smp, especially with how far out he lives, but it’s a secret weakness of his that is very easily exploitable.

(You’ll be the death of him, he thinks, watching you closely as you trudge your way through the freshly fallen snow towards his house. Your normal pack is lighter than it usually looks, and he worries that you may slip and hurt yourself on the ice before you make it to the door. But still, you keep walking until you're standing at his doorstep, fist raised to knock when he opens it for you. 

You look surprised for a second, and then a grin splits your face and his heart races. 

“I can’t stay for long,” you say, having spent at least 30 minutes to get there. “But I wanted to drop this off for you before you went out to hunt again.” 

Out of the bag, you pull another smaller leather bag and hand it to him gently. It rests heavy in his palm, and for a moment he’s sure it’s ender pearls that you’ve brought him. But still he opens it, and he’s immediately taken aback by the smooth golden candies you brought him. 

“They’re honey candies.” At this point you’re practically grinning. “I thought you might like some while I was making them last night.” 

He doesn’t have to see his own face to feel the deep blush setting in on his cheeks and ears. You…. you’re so…… sweet. You are very…. sweet, he admits to himself, and he is very not attached to you. Not at all.)

#7: Fundy and Sapnap tie.

Fundy- 

Has his old man's cluelessness but is a fast learner. He doesn’t have much time to expand his food repertoire so it’s pretty much the basic stuff that he’s eaten during the war or before that when he was younger.

He really likes cooking though, and will invite you to come cook with him for dinner or lunch if he wants to hang out. When they were together, Dream had given him an old dusty cookbook that had several recipes he hadn’t ever heard of before, so that’s where most of what he tries to make comes from. His favorite to date was a special mutton dish that he asked you to try with him on his last birthday. It was just the two of you, but he had never had so much fun before.

Doesn’t like eating fish however, there’s just some bad vibe he gets when he thinks about cooking one or catching one. (Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Despera-)

Loves sweet berries as treats, seeing as that’s the only sweet thing he grew up with. Not too big on other sweet flavors. Likes honey in his tea though.

7th place cooker, will get higher as he learns more dishes.

(He raises his wine high with a laugh, clinking your glass with it as you both giggle drunkenly. 

The lamb you had cooked together turned out amazing, juicy and tender and flavored with crimson fungus juice. The recipe was from an old cookbook he had, he faintly remembers telling you, hiding the fact that it was Dream’s cookbook that he was given after a particularly nasty argument. 

He doesn’t want to think about him, especially not while he’s with you. Especially not when it’s his birthday. 

So instead he ponders the trip through the nether he took with you to harvest some of the fungi, how the juice was tangy and slightly bitter, but how it had done wonders when basted onto the meat while frying. 

You had looked so happy when you two plated the dish, so proud of him, all in a way that Dream never was. 

Even now, as you tiredly smile at him from across the table, cheeks pink and eyes focused solely on the moment you were sharing, he feels at peace for once. This is what contentment felt like. Oh, how he loves you so.)

Sapnap-

Shame the shit cooker. Ok ok, he’s not as bad as some of the others on this list, but that’s just because he can make a half decent breakfast. It’s not much competition.

Bad has desperately tried to teach this boy some cooking besides eggs and toast, but the only things that seem to have stuck are mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Neither of which he even likes enough to make often.

He prefers fish to meat, and would eat any kind of cod you offered to him. Likes smoked salmon a lot, it’s something Bad made for him a lot when he was younger. He tries to recreate the dish, but comes up short and feels disheartened when it isn’t like Bad’s. He’d appreciate any time you took with him to learn how to make the dish, and it wholly sticks to his mind afterwards. He never forgets the experience, and treasures it very closely.

Likes not-sweet sweets. Not bitter per say, but just not very sweet. He likes chewy taffy in particular, but the old lady kind that lasts 60 years but gets hard in 6 minutes after being exposed to open air. Gotta be polite about it too, or he’ll end up embarrassed and pout for an hour.

(He’s eaten 6 of those fucking taffies since you sat down on the couch, completely straight-faced as the two of you of you listen to Dream and George talking. 

At this point you’re completely checked out of their conversation, solely focused on the taffy Sapnap keeps eating. Where does he even get those? How many does he have?? You’ve been friends with him long enough to have seen him pop a taffy every other second of the day. He seems to have a stash on him at all times tucked away, filled with paper-wrapped pastel covered sweets. 

“Want one?” Sapnap asks, holding out a light blue taffy with a little star drawn in yellow dye on the wrapper. 

“What?” Startled, you lean back a bit and realize you had been staring him down as he ate, and flush with how rude that probably seemed. 

“Want a taffy? I don’t mind sharing with you, cutie.” He winks and offers the taffy again. “....” You gaze at the taffy curiously. You’ve never seen him offer another person one of his precious taffies before. Hmm. “...Yes, thanks.” 

You take it delicately, unwrapping the wrapper and taking a bite of it experimentally. It’s very lightly sweet, soft and chewy and surprisingly pleasant. 

Sapnap watches you from the corner of his eye, softly smiling when he sees you eat the rest of it. Glad to see someone else has good tastes around here.)

#8. George-

Meager man makes a meager meal. I said what I said!!! This flatbread boy knows diddly squat, and the only things he can cook successfully are bread and mushroom soup. Which he will make. And that’s all he’ll make. Any food that isn’t that is cooked by either Bad or Dream, and he’s still picky about it.

He’ll make you the soup and bread ladies and gents. I’m not saying they’ll taste great together, but he will definitely make them for you. Anything else he’s pretty critical about, and he doesn’t care much for treats or dessert. He does occasionally like dark chocolate though, which he and Dream will beg Bad to make for them. Soon he begs you to make it for him, and then you have to go ask Bad how he makes it so George won’t complain about how it tastes different from Bads. It’s a weird situation. You make a lot of chocolate. Dream and George linger at your house for weeks on end until you get fed up and shoo them away with a broom.

To his credit, even though he can’t cook much, he’s really proud of his mushroom stew. Any time you let him cook, his go-to is his mushroom stew. He likes to feed you and know that you’re not hungry somewhere, and to top it off he gets to show you his prized dish; not Bad’s or Dream’s stew, but his. He’s cute or whateva…

(George places the bowl down in front you, stepping back and turning to grab his own, before sitting down next to you. He immediately begins to eat, and you give him a half glance as you bring the soup up to smell it. 

It… doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Not burnt, at least. You spoon some of the soup into your mouth. 

Despite all you’ve seen of George’s cooking, this is pretty well made. It’s nice and warm, and the flavors are rich and the mushrooms soft. You choose to ignore the small smile of his face next to you, and keep eating your soup quietly together.)

#9: Wilbur

Wilbur can’t cook for shit. Literally nothing. This man knows apples grow from trees and that animals are made of meat and that’s it.

You think Wilbur made any of his food when he was president or exiled or ever? Not a chance. He ate anything given to him, Tubbo and Tommy absolutely brought this man all the food they could find so he wouldn’t get eat straight trash or starve throughout the presidency. Techno slid him bare cooked potatoes in Pogtopia and he thought “oh this slaps….. this is the pinnacle of food”

Which I know, not really sexy. But! This means that the moment you feed him something a step up from a bare cooked potato he is in food heaven. He especially loves saucier kinds of foods with lots of flavor and spice to them, it’s just so fucking good. Food becomes his kryptonite after you feed this silly man.

With sweets, however, he isn’t that much of a fan. He does like those small lemon creme crackers, and you and da boys are the only ppl he’ll share them with.

(You hear him before you see him. The familiar clambering at your window draws your attention away from the pork you were dicing, and one look over your shoulder shows a disheveled but grinning Wilbur. 

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner.” He jokes, brushing off his pants before approaching you to press a kiss to your temple. Soon after that you hear another set of clambering, and two pairs of stomps reveals one Tommy and one Tubbo respectively. 

“What’s for dinner tonight, mate?” 

“Hope you don’t mind if we join in!” 

You sigh, turning back to hide your smile before they can see it.)

// Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pt2 of this later with some other ppl in it lol we’ll see :3

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Body |Peter's Turn

Part 2 of 2 (Part 1 -> here)

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: none (suspicions of cheating but no actual cheating lol just a lotta funny miscommunication)

Anon requested- can I get a one shot where the reader does the body positivity trend with the new megan thee stallion song and the reader is insecure about how ppl will react to it?? Most importantly how peter will react to it?? K thanks

A/N- Part 2 cuz I immediately knew what I wanted to do with this the second I got the ask. (Peter's turn)

---------------------------------------

When Peter heard that you'd been nervous about showing him your video, he freaked.

He thought he'd done something wrong. That maybe he gave off weird vibes or that he'd said something before that made you think he wouldn't have liked it. Which definitely wasn't true. He liked everything you did.

Well, except that one time you got bangs. He didn't really like the bangs.

Anyway, Peter felt like he needed to show you that he was okay with it all. That he was down with anything you wanted to do or show him.

He looked in the mirror early that morning and decided.

Peter wanted to show what he had to offer.

He looked down at your TikTok "body" video on his phone. He could do something like that, right? He was completely clueless, but he could at least try his best.

He pulled out his phone and texted the one guy he knew could help him out.

~~

PeterParkour🤟: i need u to teach me the lip bitey thingy

PrinceHarry👑: bro what

PrinceHarry👑: ???

PrinceHarry👑: what is that

PeterParkour🤟: like when u make yourself look all cool when u bite your lip

PrinceHarry👑: ...

PrinceHarry👑: oh

PrinceHarry👑: OH

PrinceHarry👑: 😂

PrinceHarry👑: lmao why do u wanna do that???

PeterParkour🤟: im trying to make a video for y/n

PrinceHarry👑: what kind of video 👀

PeterParkour🤟: NOT LIKE THAT

PeterParkour🤟: well actually

PeterParkour🤟: kinda like that

PrinceHarry👑: PETER WHATTTTT

PeterParkour🤟: ill explain later which penthouse are u at tonight?

PrinceHarry👑: the one closest to ur apartment

PeterParkour🤟: ok ill come over

~~

Now, on your end, school was kicking your ass.

You weren't failing, but the amount of make-up work you had was so far through the roof that you might as well be. And the teachers were hellbent on making it the hardest they could.

To put it short, you needed a break.

And the second MJ heard your tired, irritated voice over the phone, she was on her way over with chips, dip, popcorn, and movies. If there was anything to calm you down, it'd be a nice movie.

MJ had gone to your kitchen to make the popcorn and you were laying on your bed finishing up some homework, when you got a phone call from Harry. "Hello?"

"I didn't know you and Pete were sending nudes."

You paused. "What?"

He carried on in a nonchalant tone. "I mean, I never took you guys as the types to do that, but damn, you two really surprised me. Dude's really over here asking for tips and everything-"

You sat up in your bed, alert and highly confused. "Okay," you said, taking a deep breath" ....what, again, the fuck?" Harry continued to ramble but one sharp scolding tone stopped him. "Harry, shut up."

He paused on the other side of the phone and then suddenly his voice came back, extremely hesitant. "...wait, was I not supposed to say anything? Did I just fuck up?" He sighed. "Oops.."

"No, Harry tell me what the hell you're-" BEEP. You looked down and saw that he hung up.

Just then, MJ opened the door, hands full with freshly popped popcorn. "Okay, ready to get the movie started?" She walked to the bed when she noticed that you were practically frozen in your spot. "Um, [Y/N]?"

You looked up with glossy eyes and she immediately knew that something was wrong. "Dude, what happened?"

You frantically shrugged a bit, and then let out a shrill laugh, half confused and half preparing for the worst. "Peter's- um... apparently... sending nudes to...me....Harry... someone?"

"What?"

-

Peter had finally made it to Harry's penthouse.

"So, nudes?," Harry chirped, very amused as he opened his door.

"What nudes?," Peter asked as he stepped into the living room. "What are you talking about?"

Harry paused. "Wait, what were you talking about?"

Peter only stared back in confusion, leaving Harry to pick through his own confusion fragments of information. He quizzically looked at him. "But-..the texts?"

"Oh!," Peter laughed, moving to sit on the couch. "No, I wanna make one of those thirst trap TikToks for [Y/N], that's all," he explained with a shrug and a bashful smile. "She made one for me, now I wanna repay the favor."

"Dude!," Harry hissed out. "You should've just said that!"

"Well, how about you just need to stop making assumptions," Peter said with a slight frown, not understanding why his friend was so wound up.

"Well, I had to since you kept being so vague!"

Peter rolled his eyes and started towards the refrigerator, if not to actually get something to drink, getting away from a crazed Harry for two seconds would be enough.

When he sat back down, Harry started to speak again. "So, what did you need me for?"

"Oh," Peter mumbled, shifting in his seat. "Well, you know how to do that sort of... stuff, right?"

"You mean looking like a fuckboy?," Harry snickered. "Yeah I'd say that's well within my reservoir."

Peter gave his typical bashful look. "So... teach me your fuckboy ways?"

Harry grinned. "Peter. You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that."

-

You held your phone in your handle, looking at Peter's contact number hesitantly.

"Just text him," MJ said with an eyeroll.

"But what if it's nothing?! I don't wanna be the crazy girlfriend!"

"But what if it's something?," MJ added. "Cuz if you put it off now, and it actually ends up being something, you'll be even more miserable than you would be if you just found out now."

You took a long breath and nodded. "Okay then I'll text him."

"But if it is nothing, you'll look pretty stupid jumping to conclusions like that."

You sighed. "So, no?"

"But then if it's something-" she continued, getting deeper underneath your skin with each word. "-you'll look even more stupid because you could've found out sooner and you didn't."

Finally quieting down from her rambling, MJ noticed you glaring at her. You sighed.

"So...do I or do I not text him?"

"Oh nah, dude. I mean, I wouldn't. After all, I'm not saying that I think it's something," she said with a shrug. "I'm just saying on the off-chance that it is, you'd be in bad shape."

"Okay can we please stop playing devil's advocate with my life?!"

"You know I love watching you squirm [Y/N]." "Anyway, I'm sure Peter's not cheating. The boys were probably just doing something dumb and Harry just explained horribly."

You bit your lip. "You sure?"

She shrugged. "Pretty sure."

-

"Okay, now lower the camera just a little," Harry instructed. "You gotta show the v-line, but still leave enough for imagination."

Peter dropped his arm and his posture and shot Harry an incredulous glare. "Harry, if you focused this much in school I wouldn't have to tutor you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just keep going."

This was the third picture taken and though it was out of his element, Peter strangely felt very confident with what he was doing. He never saw himself as ugly, but he certainly never saw himself as hot either. Not like Harry. But looking at himself now, with Harry's corny chain necklaces on and his hair scruffed up in a way he's not used to, he knew one thing for certain.

He looked good.

"Okay," Harry said. "Now the last one, actually needs to be some dumb picture someone took of you in your gallery."

Peter frowned. "Huh? But I'm on a roll here."

"Yeah but the whole point is that all of these pictures weren't supposed to be taken directly beforehand," he pointed out. "Since you're breaking that rule, you gotta throw in a cute dumb one to throw off your scent." He smirked. "Also, you gotta show the ladies and gents that you have a softer, funnier side."

Peter stared for a moment. "..why do you have this down to a science?"

"Says the science geek?," Harry retorted.

-

Peter spent the night at Harry's and they drove to school early in the morning. He was glad that it was Tuesday because your schedules made it so that you'd both have lunch together every other day.

"You sure she'll like it?," he asked Harry as they walked down the halls before lunch.

Harry rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You know, she asked me the exact same thing for you when she made her video?"

Peter nodded quietly, still feeling a bit down about you feeling bad about showing him that video. "Yeah, I know."

"Jesus," Harry laughed. "You insecure little dweebs are made for each other!"

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment..."

"As you should," Harry said with a shrug, as nonchalant as ever.

The two boys walked into the lunchroom and to the table they knew best. You and MJ were already there.

Peter could tell just by the look on your face that something was wrong. "Hey," he greeted cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

MJ glared at him and he looked to Harry, whose clueless face was not helping.

Finally, you looked up and sighed. "Pete, be honest. Are you cheating on me?"

What.

"What?!"

You examined the utter shock and terror in his face. It didn't look fake. He looked saddened and scared as he began to ramble. "No no! I would never! What even made you think-!"

His eyes caught yours as you looked over towards Harry sittting next to him. Peter turned toward Harry and then looked back to you in confusion. "Wait, you think I cheated on you with HARRY?"

MJ bursts out laughing next you. "Jesus..."

Harry scoffed. "Well don't sound so excited Peter, jeez."

You let out a small chuckle but kept your eyes on Peter. "It's just... Harry called me and...said something about nudes and-"

Peter's face grew even more contorted with bafflement. "Nudes?!"

Harry hit his forehead, finally understanding what was happening. "Ooooooooh, me and my big mouth..."

All eyes turned towards him. "What, Harry?"

He sighed. "This is all just a big mix-up." Harry nudged Peter. "Just show her the thing dude."

"What thing?," MJ asked.

Peter fished through his pockets. "Okay," he mumbled, a bit shaken up by what happened. He took his phone out and handed it to you. "Here."

You looked up and saw Peter looking down at you, waiting for your reaction.

"So, this is what you were doing yesterday?"

He nodded.

You blew out a long breath of relief. "You're not cheating."

"God no, babe, I'd never cheat on you," he cooed, stepping over towards your seat. "I know you were really nervous when you showed me yours, and so... I thought I should repay the favor."

He didn't even have time to breathe before you were on him, wasting no time in bringing your lips to his. He kissed you back, mildly aware of the people in the lunchroom around the two of you, but he still didn't care.

Peter pulled away with a smitten smile until he noticed blood on his lip. He wiped it away with his hand and frowned when he realized it was not his own.

You almost asked what was wrong when you noticed him looking at you strangely, but MJ beat you to the punch.

"Dude, you have a bloody nose!"

You gasped, picking up a napkin from the table.

Harry laughed. "Did you really just get a horny nosebleed?"

"Horny nosebleed?," MJ snickered.

"That's not a thing," you scoffed. "...is it?"

"It actually is," Peter corrected, blushing profusely and rubbing his neck. "Just glad to know you thought the video was hot."

"It was really hot," you gushed.

Peter grinned and pulled you close. "Aww babe."

MJ rolled her eyes. "Okay lovebirds, get a room."

-------------------------------------------------------

Lol I know this was pretty trash but I was just trying to get to sleep while I was finishing this

Tagging: @allegra-writes, @allegra-soleil, @yumings , @hey-its-grey , @spideyyeet , @sunkissedspidey , @tommyunderoos , @chaoticpete , @sovereignparker , @thesherlockianavenger , @bubblebucky , @eridanuswave , @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr , @kidney9-9 , @gwenvrse, @the-weird-bisexual, @kelieah

[jiamour]

love letters

pairing: ravenclaw!renjun x hufflepuff!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 4.7k

summary:  in which renjun has the phattest crush but he’s too shy to say anything despite being their tutor so his friend convinces him to write anonymous love letters to get his feelings out

alternatively: renjun’s a cutie and you hate arithmancy

a/n: i wrote this two years ago so its not great and its bullet point again, also the pronouns in this are they/them i think?? this is the softest i’ve ever written renjun im sorry he’s not a bad bitch in this 

“GUESS WHAT,” you yelled as you walked into the hufflepuff common room knowing your friends would be there, “I FUCKING FAILED!”

cheers broke out

applause was given

you bowed

“thank you, thank you.”

“i told you not to take arithmancy,” your best friend jaemin’s voice spoke from one of the worn down couches, “why would you choose to do math when you’re a wizard?”

“i wanted a challenge jaemin.”

“bet you regret that type of thinking now idiot.”

“you’re a hufflepuff, you’re supposed to be nice,” you whined walking over to him and plopping by his side on the couch

“i’m just teasing hun,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder in comfort “how bad did you do?”

“on the last assignment i got a dreadful.”

jaemin went to laugh but it caught in his throat when he saw how upset you looked

“i think she just gave me pity points for writing my name neatly”

“you were always good at that,” jaemin nodded thoughtfully and you elbowed his side with a glare

“if only there was a calligraphy class here for you” jaemin continued on completely ignoring your attack

“don’t act like i’m not beating you in every other class”

“well then don’t act like i was the one stupid enough to ‘predict the future with numbers’ what kind of shit? isn’t that was the crystal balls are for”

“you’re really bad at comforting me” you giggled at his stupid words

“then why are you laughing”

“i’m not”

you were

“i guess i’ll just have to tickle you to cheer you up then,” he said with a shrug, “i mean since there’s no other way”

“don’t you dare”

“don’t you fucking dare jaemin”

but it was too late

jaemin hands went straight to your sides

you toppled backwards in laughter squirming to get out of his tickling hold

“st- stop” you chocked out through tears and giggles

“only if you’re feeling better” he said “if i see a single trace of a frown when i stop you best be prepared”

“i’m better” you tried to say but it came out in a sputter with loud laughs in between

jaemin pulled away slowly and you caught your breath before sitting up

“never do that again”

“but yn”

“never”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“you’re smart right?” jaemin asked hand on his hip looking down at the kid sitting in front of him

“i mean i guess?” the kid awkwardly answered not completely understanding what was going on

“good then i need you to tutor my friend”

“umm what?” the boy raised his eyebrow and looked at jaemin completely lost

“my friend needs help in arithmancy, like serious, serious help, and you claim to be smart, so it only makes sense that you would tutor them” jaemin explained his nonsensical logic and the boy just agreed in shock too confused to know what else to do

“okay good, so when are you free-“ jaemin thought for a second “what’s your name again?”

“renjun”

“okay so when are you free renjun?”

renjun began to ramble “i um i don’t have many plans most of the time so i guess-“

“perfect” jaemin clapped his hands together not letting renjun finish “meet them in the library tomorrow at 7”

“i-okay” jaemin took that as the end of the conversation giving a soft smile before turning to go find you

“wait what’s their name?” renjun called his words coming out all at different volumes “who am i tutoring”

“yn” jaemin turned a little to face renjun “do you know them?”

fuck

this could not be happening

renjun was going to die

his face was already burning thinking about it

noticing renjun’s expression jaemin just laughed

“i’ll take that as a yes”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“GUESS WHO’S THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER”

you gasped “is hyuck here?”

“what? no? you asshole it’s me”

“oof don’t flatter yourself that much” you mumbled waving him off

“i guess you don’t need the tutor i got you then”

“OH MY GOD JAEMIN REALLY?! YOU'RE THE BESTEST FRIEND EVER”

you jumped up and hugged him squeezing both of his arms into his sides

“i knew you’d come around” he said in a cocky demeanor “how could you not? i mean look at this face”

“and you ruined it” you spoke breathily and sat back down where you were before

“who’s my tutor anyways?”

“renjun”

your whole body went stiff

“guess you know him then” jaemin shrugged

“fuck you jaemin”

“hey where’s your hufflepuff manners you should be thanking me”

you probably should have

but you weren’t

because out of all the people in the school for jaemin to pick from

he chose fucking huang renjun

the ravenclaw cutie from astronomy who always lent you his ink when you ran out

the genius who always mastered the spells in minutes no matter how complex

now you were going to look stupid in front of him

you really didn’t want to look stupid in front of him

anyone else would be fine

just not him

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was 7 and jaemin had instructed you to wait outside the library for renjun

it was really really awkward

anxiety filled your stomach and mind

7:01

he was late that was fine, only one minute, it’s whatever

7:04

he probably just got lost of the funky moving staircases

yeah

that’s it

7:08

you shifted on you feet

uncomfortable

people were watching you get stood up

for a tutoring session

god your life couldn’t be anymore of a mess

7:15

panic set in

you closed your eyes taking a deep breath before preparing yourself to leave

and probably go smack jaemin upside the head for doing this to you

that was until you were hit by the library door

you let out a loud groan

done with everything

but when you looked at who had hit you

renjun was standing there

holding his books to his chest looking discouraged

“hey?” you said a little confused that he hadn’t noticed he hit you with a fucking door

“oh” his eyes grew wide when he saw you “yn you were here the whole time?”

your hand when straight to your face

you were really fucking stupid

making a fool of yourself already

didn't even check inside the library

“were you inside?” you asked quietly knowing the answer anyways

“yeah i thought you weren’t coming”

“i’m so sorry, jaemin gives really bad instructions”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

there was silence

this was awkward

“so umm” renjun started “should we go study?”

“that does seem like the best idea”

“okay”

you followed him into the library in awkward, awkward silence

you sat at the same table you assumed he was at before because it was littered with arithmancy books

“so what do you think you have most trouble with” he asked looking down at a book and flipping through the pages so he could have something to do

“um- all of it”

yay humiliation

he laughed

and you died

“why are you laughing? i’m serious”

he face instantly fell he cleared his throat looking at you shyly

“that can’t be true” he spoke soft trying not to offend you assuming he was already on thin ice

“oh it is hun”

“then i guess we have a lot of work to do”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“ugh i hate arithmancy it’s literally the worst”

“it’s my favorite subject”

you coughed

“i mean i love arithmancy it’s the best yay” you said weakly adding small jazz hands at the end

“you don’t have to lie” he laughed writing as he spoke “the numbers just remind me of home”

you hummed quietly

“so you’re muggle born?” you ask glaring down at the complicated numbers in front of you

“yeah” renjun sighed “you don’t have a problem with that right?”

you were slightly offended

okay very offended

you looked at him in angry disbelief your mouth open in the shape of an o “do i look like a pretentious twat to you?”

“well...”

“don’t answer that”

he laughed

he had a nice laugh

“how far did you make it into the equation” he curiously leaned over the table to look at your work

“i have the first three numbers” you groaned spotting his already half full page

“and 2 of them are wrong” he brought his quill over and circled the numbers

you laid your head in your hands

this sucked

you felt dumb

you didn’t want to be here

“hey no yn don’t give up okay” he said softly, lightly trying to move your arms away from your face

you just let out a frustrated hum

“i’m never going to get this”

“not with that attitude you won’t”

you moved your hands away from your face to glare at him but he only smiled

he did that purposely didn’t he

fucking ravenclaws

he began to scoot his chair from the opposite side of the table to right beside you, grabbing the quill off of the paper

“here let me help we’ll figure this out together okay?”

you looked at him as he began to write with wide eyes

“okay.”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“did you understand today’s assignment?” renjun asked you

you gave him a look raising an eyebrow knowing he already knew the answer

“okay no need for that sass” he huffed “you could’ve just said no”

“you don’t deserve a no for a stupid question like that”

you began taking your books and parchment out of your bag

“i’m ready to begin this torture”

“hey i’m not that bad”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“okay but chenle is totally into jisung did you see the way he was all over him at lunch and whenever jisung walks into the room chenle’s feet turn straight towards him and he ignores everyone else that love psych 101” you said to renjun half way through your 6th study session which had more or less deteriorated into a gossip session

“oh okay ms.sherlock holmes” renjun had an impressed smile

“who the fuck is sherlock holmes?”

renjun waved his hand at you

“ugh wizards”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

the more you got to know renjun the more references that you didn’t understand at all came

it was to say the least frustrating

but his eyes always lit up when he spoke about muggle books or movies so you just let it slide

“tell me more about this spider-man guy” you said one day your head resting on your hand and you gazed at him expectantly

“okay so he was like this super smart teenager but he got bit by a radioactive spider which changed-“ renjun stopped mid sentence glaring at you slightly “you’re trying to distract me aren’t you?”

you raised your hands in the air defensively “what no-“

“oh my god you are! i’m so easy to trick how dare you,” he rambled “we’re getting back to work”

this was met by a groan

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“this is a bad idea jeno”

“you say that every time”

“that’s because all of your ideas suck”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

owls flew through the dining hall dropping down in front of students around you, delivering mail

your owl was one of the last

he had always been quite slow

jaemin was riffling through a package of salt water taffy his grandparents had sent him when your owl finally arrived

he was carrying the usual newspaper and weekly letter from your parents

you thanked your owl petting his head softly

he nuzzled into your palm before flying off again

when you moved the newspaper out of the way of your food you were surprised to see another letter under it

the envelope was completely blank except for your name

you lifted it up glancing at it curiously

“who is that from?” jaemin said chewing a pink taffy in his mouth

“i-um i don’t know?”

“do you have a secret boyfriend that you aren’t telling me about?”

jaemin was an idiot

you rolled your eyes at him and began opening the envelope cautiously hoping it wasn’t a prank

there was a single folded parchment inside

when you saw what it said your cheeks heated up and a small smile grew on your face

“wait, oh my god! you do have a secret boyfriend!” he exclaimed loudly getting annoyed glares from the people around you

he reached out trying to grab the paper out of your hands and read it but you pulled it out of arms reach, folding it and sticking your tongue out at him

you opened the letter under the table glancing to read it over once again

“i’m too shy to say this in person but i think you’re really cute. i hope you’re eating and sleeping well.” there was a tiny heart drawn beside that “have a great day!!”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“did you start your number chart?”

“i spent all night working on it” you told him rubbing your eyes

he gave you a disapproving look

“yn if you don’t sleep then you can’t concentrate and if you can’t concentrate then you can’t listen and if you can’t listen then you fail”

“well wasn’t that an enlightening roller coaster of words”

he huffed

you leaned over resting on him as you gave him an awkward side hug “you know i’m joking”

he nodded

wow your heart was beating way too fast right now

“i just wanted to work on it so i could impress-“ you. i wanted to impress you “the professor”

“i know yn but just take care of yourself okay” he was blushing now which you thought was cute

very very cute

you pulled away from him with a large smile taking your work out of your bag to show to him

“wait this actually really good” he said in happy surprise “yn you’re getting better”

“well yeah i have a good tutor”

he nudged you slightly

“shut up” renjun lightheartedly laughed

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

this time jaemin was ready

he was going to read one of the letters from your secret boyfriend

there was no stopping him

well you stopped him the last 4 times

but this time

there was no stopping him

when your owl flew towards you he quickly grabbed your mail before you could and began to open the letter tossing your newspaper at you

“HEY” you yelled ready to jump the table to stop jaemin but it was too late

“i want to make a fragile human connection in the vast and unfeeling infinity of chaotic universe with you,” jaemin read the letter out loud proceeding to scrunch his face up when he finished

“what the fuck was that? is that what you and your secret boyfriend talk about? science shit?” he tossed the letter to you which you grabbed quickly and smiled at the tiny stars they had drawn along the page

“i think it’s cute” you spoke softly, adoration in your tone

“i can’t believe my best friend is a nerd”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“I DID IT” you said loudly as soon as you saw renjun in the library only to be shushed by at least 10 students at once

“you did! i’m so proud of you” his voice was a lot quieter probably trying to not get everyone to hate him

you sat down in the chair beside him which he already had pulled out and placed your essay down in front of him

“i mean it’s only an acceptable but it’s good for me y’know” you rambled on shyly his eyes shone bright at your accomplishments

“it’s great yn” he encouraged “we should um”

he looked away from you awkwardly

“hmm?”

“we should uh go to hogsmeade this weekend to celebrate?” renjun couldn’t look you in the eyes and he felt as if he was going to combust “i mean only if you want to if you don’t that’s fine too no pressure”

“you’re rambling” you giggled

“sorry i-“

“i’d love to go to hogsmeade with you”

his shoulders relaxed and he finally looked at you  smiling with his eyes

your heart was blessed that day

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i can’t believe you have a date”

“shut up it’s not date”

“it totally is”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was quite cold the day you and renjun had planned to go to hogsmeade

okay really cold

and there was renjun standing outside leaning against a wall with his ravenclaw scarf pulled up just past the tip of his nose, hands in his coat pocket, shivering

you were late

and running through the halls

you yelled sorry’s as you pushed past slow moving students hoping you hadn’t kept renjun waiting long

you saw him standing in the cold somehow the small boy was looking even tinier than usual

“renjun” you yelled out waving a hand in the air so he could see you even though you were the only one around

his head lifted up from his scarf and you noticed his smile as he stopped leaning and walked towards you

“you haven’t been waiting long have you?”

“no don’t worry yn i just got here”

that was a lie

you could tell by the red tint on his cheek and the tip of his nose and also the occasional shiver

“liar” you said reaching towards his cheek to place your hands on them to see how cold they were “you’re freezing injunnie”

you couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if he had just gotten colder

“your hands are just warm” he protested moving your hands away from face and back in between the both of you

you both stood there for a second your hands in his until he realized what he was doing

he took a large step back

to your disappointment

“we should-um let’s get going?” he mumbled into his scarf

which by the way was very cute

“lets”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

renjun’s hands were waving around and he explained stories from the muggle world

and it seemed as though other wizards at tables beside yours had been listening as well

“okay so then get this,” renjun said dramatically and loudly “the sent him to england to be executed but he was abducted by pirates and brought back home”

the girl at the table to the right of you gasped

renjun shrunk back in his chair embarrassed realizing others were listening his hands quickly were placed down on the table

“don’t be shy” you encouraged him placing one of your hands on his “you get really excited when you talk and it makes people want to listen”

“oh” he looked down at your hands and then back up at you

“when he got back home there was a funeral for his kind of girlfriend but like not really cause he told her he didn’t love her...”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“today was nice”

“yeah it was”

“we should do it again some time”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

you opened the envelope the owl had brought you

“i hope these letters brighten your day even a little because you’re beautiful when you smile and when you don’t, you’re beautiful all the time..”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i can’t do it i’m going to fail” you whined while trying to make a particularly hard chart, beginning to scribble down the page

renjun quickly snatched your quill out of your hands and placed it down beside him

“you’re getting better yn, you’re not going to fail” his hands moved to your shoulders as he tried to motivate you looking you straight in the eyes

“but this is so hard injunnie,” you reaching for your quill back but he took his hands off your shoulders and moved it farther away

“you’re not getting it back until you say something positive”

“i don’t have anything positive to say, i’m going to fail and my parents are going to disown me and i’ll have to live in a shack”

renjun laughed at how ridiculous you sounded

he pointed to a line of work on your paper “what do you do after that?”

you muttered an answer lacking any confidence

“that’s right yn” he clapped shocking you

“wait really!?”

“yeah really see you’re going to pass” he was hyping you up and it was working

“i’m going to pass!”

“you can do this!”

“i’m going to get an outstanding!”

“yes you are!”

“i’m going to do better than you!”

“you see now you’re going too far”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

mail day is what you looked forward to every week filled with joy at the thought of receiving a letter from the anonymous person

as soon as it arrived you basically ripped it open startling jaemin

leaving a long tear in the letter but it was still easy to see

“your determination is admirable”

your heart swelled when you read the words, carefully folding it and placing it back in the envelope to make sure it didn’t get hurt

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“what the fuck man step up your game”

“i thought it was good?”

“you told her that her determination was admirable what kind of weird ass flirting is that”

“okay okay fine now that you say it out loud...”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

full of anticipation for what today’s letter would say your leg bounced up and down

your owl dropped the letters in front of you and you opened it slowly learning from your mistake last time

“are you pikachu? because you’re shockingly beautiful” is all it said inside

what the fuck is a pikachu?

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“hey renjun”

“yeah?”

“do you know what a pikachu is?”

he chocked on air, coughing into his arm

“what? why- why um do you need to know?”

“i got a letter yesterday and it had the word but i couldn’t figure out what it was so i assumed it was a muggle thing, it is a muggle thing right?”

“yeah, a pikachu is a pokémon”

“wow very helpful thank you”

he laughed embarrassed “i forgot you didn’t know about any of that, pokémon are like tiny cartoon monsters”

oh so they were comparing you to a monster

yay

that made you feel so great

“pikachu is an electric type”

“oh” you mumbled sadly

renjun automatically noticed your mood drop and quickly tried to stumble to fix it “i um- i mean he’s- um- pikachu is one of the cute ones?”

you could tell he was trying to cheer you up so you smiled at him

“thank you renjun”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

you kept the letters by your bed there were about 15 now the recent ones reading

“you must be magical, because I've fallen under your spell.” (obviously you were magic they were magic too)

“are you the moon? because even when it’s dark you still seem to shine” (most letters had been space related which you found really cute)

“you must be in honeydukes, cause wow, you're really sweet” (okay this one was nice)

the most recent one “you’re an 11/0 because your beauty is undefined” would have been nice if it didn’t remind you of how awful numbers were

getting letters everyday really had made your life more interesting

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“i wonder who’s writing these, do you know who’s writing these jaemin?”

“why would i know who your secret boyfriend is?”

“because you know everything”

“i know it’s such a burden sometimes”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“are you even going to tell them it’s you?”

“i think i would probably die”

“there’s worse ways to go”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

with every session your grades were getting higher and the closer to owl’s it became

you sat with renjun in your usual spot in the library for one of your last tutoring sessions

this should have made you happy but it didn’t

you wanted more time with renjun

but the only way you knew how to talk to him was through studying and the occasion celebratory trips whenever your grade rose

“did you get number 7 on page 378?”

you watched his mouth move but you couldn’t process what he was saying too lost in your thoughts

“yn are you even paying attention?”

“most definitely”

“you liar”

you sighed

“i’m just going to miss you that’s it- miss this”

“yeah me too”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“are you a Snitch? because you're the finest catch here.” today’s letter read with a tiny broom and golden snitch drawn messily in the corner

you smiled

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

“you have to tell them man”

“i can’t it’ll be so embarrassing”

“come on, no it won’t they like them”

“you have no proof”

“i see them smile every time they open one”

“well what if they don’t like me”

“like that’s even possible don’t you guys meet up like everyday”

“it’s not everyday and it’s for tutoring”

“is that why i’ve seen you on a date”

“i’ve told you a million times it wasn’t a date”

“but you wanted it to be”

“well yeah”

“then tell them, it will work out and if it doesn’t you can dye my hair pink”

“but you’d look good with pink hair?”

“oh why thank you”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

it was the day before your arithmancy owl

you were panicked

because of renjun’s help you had been receiving straight e’s

you were both immensely proud

you paced back and forth in the hufflepuff common room frantic students panicking around you

you needed a walk

you opened the door to the common room

and there was renjun looking like he was about to knock a piece of paper in his hands

“hi?” you said slightly confused but very happy to see him nonetheless

“oh yn hi i was-“ he seemed very awkward in front of you his hand fidgeting slightly and his leg bouncing you assumed it was just nerves for exams “i was just coming to see you”

“i was going for a walk do you want to join?”

he nodded

“so are you ready for your owl’s?” you asked trying to make conversation as you walked

and also clear up the tense atmosphere that renjun was creating

“i think i’ll do well i’ve been studying a lot recently at dinner and in between classes but i’m still worried y’know”

“yeah i get it, i’m worried because i could actually fail” you laughed

“hey i thought we talked about this” his voice was finally light and joking

it was comfortable again

“i know my goal is still to beat you and mark my words it will happen”

“i’m sure it will” he agreed without even a hint of sarcasm

“finally i get the recognition for the genius i am”

he laughed fiddling with he paper in his fingers

“what’s that you have?” you asked gesturing to the paper and he froze going stiff

“it’s um-“ he stuttered out “its um nothing”

you stopped in front of him clearly not buying it

“okay it’s not nothing” he lifted up the letter as if he was making a decision and then held it out to you looking away

“just don’t hate me okay?”

this confused you

why would you ever hate him?

you cautiously took the paper from his hands giving him a curious look and opened it slowly while he looked at the ground

“are you using the confundas charm or are you just naturally mind blowing?”

no way

this couldn’t be happening

you knew you were dumb but not this dumb

of course he was the one writing the letters

holy shit renjun was writing the letters

“renjun i-“ you started and he looked at you shyly preparing for rejection

“i can’t believe you wasted your final note on that”

wait what?” his eyes widened as he took the paper back looking at it “but jeno helped me write it”

“didn’t you say jeno was an idiot?”

“well yeah, i guess his other idea wouldn’t work either”

you quirked an eyebrow

“what other idea?”

he pulled a second piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to you

you laughed a little as you opened this one

“will you go out with me?” it read

your smile grew at least 100x it’s size

“i dunno this one seems like a pretty good idea to me”

“really?”

“really.”

“i guess that means i don’t get to try idea three”

you giggled “what’s idea three?”

“this,” he leaned in to kiss you gently

he had meant for it to be just a peck but as soon as he moved away you tugged on his robes pulling him in again

“i think that one was my favorite idea” you said as your forehead rested against his

“mine too.” he breathed softly

“was that jeno’s idea as well?”

“no that one was completely mine”

━━ *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* *✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ* 

[riotwritesthings]

Melt into Me (Your Words Are My Own)

WinterIron, E, 18k, Heavy casual praise kink, pining, non-graphic injury, self care is big sexy | AO3

Remember when I said this prompt for WinterIronMonth got way out of hand? I was young and naive. It’s a monster. Here it is I’m super proud of it. 

This fic, like lots of other fic, is all Stella’s fault. Everyone say thank you. And an extra big thank you for the idea, and the title, and in general letting me whine about this fic at you all the way through. You are truly a treasure.

-

Bucky has a new strategy for getting Tony to take proper human care of himself. Tony has never been so well fed, hydrated, thoroughly rested, and confused in all his life.  

That doesn’t mean he wants it to stop, and it’s amazing how many boring adult things Bucky can get him to do just by patting his head and calling him ‘good boy’. Right up until Tony possibly ruins everything.

-

“Did you actually go to medical before coming down here?” Bucky asks as he walks into the lab. He fixes Tony with an expectant stare, looking freshly showered and gorgeous and-

Tony viciously shoves down that line of thought, instead holds up his arm and shows off the neat line of stitches on his forearm “I did,” he says smugly, “and you can tell, because these are much neater than when I do it myself.”

“Your stitches are terrible, I’ve seen literal evil scientists with better needlework than you,” Bucky says agreeably, stepping close to inspect Tony’s arm before giving a satisfied nod.

“That’s hurtful,” Tony says, dropping his arm and turning back to his worktable before he does something stupid like lean in and try to get a big whif of the shampoo Bucky uses. “Now where’s my treat, that was the deal, I went and let the ‘professionals’ sew me up and you better not be backing out on your end of the deal, or-“ Tony cuts off when a ziplock bag of homemade cookies lands on the table in front of him, straight from Bucky’s secret stash that no one has been able to find. “Yay,” he says gleefully, ripping into the bag.

Bucky’s hand is suddenly resting on top of his head, gently ruffling it, and Tony is uncomfortably aware of the fact that his hair is a sweaty mess because he may have gotten distracted on the way to his post-battle shower. Then Bucky pats his head and coos “yeah, tha’s a good boy.” His voice is equal parts teasing and amused, maybe a hint of condescension and underneath it all a fond warmth, like he really is pleased Tony dragged his pitiful human ass to medical after a relatively routine fight.

Tony flushes hot, nearly chokes on his giant mouthful of cookie and the only saving grace is that Bucky has already wandered away to play some kind of elaborate game with the bots. Tony still does not understand the rules of said game, and he wishes he found it less endearing that Bucky refuses to explain it to him.

Okay, so. That... that happened. Tony turns his attention back to the gauntlet he’s trying to repair and tells himself it’s fine, it’s not like it’ll ever happen again. It’s fine.

-

And the thing is, it’s not like Tony meant for it to happen again. It’s not like he was aiming for it. At least... not intentionally.

It’s just that Bucky’s been pestering him about actually remembering to eat lunch at a decent time recently, so when one day Tony actually does remember he decides to rub it in a little. ‘Ate lunch,’ he texts even though it’s silly, it doesn’t even matter and Bucky is only a couple floors up helping Steve rearrange furniture to Natasha’s liking for the millionth time. ‘Don’t see the big deal, but now maybe you’ll leave me alone you big mother hen.’

About half an hour later, Tony is heading to check out the new common room arrangement when Bucky texts him back and he laughs when he sees that it’s just a cookie emoji. Then Bucky adds ‘good boy’ and Tony makes a strangled sound as he walks into the still-opening doors of the elevator.

Tony spins on his heel and punches the door-close button before anyone spots him. Because he really doesn’t need company while he presses his flaming red face against the cool metal wall of the elevator, his heart thumping hard in his chest. Tony firmly tells himself that had not been his intention, and it’s really a good thing he’s so experienced at lying to himself.

-

Tony tracks Bucky down to hand over the fancy new scope he’s just finished, and finds him in the library curled up in an oversized armchair. It’s unfairly adorable, and Bucky’s smile does dangerous things to his heart.

“Thanks doll,” Bucky says, staring up at him instead of inspecting his new toy. When Tony tries to literally wave him off, already turning for the door, Bucky catches him by the wrist and gives a gentle tug until Tony relents and meets his stupid earnest gaze. “I mean it,” Bucky says, “I know how hard you been workin’ on this, thank you.”

Tony sputters, and then makes a couple nonsense noises while something uncurls warm and amazing in his chest. “No worries,” he finally manages and it’s both a relief and a disappointment when Bucky releases his wrist. “Making scopes is my jam. That’s better than the one I just put on Clint’s bow. Don’t tell him.”

“I’m gonna tell ‘im,” Bucky says instantly, smug and grinning and still just staring up at Tony, like he could possibly be more interesting than a digital scope. “I get the best stuff an’ I wanna make sure he knows it.”

“Whatever makes you happy, snowflake,” Tony says, face warm because oh god he’s so obvious, isn’t he? When he turns to enact a manly flee, Bucky lets him go and the sound of his soft, fond laugh follows Tony the rest of the day.

-

It kind of spirals out of control from there. Tony tells himself he doesn’t love it, but even he doesn’t believe himself anymore.

Bucky snatches the coffee cup out of Tony’s hand and replaces it with a glass of water before Tony can even begin to formulate a protest. For a long second all Tony can do is blink in stunned silence because how dare?!

Tony narrows his eyes in a glare, and apparently the twitching of his free hand gives him away because Bucky shifts to hold the mug way up above his head with that wide, gorgeous grin. Tony is pretty sure, if he tried hard enough, he could get that mug back, but it would probably end in both of them covered in water and/or hot coffee. And it would involve a lot of pressing himself against Bucky and attempting to climb him like a tree, which is... probably not a great plan.

So Tony chugs the water, glaring the whole time, and then Bucky hands back his coffee with a quiet “good.” Tony struggles to fight back his blush, can’t at all help the smile that takes over his face, and Bucky just smiles back before continuing on his way.

-

“JARVIS, please wake Bucky up just to inform him that I am pointedly not getting more coffee at three in the morning, and please do it as obnoxiously as possible,” Tony says as he stares into the depths of the fridge, “I’m thinking air sirens. Neon lights.”

There’s a soft, low chuckle from right behind him, and Tony has just enough time to freeze up, his eyes going wide. Then Bucky’s hand is in his once again messy hair, and Bucky’s low, sleep-rough voice is rumbling out “good boy.”

By the time Tony finds his own voice again Bucky has leaned in close against his back to swipe one of Clint’s juice boxes, patted him on the shoulder, and started for the door. “If I’m a good boy then where’s my cookie?” He calls after Bucky’s retreating back, tongue thick and heart racing.

“Good boys go t’ sleep,” Bucky calls back, pointedly, and Tony grumbles all the way to bed.

He sleeps like a fucking baby, wakes up still feeling warm and happy and flushed.

-

"I don't need a brain scan," Tony insists. Again. “My brain is fine. It’s excellent. It is a stunning example of a human brain, ask anyone. Except Bruce, but he’s still just mad that I broke his favorite microscope.”

Bucky continues to stare him down, then lifts his shiny metal hand. "How many fingers am I holdin’ up?" He demands, and Tony would be insulted if he wasn’t having such a hard time focusing.

Tony stares at his hand, counting carefully. "Three," he finally declares, with full confidence.

"That took entirely too long!" Bucky says, dropping his hand again even though it looks like what he really wants to do is just throw both hands in the air and yeah, Tony gets that a lot. "You have a knot the size of a fuckin’ golf ball an’ no offense, but it’s ruinin’ your pretty face. Go get th’ damn scan!"

Tony taps his screwdriver against his chin, eyes on the ceiling, and decides he should probably wait to freak out about the ‘pretty face’ comment later, alone. So for now he turns a sunny smile on Bucky, pointing his screwdriver, and says "no.”

"Please, doll? Do it for me?" Bucky asks, completely shifting tactics, and he even has the gall to pout at Tony. With his blue eyes and red lips. The nerve of it.

Tony holds firm. For about five seconds. "Fine," he sighs, dropping the screwdriver to the table so he can throw both hands in the air himself.

Bucky smiles at him, warm and relieved and something that Tony almost wants to call thankful and Tony has to drop his chin because he can’t deal with that face.

Moving his head so suddenly kind of makes the room spin, and Bucky ends up having to carry him to the medical wing. Bucky also lectures him the whole time, but his hands are so gentle and he stays for the entire thing and Tony finds that he only minds the lectures a little.

-

Tony wakes up from a nap he definitely hadn’t intended to take, still sprawled out on the couch in the common room with Bucky’s fingers still running through his hair. He has no idea how much time has passed but the TV is off and the windows are dark. He appears to have stolen Sam’s blanket, at some point.

He twists his head, still resting on Bucky’s thigh, to fix Bucky with a baleful look and says “I thought I told you I didn’t need a nap.”

“‘S not like I made you fall asleep,” Bucky says, smiling innocently even though he basically did, with his stupid magic hands. Then Bucky’s grin turns into a smirk, voice low as he adds “but don’t you feel better now?”

Tony pouts harder, because he does, and Bucky laughs, continues petting his head until Tony falls right back to sleep.

-

“You do not want me helping you cook,” Tony says with a sputtering laugh, but he steps further into the kitchen anyways, because whatever Bucky is cooking smells amazing. And because it’s Bucky. “I can’t believe you’d ask me to come help you cook. Did JARVIS not tell you how much of a terrible idea that is?”

“Just be good an’ get over here,” Bucky says, and he doesn’t look up from stirring whatever’s in the giant pot but Tony can hear him rolling his eyes.

“I will be no help,” Tony assures him, but steps up to the stove anyways, trying to peek over the rim of the pot. “Is that tomato sauce? Please say yes, and then please don’t let me ruin it.”

Bucky lets out a huff of laughter and turns towards him, wooden spoon outheld, and says “c’mon doll I need a taste tester.” When Tony just blinks at him, Bucky wiggles the spoon a little and says “open up, sweet thing.”

Tony does his best to ignore what that particular choice of words does to him, instead making a big show of checking the spoon for signs of poison or sabotage, humming suspiciously until Bucky gives an impatient huff. Only then does Tony give in, leaning in just a little more to drag his tongue up the flat back of the wooden spoon and then groans happily, because holy shit that is some good sauce. He opens his eyes to tell Bucky so, not sure when they fell closed in the first place, only to find Bucky watching him with an intensity that has Tony’s breath catching in his throat.

“Good?” Bucky asks, like he doesn't already know the answer, and when Tony nods emphatically he grins. “See,” he says, voice suddenly gone low and deep, not looking away from Tony even as he returns to stirring the pot, “you can be good an’ helpful, knew you could babydoll.”

Bucky finally turns back to the stove, just in the nick of time because there’s not a damn thing Tony can do about the warmth spreading across his cheeks, unfurling in his chest. “Yes, very helpful,” Tony says with a dry laugh, “what would you do without me here to lick things?”

Bucky’s eyes flick over to him, lids lowered in a way that is giving Tony ideas, and his lips quirk up and as he says “have to lick things myself I guess, an’ where’s the fun in that?” Tony barks out a startled laugh, face heating, and Bucky grins down at the pot. “Gonna stay and eat with me, right?” He asks pointedly, like he’s just daring Tony to say no.

Tony pretends like he actually has to think about it, making considering noises and dragging his eyes away from the smug curve of Bucky’s lips. “Do I get a treat afterwards?” He asks obnoxiously, giving Bucky a little nudge with his elbow.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky hums, gaze shifting over to him again. Tony can feel his pulse in his fingertips in the best possible way and he has to bite his lip so he won’t start blurting out suggestions. Bucky’s eyes flick down, just for a second, and then he says “go get some plates.”

So they eat dinner, and Bucky demands to know all of Tony’s greatest cooking disasters and yeah he laughs his ass off but he also keeps giving Tony these wide, warm smiles, and Tony finds that he really doesn’t mind. He’d tell Bucky every embarrassing thing he’s ever done if he gets to hear that laugh. And he’s done a lot.

When Tony starts shoving his empty plate across the table, knocking it into Bucky’s obnoxiously, Bucky just laughs and goes to rummage around in the pantry. Which is a foolish move, because now Tony knows his secret sweets stash is in fact somewhere in the pantry. Which is more than anyone else knows.

Bucky returns with a chocolate and peanut butter cookie roughly half the size of Tony’s face, and then watches him eat it with an unfairly intense stare. Bucky barely glances down at his own plate as he devours a second, and then a third helping of food, just watches Tony eat the cookie that he’s starting to suspect Bucky has been saving just for him. Like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing in the world, nothing more interesting than watching Tony make a mess of himself with baked goods, licking smears of chocolate off his fingers.

The heat in Tony’s gut is battling for attention with the warmth in his chest, and he can’t do much more than stare back. He barely even remembers the walk to the elevator after Bucky firmly suggests he should get some sleep once in a while, the weight of Bucky’s eyes on his shoulders all the way down the hallway.

He falls asleep thinking the word ‘ravenous’ and wakes up panting, stuck to his sheets and aching.

-

Bucky walks into the room, and Tony switches from eating his breakfast like a normal, rational person, to eating it pointedly, fork scraping across his plate, loud chewing, the works.

Bucky just smiles, big and genuine, says “look at you, feedin’ yourself, I’m so proud,” like he really means it. Tony swallows thickly, heart thundering in his chest and an addictive warmth spreading through him. That still doesn’t mean he lets Bucky get away with trying to steal his bacon, though.

And okay yeah, Tony feels a little bad, if he stops to let himself think about it. Feels like a bit of a creep, but only a little. Because it’s not like Bucky knows that every tiny nice thing he says goes straight to Tony’s head. And his heart. And also a little bit to his dick. Just like Bucky doesn’t know that Tony has had a big useless crush on him for like a year now and really, what’s one more secret?

And besides, unless Tony is actually as out-of-touch as some people like to accuse him of being, it almost seems like Bucky is happier too. Like for some reason he actually likes keeping Tony alive and functional, and really, who would Tony be if he took that away? If Bucky gets some sense of accomplishment out of forcing Tony to get three square meals and eight-ish hours of sleep, then who is Tony to deny him?

It’s just one more tiny little secret.

-

Tony barely manages not to audibly sigh in relief as the reporter who’s been hounding him gets distracted by some kind of commotion over by the catering table and hurries away, lest he miss the story. Tony’s smile doesn’t slip, because he’s a pro, but it’s difficult. Tony loves his mother’s charity, he really does, it’s the only gala he doesn’t have to be convinced to go to, but he really wishes people wouldn’t ruin it by insisting on asking about Howard.

If Tony has to grit his teeth one more time and say that Howard was a ‘great man’ (debatable) or that he ‘always supported Maria in her causes’ (outright lie), then he’s going to snap and do something drastic. Like go raid the entire bar. Or cry.

“You don’t have t’ put up with that,” comes a voice from right beside him, and Tony jumps hard even though he’d know that voice anywhere. Apparently, Tony is even more tense than he’d realized, and the concerned look on Bucky’s face means he’s probably noticed too.

“I’m going to put a bell on you, almost gave me a heart attack,” Tony grumbles, clutching one hand to his chest and hoping like hell that they can just not talk about it.

Bucky hums thoughtfully, then grins and says “Sneakin’ with a bell, sounds like a fun challenge.”

“That is not the point of the bell,” Tony says seriously, pointing at him, and not letting his eyes drag down the line of Bucky’s body, no matter how much he wants to. No matter how good Bucky’s legs look in a well-fitted suit.

“I mean it,” Bucky says, smiling dimming a little, and so much for Tony’s attempts to deflect, “you know you don’t have to put up with that, right?”

“What?” Tony asks blankly, even though he doesn’t know why he bothers, he never gets away with playing dumb. Sure enough, Bucky fixes him with a flat look until Tony sighs and says “Yes, I kind of do.”

“No,” Bucky says, so firm and urgent that Tony is a little taken aback, catching Tony gently by the elbow when he tries to turn, tries to look for a distraction. “Maybe you have to be here, an’ maybe you have to play nice, but you don’t have t’ answer anythin’ you don’t wanna. And you especially don’ have to talk about him.”

Tony doesn’t know what he feels at this point, some mix of frozen and warm and fuzzy, flushed hot while ice runs through his veins, and he kind of can’t believe that Bucky has been watching him that closely-

“I don’t?” He asks and hates how weak his voice comes out, how unsure, but he’s been talking up Howard at these stupid things for as long as he can remember, it’s second nature, and no one has ever told him that he doesn’t have to in his his entire life-

“No, Tony,” Bucky says and his voice has gone soft too, rough and a little sad and he smiles crookedly as he adds “jus’ tell ‘em to fuck off if they keep tryin’.”

“Well I definitely can’t do that,” Tony huffs. Bucky’s fingers are still holding him so gently, thumb dragging over the inside of his elbow, making Tony shiver just as much as holding him standing.

“You’ll figure it out,” Bucky says, smiling a little wider again and tapping his thumb against Tony’s pulse through his sleeve, “you got that way with words, sweet talker, ‘m sure you’ll come up with somethin’.”

“You’re the sweet talker,” Tony grumbles, and Bucky laughs softly.

Not even half an hour later the same damn reporter corners him as he steps off the stage after his speech, asking the same damn questions, and Tony hesitates. Then he decides fuck it, throws out all his prepared responses, slaps on his sharpest smile and bites out “I’m not going to talk about that anymore.”

The reporter actually looks a little thrown for a second, then visibly steels his nerve and says “People just want to know what it was like growing up with-“

“No,” Tony says, smiling wider, sharper, “I’ve already answered that question what must be a million times by now, how about you go dig up one of those stories and republish that. I’m sure it’ll be better written that way, anyways.” The reporter is still sputtering as Tony turns and walks away, slips into a side hallway to pat himself on the back and maybe panic-breathe, just a little.

He’s barely slumped back against the wall before Bucky is right in front of him, breathing out “Oh, Tony.”

“Seriously, a bell, a big one,” Tony repeats, smile only a little wobbly as he drags his eyes up to meet Bucky’s, and then can’t help blurting out “Did I- was that... okay?”

“Perfect,” Bucky says instantly, jolting forward and then stopping, like he’d been about to pull Tony in for a hug before thinking better of it. Which is too bad, Tony could really go for a hug right now but it’s almost just as good when Bucky says “That was perfect, you did so good sweet thing, don’t you feel better now?”

“Yes,” Tony says with a heavy sigh, not even realizing how much he means it until all the tension bleeds out of him and before he can stop himself Tony is leaning forward to thump his forehead against Bucky’s chest, letting his eyes fall closed and breathing in the comforting, earthy smell of Bucky’s cologne. He just can’t take the warmth and open pride in Bucky’s gaze anymore, not without running the very serious risk of turning to a useless puddle of mush.

Of course, then Bucky’s right hand lands warm and gentle on the back of Tony’s head, wide palm cradling his skull easily and thumb stroking down the line of his neck, the other hand curled around Tony’s shoulder and pulling him a little closer. “So proud’a you, Tony, did so good, knew you could do it doll,” Bucky says softly, speaking directly against the top of Tony’s head while his fingers slide through Tony’s hair.

“I’ve told off reporters before,” Tony huffs, even though he doesn’t know why he bothers, Bucky apparently sees right through him, “I do it all the time. Did you miss when I snapped at one of them during that last press conference and Steve gave me disappointed face?”

Bucky just hums, taps his metal fingers against the curve of Tony’s shoulder blade. “Yeah,” he finally says, voice barely more than a breath, “For everyone else. Always makin’ sure the rest of th’ team never has to talk about anythin’ they don’t want to the press. Never cut yourself any slack like that, though, do ya?”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat, and how does Bucky do that?! He has no response, no idea what to say, absolutely never expected to be called out. Not on this. When Bucky makes a soft, expectant sound, like he’s actually waiting for an answer, all Tony can do is shake his head a little, careful not to accidentally dislodge Bucky’s hold on him.

“You’re worth it too, ya hear me?” Bucky asks, his hold on Tony tightening ever so slightly, one finger tap tap tapping at the back of Tony’s head until Tony finally huffs and nods. “Good boy,” Bucky says, still so softly, and if he notices the way Tony all but melts against him, at least he doesn’t say anything about it.

-

Tony shuffles down the hallway, frowning at his phone and glancing up every now and then just to make sure he’s not about to run into anyone. Considering he lives in a tower full of spies, soldiers, and other assorted superheroes, they all have surprisingly terrible situational awareness sometimes. And sure, it’s heartwarming that they can all let their guard down, at least a little, but he’s also a little tired of people tripping and breaking things because Thor likes to nap in hallways.

When he glances up and spots Bucky in his path, he steps to the side and barely has time for a “Hey frosty, Clint was looking for you. He was also holding a water gun, so I’d be careful.” After a quick grin Tony returns to squinting at his phone, and therefore does not see it coming at all when Bucky gently grabs his elbow and halts him in his tracks.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky asks, an adorable little concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. He also lets go of Tony’s arm, which is a shame.

Tony blinks, then glances down at himself. He’s not sure what gave Bucky the impression that something is wrong, if it was the stained and hole-littered jeans, the wrinkled shirt, or the fact that Tony apparently lost one of his socks somewhere. Huh.

“Yeah, fine,” Tony says and waves his phone a little, “just got a lot to do. You know how it is. Every day I receive emails, so on and so forth.”

“You got a headache?” Bucky asks, randomly, even though Tony does. It’s pounding right behind his eyes, and all along his temple, and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. All in all, it’s a high quality headache.

“No,” Tony says anyways, because he has things to do, and Bucky is making ‘go take a nap’ face at him. It’s a very specific face. “My head feels awesome, better than awesome, I gotta get down to the lab, so, you better be getting on with your water gun fight. Watch the furniture.”

Tony tries to step away again, before Bucky can guilt him into not working, but Bucky snaps a hand out and catches him by the belt loop on his hip. It’s everything Tony can do not to swallow his tongue.

“What you gotta do is take a break,” Bucky says firmly, and Tony is opening his mouth to ask if that means he’s invited to the water gun fight, but Bucky apparently sees it coming and cuts him off. “Go take a nap, Tony.”

“I don’t want a nap,” Tony whines petulantly and braces his bare foot against the ground, leans against Bucky’s hold and trusts him not to actually let go as Tony pouts at him.

“Then at least go lay down,” Bucky says, heartlessly. When Tony just pouts at him harder Bucky rolls his eyes with a soft huff and says “Do it an’ I’ll bring you somethin’ to drink.” When Tony opens his mouth Bucky immediately adds “not coffee.”

Tony gasps in horror, but Bucky remains unswayed. “Fine, hot chocolate,” he demands, leaning a little harder despite the way his worn jeans are gaping at the waist and more than likely to rip at any second.

Bucky considers, eyes dragging down Tony’s chest and probably counting the grease stains on his shirt, and finally says “Water an’ then hot chocolate.”

“Fine, I will go to my room and await my beverage delivery,” Tony says, already running mental calculations on exactly how long he has to run to the lab and grab his tablet then stash it somewhere before Bucky catches him.

“You goin’ straight to your room?” Bucky asks, one eyebrow raised, and damnit how does he do that?! Tony is seriously considering

Tony groans, then gives what Rhodey has assured him is the worst salute humanly possible as he says “Sir yes sir, Sargent Tastee-Freeze.”

Bucky grins with lots of teeth and tugs at Tony’s belt loop to pull him back upright again as he says “Good boy.”

Tony goes straight to his room, and Bucky’s smile when he finds Tony already curled up under a blanket with the lights in the room down low is totally worth it. The amazing hot chocolate is just a bonus.

-

“Tony,” Bucky says, voice frantic, “Tony, you gotta stay awake.”

“Hurts,” Tony complains, just in case Bucky hasn’t noticed that he’s bleeding out here. And he’s supposed to be the observant one.

“I know, I know it does,” Bucky says and his fingers are shaking as he brushes Tony’s hair off of his forehead. His other hand is incredibly steady as it presses a crumpled jacket to Tony’s bleeding stomach, making him groan pitifully. “You gotta stay awake for me, doll, jus’ stay awake.”

“Wanna sleep,” Tony says petulantly, because that sounds way better than being awake for all this agony. His eyelids are already fluttering shut and he’s not worried about the asshole that shot him, if Bucky is here then there’s nothing to worry about. Tony is pretty sure Natasha was around here too somewhere, but it’s surprisingly hard to remember.

“No no no, wake up,” Bucky says, voice cracking, and maybe there is something to worry about, if Bucky sounds that upset. Tony wonders what it is. “C’mon, wake up for me sweetheart, be a good boy and just- jus’ open your eyes.”

“Good?” Tony slurs out and cracks one eye open, just enough to see that Bucky’s face is wet and if Tony didn’t know better he’d think Bucky was crying.

“Yeah Tony,” Bucky says with a smile that’s entirely too shaky, sounding entirely too desperate, “jus’ be good and stay awake for me, give you all the fuckin’ cookies you want, give you anything.” His hand is on Tony’s cheek again, fingers so warm, and when Tony’s eyes start to fall closed again Bucky gives him the slightest of shakes and says “Hey, hey, c’mon doll, don’t you got some demands for me? Gotta stay awake to tell me what you want, baby.”

“Wanna be good,” Tony manages to croak out, struggling to get his stubborn eyes to open and actually focus. He almost wishes he hadn’t, because there’s something horribly stricken about Bucky’s expression, something startled and scared and it drags a pained noise out of Tony’s chest that has nothing to do with the blood pooling below him.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks after a pause and he’s shaking all over now, everywhere but his metal hand still pressed firm and agonizing over the bullet holes in Tony’s stomach. “Wanna be good for me, you gotta stay awake until the paramedics get here, can you do that sweet thing?”

“Gross, hate them,” Tony says, and Bucky’s laugh sounds more like a choked sob. Tony flails one hand up until he can grab weakly at Bucky’s shirt. “‘Kay, stayin’ awake,” he says and decides to not mention that he can taste blood with each word, instead tugging at Bucky’s shirt a little as he slurs out “just cuz y’re a worrier.”

“That’s real sweet of ya, darlin’,” Bucky says and at least his laugh sounds a little less ragged, a little less like it’s being dragged out of him.

Everything goes a little fuzzy after that, but Tony doesn’t let go of his grip on Bucky’s shirt until the EMTs start heartlessly cutting into his nice suit. Bucky doesn’t let go for even longer.

 -

Tony did something wrong. He doesn't know what, but he knows he did something. Which is just, Classic Tony.

Except he does know, he knows exactly what he did and the knowledge sits in his stomach like a weight. He made it weird. He hasn't seen Bucky since he woke up in the hospital. Not really. Because Tony made it weird.

He’s not even sure what he did, exactly, except possibly everything. He’s got this huge sad crush on Bucky, sure, but he’s had that for ages now, and Tony is dealing with it. He’s dealing with it fine. And okay sure, maybe Tony has been acting like a bit of a creep about it, lately, getting all warm and fuzzy and tingly anytime Bucky does something nice for him. Which Bucky does all the time, because he’s a nice person.

And now Tony has scared him off, somehow, between bleeding out mid-press conference and being discharged from the hospital. Painkiller-Tony probably said something to give himself away, that loopy bastard has no filter.

But Tony tells himself it’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe he’ll finally get over this stupid, useless crush now. It’s not like he feels cold and lonely without Bucky’s constant hovering, or anything. It’s not like the fact that Bucky will barely look at him hurts more than the multiple lines of stitches in his stomach, or anything.

It’s fine.

-

He shuffles slow and careful into the kitchen at stupid-o-clock in the morning, after his second (third?) night without sleep, and there’s no super soldier laying in wait to snatch away his coffee. And force feed him an obscene stack of pancakes. And bitch at him for not sleeping enough when he’s technically still recovering from his unintended run-in with multiple bullets.

The best he gets is Natasha telling him he looks like a zombie and throwing an apple at his head, which really just doesn’t have the same charm. Even if she does do it gently, while giving him concerned eyes.

So Tony gets his coffee, takes his apple, goes back to the lab and wakes up later that day with everything aching because he passed out sprawled across a worktable again. His back is sore and he’s hungry and his stitches burn from being hunched over for hours.

But it’s fine. Tony is fine, he’s an adult, he’s been barely-taking-care-of himself for years. It’s fine.

-

Bucky is still around, is the thing, he still cracks dry jokes at Steve’s expense and hoards all the blankets on movie nights.

He still wanders down to the lab to play with the bots, but it’s not as often. Not that Tony has made charts, or anything, just to prove to himself that it’s not all in his head. He brings down plates of food, also less often, and doesn’t stick around to make sure Tony eats them. Tony never plans to, plans to shove the food away for a proper pout, but after the third time he finds himself finishing off the plate and halfway through texting Bucky about it before realizing better, Tony gives up. He switches to just eating as soon as Bucky leaves the lab, and he doesn’t even have to lie to himself that it’s just a different form of pouting.

When Tony tracks him down to hand over some new body armor, Bucky still thanks him with entirely too much sincerity, like he still doesn’t realize that this is just what Tony does. It still makes Tony’s heart lurch and his stomach swoop and his face heat, but when Tony goes to run away because he still doesn’t know how to deal with that, Bucky doesn’t stop him.

Bucky still watches his back in every fight and suggests weird sci-fi books, still leaves leftovers with Tony’s name on them in the fridge just like he always has. Tony still has his friend, is the thing, and when he tells himself that’s all he’d ever expected it’s not even a lie.

-

JARVIS is the one to gently remind him when it’s time to have his stitches removed, Tony is nearly overwhelmed by the sudden urge to cry. Because he can’t remember the last time Bucky wasn’t the one dragging him down to medical for boring things like follow up appointments, bribing him with baked goods and smiling all the while.

Tony is tempted to just remove them himself, he’s so tempted. Because it’s not like he can’t, it’s what he used to do before Bucky started his whole ‘aggressive mother hen’ routine. He even has the tiny scissors in hand, sterilized and everything, but he can’t stop picturing that sad little twist to Bucky’s lips, the way his eyes go wet and pained when he catches Tony doing his own first aid. And Tony can’t even lie to himself that Bucky doesn’t care anymore, because they’re still friends, it’s not like Tony can exactly blame him for needing space now that he almost definitely knows Tony has feelings.

Eventually Tony throws down the scissors so aggressively that DUM-E makes concerned beeping noises at him, and he definitely gets some weird looks when he stomps into medical grumpy and painfully alone. No one asks any questions about it though, about the sudden Bucky-shaped hole in his side, and Tony wonders just how miserable he must look.

-

He nearly runs straight into Bucky in the hallway at something-past-midnight, and it’s all Tony can do to not spill his extra large mug of coffee all over both of them.

“You give me one more heart attack and I’m actually putting that bell on you,” Tony threatens, clutching his mug close to his chest even though odds are pretty good Bucky isn’t going to try and take it from him anymore.

Sure enough, Bucky only makes sad-eyes at his coffee for about two seconds, then drags his eyes up to Tony’s face and says “Just make sure they sound extra Christmas-y, to fit with my whole ‘winter’ vibe.”

Tony laughs and tells himself that this is fine. He still has a friend, still gets to enjoy Bucky’s weird sense of humor, still gets to see him around in the common rooms and that’s plenty, it’s fine. He almost manages to believe it. “Christmas anti-stealth bells, your wish is my command,” Tony says, nodding seriously. And then he raises his coffee to his lips and takes an obnoxiously loud sip, doesn’t know why he does it except that he absolutely does, stupidly trying to bait Bucky into snatching it away from him, insisting Tony take it easy, get some sleep some time this week, something.

All Bucky does is make sadder-eyes at him, which is not what Tony had been going for now he feels terrible. Bucky opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then shuts it again, and honestly that’s worse than the way Tony’s stomach still throbs dully anytime he laughs, it’s an aching hurt that settles deep in his chest and makes it hard to breathe.

“Well, I better get on it,” Tony says and takes a shuffling step back because he doesn't know what else to do, he doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s tried to stop having this big stupid crush, fuck has he tried, but he can’t. It just gets worse and Tony is starting to think he’s never getting over it, just one more chronic ache he’ll never shake.

Tony needs to go, he needs to get out of here and go put himself back together so he can stop doing this to himself. But when he turns too quickly it sends a sharp pain lancing through his gut and Tony can’t quite stop the hiss that slips out of him. He doesn’t stop moving though, just pushes through and keeps his steps as carefully measured as he can, even when Bucky makes a soft, wounded noise that sounds like he’s trying to swallow it down.

Bucky doesn’t actually say anything though, and soon enough Tony is alone in his room holding a mug of coffee he’s just now realizing he doesn’t even want. He dumps it out in the sink, crawls into bed for another good pout and ends up falling asleep for eight hours.

-

So Tony keeps feeding himself and getting a good night’s sleep every so often. He even waits until he’s officially cleared by the doctors to start demanding to be let back into the field and he drinks the occasional glass of water. He keeps doing all those things even after he stops hoping Bucky will ruffle his hair and call him a ‘good boy’ in that tone that’s somehow the perfect mix of fond and amused and bossy and maybe just a little condescending.

Because they’re still friends, and Tony doesn’t want to ruin that too. He doesn't want to keep making Bucky make sad-eyes at him across the lab when he catches Tony chewing on coffee beans to keep himself awake, holding a half-melted ice pack to his face and squinting at his screens.

So maybe Tony has a big sad crush, and maybe Bucky figured that out somehow. Probably the fact that Tony got inappropriately tingly when Bucky treated him like a particularly stupid house pet, because Bucky has completely stopped. Tony is not letting himself think about how much he misses it, because that’s not the point.

The point is that they’re friends, and if it makes Bucky sad when his friends can’t take basic human care of themselves, well the least Tony can do is try to do better. It was just a lot easier when he could look forward to Bucky patting his head and calling him ‘good’ in that way that sent heat spiraling through Tony’s entire body.

But whatever. Tony manages.

-

“We should order pizza,” Tony announces, marching into the common room and nearly shouting to be heard over what appears to be half the team heckling a baking show.

“Are you trying to start another screaming match?” Steve demands, giving him a horrified look, “this tower cannot agree on pizza toppings, we’ve learned this.”

“I’ll just order everyone their own, no screaming, no problem,” Tony says dismissively, “I just finished with an all-day meeting that could have lasted an hour tops and I’m starving and the only thing that can make it better is pizza.” He ends his declaration with a whine and a little stomp of his foot, and tells himself that the sound of Bucky’s quiet laugh doesn’t make his chest warm. He needs to get better at lying to himself.

“But then I still have to see the abomination Clint calls a pizza, and how am I supposed to eat like that?” Sam demands, shooting a look at Clint who’s already half on-top of his arm chair and drawing in a huge breath to no doubt shout his rebuttal.

“I’m still going to do it,” Tony says gleefully, drowned out by the onslaught of yelling and already pulling out his phone.

“Are you happy now?” Steve demands as Sam and Clint start whipping throw pillows across the room at each other while Bucky laughs, egging them on and tossing Clint more ammo.

And yeah, Tony kind of is.

-

Someone walks into the workshop and Tony’s head snaps up, but it’s just Clint. Tony is not disappointed.

“Stop giving me that look,” Clint says, pointing one finger at Tony’s face. “Bucky wanted me to come down here and remind you to go to medical. He also told me not to tell you he told me to, but I’ve conveniently forgotten that part.”

“Convenient for who?” Tony asks with a huff of laughter, and ignores the way it makes his stupid heart feel all warm that Bucky still worries, at least, even if he doesn’t actually want to come down and face Tony’s crush himself. It’s still something.

Clint ignores him in favor of poking at the things scattered across the worktables, never mind that most of it is weaponry of some kind, and when Tony throws a screwdriver at him Clint spins around with an unimpressed look. “What’s up with you two, anyways? You’re being weirder than normal,” he demands, throwing the screwdriver back.

“Go tell him I’ve already been,” Tony says, barely managing to catch the tool before it hits him in the face, “my stomach is fine, they just taped up my ribs and gave me a tetanus shot. Tetanus!” And no, for the record, Tony had not spent the entire time thinking about how Bucky probably would have let Tony hold his hand, if he’d been there.

“Go tell him yourself, you incredible idiot,” Clint says, and then starts poking at dangerous things until Tony kicks him out of the lab.

-

“Why are you up before noon and looking like you actually slept?” Video-call-Rhodey demands, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, “who are you and what have you done with Tony?”

“Fuck you, platypus,” Tony says pleasantly, “that’s hurtful, I know how to adult.” The look Rhodey fixes him with in return is so unimpressed Tony’s can feel it in his soul, even through the screen.

“I have known you for years,” Rhodey says slowly, “and I can emphatically say that no, you do not, and- Are you drinking water?”

“What? No,” Tony says, lowering his glass of water back out of frame. Rhodey continues to stare him down, and Tony just stares back, because there is no way they’re getting into this. Tony wouldn’t even know where to start, at this point.

He passes Bucky as he turns the corner towards the elevator, and Tony really wishes he had the time to ask what Bucky is grinning so wide about. As it is he has a meeting with Pepper to get to and best-friend-questions to avoid.

-

“You know what Steve,” Tony snaps, because he can’t take it anymore. He’s exhausted, he’s sore, he has a ton of work to do and he’s tired of being yelled at for shit that’s not his fault. He’s also tired of the sad look Bucky is giving him, like he thinks Tony can’t see him, like he thinks Tony doesn’t know that he doesn’t deserve this.

Steve actually falters, words trailing off as he blinks at Tony because yeah, Tony usually calls him ‘Rogers’ when he’s pissed, or at least ‘Cap’. And yeah it’s one of Tony’s favorite ways of distancing himself, what of it? He can feel Bucky’s stare like a physical weight on his chest, he’s frustrated enough with himself as it is, and Tony doesn’t want distance.

“I’m not a magician, okay,” Tony grits out, doesn’t snap it, keeps his voice even and clenches his fists to keep them from shaking, “hacking an encrypted system takes time, and it takes processing power. Processing power that is limited when I’m also using it to pilot the armor, so yeah, I hacked it as quick as I could, and if that’s not good enough then I don’t know what to tell you.”

Steve gapes at him for a second, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and Tony really wishes he could feel better about accomplishing that right now. “Oh,” Steve finally says, and Tony can’t help but notice that the debrief room has suddenly cleared out around them. “I- I didn’t-“

This is usually the part where Tony would jump on that moment of hesitation, tack on a couple barbs to easily push Steve from thrown-off to angry. It’s surprisingly easy, Tony has practically made an art form out of it. Because Tony is so much better at knowing what to do with people when they’re mad at him. But right now, Tony is tired, and he really needs a shower, and he really needs to get down to the lab and figure out how to up the power in the suit, make sure he doesn’t get caught unprepared again.

And yeah, Tony can still feel Bucky staring at him, and Tony doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it without breaking down and doing something ridiculous. Like demanding a hug. Or to have his head patted, or for reassurance that he did okay. And Tony doesn’t get that anymore, never should have had it in the first place, so he just turns and leaves.

Tony has nearly made his escape, and he’s managing to keep it together, right up until he catches sight of Buck’s face. Tony has spent a lot of time cataloging away all of Bucky’s expressions, telling himself the entire time that he’s not a creepy obsessed weirdo, and he’s never seen that face before. Some mix of happy and surprised and proud, and a hundred other things that Tony still hasn’t been able to figure out how to deal with. Seeing it less often apparently doesn’t stop Tony’s heart from lurching dangerously at the sight of that warm smile, doesn’t stop his stomach from working itself into a tight, heated knot.

No one follows after him, and after turning a couple corners blindly Tony finally lets himself slump back against a wall, just for a second. Just to try and catch his breath, try to fight down the warmth rising stubbornly in his chest.

-

Tony likes doing his test flights of the suits around dusk, when he can help it. He likes watching night fall over the city, likes watching the colors of the sunset give way to the bright lights that come to life in every window.

When he finally heads back for the tower he aims for the roof, figuring he’ll have the suit drop him off and then take itself down to the workshop to start running diagnostics on the new settings without him. It’ll take a while anyways, and Tony hasn’t had dinner yet. And for some reason, all of Tony’s friends seem weirdly invested in his eating habits and are weirdly thrilled when he remembers to do it. Tony is even doing a better job lately of convincing himself there’s not one friend in particular he’s trying to thrill.

Once the armor zips off towards the entrance on the workshop level the roof is dark, and Tony very nearly trips over Bucky on his way to the door. He makes an embarrassing squeaking noise but manages to keep his balance, only wincing a little as his toes throb because fuck what is Bucky’s shin made of?!

“Woah, shit, excellent lurking there, Frosty, truly A+ work,” Tony says, clutching at his chest, and he’s about to re-suggest his whole ‘put a bell on you’ plan when Bucky actually drags his eyes up from the ground to fix on Tony instead.

Bucky looks terrible. Which of course means he’s still one of the most gorgeous people Tony has ever seen, but the dark circles under his eyes hit Tony like a blow to the chest. Bucky’s hair is a mess, lines around his eyes deep and pronounced and he looks tired in a way that seeps straight down into your bones, eats you alive. Tony knows that feeling all too well, but he has no idea what to say in the face of it.

He doesn’t need to ask if Bucky is having a rough couple of days, it’s painfully obvious, and he knows Bucky isn’t going to talk about it if he doesn’t want to. And he very rarely wants to. It would certainly explain why Steve was looking for him yesterday, if Bucky has been hiding out avoiding everyone, which probably means that Bucky has been sitting out here on the roof for who knows how long and will continue sitting out here until he feels like a person again.

The fact that Bucky doesn’t say anything, doesn’t uncurl from his protective huddle against the wall, just stares up at Tony with shadowed eyes, means that he’s definitely not there yet. He barely even twitches when Tony’s stomach growls loudly, just raises one eyebrow slightly even though Tony is pretty sure that was loud enough for people down on the street to hear.

“I’m on my way right now!” Tony defends before Bucky can start making sad face at him, because that is probably the last thing Bucky needs right now, to be worrying that Tony is somehow going to starve to death without constant supervision. Bucky’s lip twitches in the barest hint of a smile, and Tony is absolutely going to count that as a win.

He’s about to leave, head inside and leave Bucky alone to his rooftop creeping, but then something occurs to him. If Bucky has been hiding out away from everyone, it stands to reason that he hasn’t been to the kitchen for food recently. There’s always someone in the kitchen. Tony hesitates for a second, and then decides fuck it. They’re friends, and fair is fair.

“Come on Snowflake,” he says firmly, no room for arguments, and holds out one hand for Bucky to take. “I’ll make you one of my specialties. Do you want a lumpy sandwich, or cold cereal?”

Bucky’s lips twitch ever so slightly further up as he takes Tony’s hand and pulls himself to his feet, and Tony is going to call that a resounding fucking victory.

-

Bucky loves sci-fi. Even worse, he loves cheesy, horrible sci-fi, and he gets a particular kick out of movies that are so inaccurate they send Bruce and sometimes even Tony into fits of rage.

It’s a serious problem, because Tony loves that Bucky loves shitty sci-fi. It’s hopelessly endearing, and Tony is pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he full on breaks down crying at the entirely-too-adorable sight of Bucky on the couch amid a mountain of blankets, happily humming along to the Stargate Atlantis theme song. Tony is only human, okay? He’s just trying to head back to the lab with his lunch and there’s only so much he can reasonably be expected to withstand.

It’s also a problem in that Bucky tends to get caught up in binge watching something and forget about things like sleeping, or the ever important feeding his super appetite. Which Tony gets, he really does, he is no stranger to getting wrapped up in something and forgetting everything else, so instead of suggesting Bucky take a break from his marathon at least long enough to get food, Tony just shoves his own plate into Bucky’s lap and leaves his glass of water on the coffee table with a pointed look.

Then he heads back to the kitchen to make another sandwich for himself, waving off Bucky’s stuttered, surprised-sounding thanks and refusing to let himself look back.

It kind of spirals out of control from there.

-

Tony sticks his head into the gym where, sure enough, Bucky and Steve are still having their stupid push up competition.

“Let’s wrap it up boys, it’s dinner time,” he calls, and then rolls his eyes when they don’t react at all. “Seriously, you’re both impressive, you both win beefiest belle at the ball, you can punch it out later,” Tony adds as he wanders closer, “Let’s go before Thor eats everything and then comes down here to show you both up.”

“Five minutes,” Steve huffs out between push ups, “He’s about to give up.”

“Like hell,” Bucky grumbles and does his next rep one handed so he can swat at Steve. It’s unfairly distracting.

“I’m evicting both of you,” Tony says pleasantly, “Just like I threatened everyone else with eviction until they gave in and agreed to order from that Korean-Mexican fusion place you’re both so obsessed with.”

“What?!” Steve demands, pushing himself upright on his knees to fix Tony with an affronted look, “why didn’t you say that?”

“Ha! I win!” Bucky says, still doing push ups and grinning at Steve smugly.

Steve looks so horribly offended for a second that Tony can’t help snorting in laughter. Then Steve grins wickedly, shoves Bucky over, and makes a break for the door calling “I’m gonna eat all your food, then we’ll see who wins!”

“Still a sore loser,” Bucky says with a sad shake of his head, pushing himself to his feet. A couple strands of loose hair cling to his forehead and fall around his face, his thin shirt clinging to his chest just right, and Tony’s life would be so much easier if he could just not.

Bucky is staring at him, curious tilt to his head, and Tony belatedly remembers to blurt out “Don’t worry Frosted Flakes, I hid your kimchi tacos at the back of the fridge where no one can get to them. Not that I know why anyone would want to.” The wide grin that breaks out across Bucky’s face still makes Tony’s heart thump dangerously, no matter how many times Tony tries to convince himself that it doesn’t, that it won’t next time. It always does.

“Thanks Tony, you’re the best,” Bucky says, all warm and soft and genuine, bumping their shoulders together gently as he heads for the door. Tony trails after him, face flushed and chest warm, and that was totally worth all the trouble of convincing Bruce that Korean-Mexican fusion is not a crime against humanity.

-

“You need to go lay down,” Tony says for what must be the tenth time since Bucky walked into the lab.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, again, despite the fact that he is clearly not fine.

Tony waves both hands at Bucky, trying to encompass all of him, the fact that Bucky hasn’t changed or showered since the fight when usually that’s the first thing he does, the way that he’s just kind of standing there letting the bots poke at him instead of chasing them around the lab. “I can hear your spine clicking when you move, and I have normal human ears!” Tony insists.

“No it’s not,” Bucky says, but he’s holding himself suspiciously still. When Tony just stares at him, unimpressed, he adds “it’ll heal.”

“Yeah, if you go lay the fuck down and avoid killing yourself before then,” Tony says, and only barely resists the urge to throw a bolt at him. He’s pretty sure Bucky would just let it hit him in the face right now, and that’s not what Tony is going for. No matter how well it would prove his point.

“No," Bucky says flatly. Tony throws the bolt, and Bucky winces when it bounces off his chest but otherwise refuses to move.

"Then you're going to medical," Tony says, throwing both hands in the air, "I’ll call Steve and he’ll carry you there, don’t think he won’t. He will be delighted to do it."

“I’ll throw ‘im out another window,” Bucky grumbles, and when Tony makes a show of grabbing for his phone Bucky sighs out “fine, fine, I’ll go lay down.”

"Damn straight you will," Tony grumbles under his breath and then blinks in surprise when, instead of heading for the door, maybe back to his room, Bucky slowly makes his way over to the lumpy couch in the corner.

And Tony's not complaining, it absolutely makes sense for Bucky to lay down on the nearest available flat surface, but Tony had really been expecting him to leave. Keep up that friendly distance, and all that. Instead Tony is left just staring dazedly as Bucky lowers him half down onto the couch with a level of care that completely gives away how injured he actually is.

Once Bucky is settled he turns his head where it's propped up on the armrest, only wincing a little, and stares back at Tony. There's something considering in his gaze, and he's probably trying to figure out how long it'll take before Tony gets distracted enough to not notice Bucky making his escape.

After several long seconds of mutual staring, broken only by them both glancing over when DUM-E gets tangled in the blanket he's trying to bring to Bucky and starts beeping in distress, Bucky finally breaks the silence. "Don't I get a cookie?" he asks slowly, innocently, like he has no idea that the reminder sets off an explosion in Tony's chest.

"I already gave you one of my favorite bolts, what more do you want from me?" Tony complains, turning back to his workbench so hopefully Bucky won't notice that his face has no doubt gone bright red.

"Somethin' edible, preferably," Bucky says with a soft laugh that has warmth spreading out from Tony's racing heart and mixing surprisingly well with the sudden influx of butterflies in his stomach.

Tony tells himself that it's fine. They're friends. He's glad that Bucky is comfortable enough to hang out in the lab with him again, making dumb jokes. All Tony has to do is not make it weird. Again. He can totally do that.

He doesn't have any cookies, but Tony does share his terrible energy bars, and when Bucky dares to complain about how terrible they are Tony throws a couple more bolts at him. Injured or not, he can't let that stand.

Eventually Bucky falls asleep, and Tony works as quietly as he can, and it's fine. It’s the closest to fine that Tony has felt in a long time.

-

Bucky’s nose scrunches up a little in disgust, but he doesn’t say anything. No one else seems to notice, arguing over their exact dinner order like it’s a life or death ordeal. They are all usually armed, in some way, so hell it might be life or death.

Tony slumps a little lower in his armchair, just enough that he can stretch out and kick Bucky lightly in the foot. When Bucky looks over at him Tony gives him an expectant look. When Bucky continues to stare blankly at him Tony does a little ‘go on’ motion with his head, and then kicks Bucky again. Just for good measure.

Bucky’s eyes widen, just a little, and then he blurts out “I hate sushi.” Everyone stops to stare at him, and Tony grins widely.

“What? Since when?” Sam demands, looking personally offended.

“Since always, it’s raw fish,” Bucky replies, throwing a pillow that bounces harmlessly off Thor’s head when Sam ducks. “Just get me some rice or somethin’, ‘s long as it’s cooked,” he adds and easily swats Sam’s return pillow away from him.

Steve immediately starts reading off other options from the menu, and Tony continues grinning all through the rest of the ordering process. He’s a little surprised when he looks over to find Bucky smiling back at him, something small and strangely delicate, and Tony just hopes his face isn’t as warm as it feels, hopes it doesn’t show that he’s melting inside.

-

Bucky has been giving him this look, lately, and Tony has no idea what it’s supposed to mean. It’s somewhere between surprised and considering, like he’s putting together the pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even know he was looking at. It’s mildly terrifying.

If he didn’t know better, Tony would think Bucky has figured out about his super secret crush, but that can’t be right. Bucky had already figured that out... right? And if that was the case he definitely wouldn’t suddenly be hanging out with Tony more, he’d be running even further away.

Tony is kind of tempted to avoid him, avoid that look entirely, because as long as he doesn’t know what it means it can’t mean anything bad. The problem with that plan, is that Bucky is suddenly everywhere he turns.

He stumbles out of his lab and it’s like Bucky is just laying in wait so he can drag Tony to the kitchen for an impressive lunch spread. And then he hangs out, watches while Tony gorges himself on soup and sandwiches and leftover donuts, and when Tony shoves the last donut towards him Bucky’s thoughtful little smile gets wider.

Tony doesn’t know what to do with that, or what to do with the warmth that lingers in his chest all day, growing something that feels dangerously like hope. Maybe he should give that avoidance plan another shot.

-

He makes it a full day. Mostly by hiding out in his lab the whole time. When he shuffles out, rubbing at his tired eyes and aching everywhere, Bucky is there before he makes it ten steps out of the elevator onto the common floor.

“What have I told you about sleeping?’ Bucky asks with an exasperated sigh that does not at all take away from the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, both hands coming down on Tony’s shoulders to stop him in his tracks. “And don’t say ‘it’s for the weak’, or I swear...”

Tony hums thoughtfully, then grins up at Bucky, who is standing so very close. If Tony were less sleep deprived he’d probably be more worried about that, more worries about what he’s giving away as he leans into Bucky’s chest ever so slightly. “Must have escaped my mind,” he finally says, grinning wider when Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I believe it was that you need to sleep, Tony,” Bucky says and uses the hands still on his shoulders to spin Tony in place and point him back towards the elevator. He leaves his hands on Tony’s shoulders, which is probably a good thing because Tony is dimly aware of the fact that he’s swaying in place. “Go on, before your zombie face scares Bruce again,” Bucky adds with a soft laugh.

“That was one time,” Tony protests, digging in his heels as Bucky starts pushing him towards the doors, “and I’m hungry.” The last part comes out nearly as a whine, and Tony doesn’t even try to stop it because this is all Bucky’s fault in the first place. Him and his regular meal schedules, and his insisting that Tony follow them.

“Nuh uh, I know how you are,” Bucky says, giving him another little shove towards the elevator, “you’ll go to the kitchen and then you’ll get distracted and I’ll find you five hours later half asleep and having a staring contest with your reflection.”

“Again, that was one time, and I had been up for days,” Tony says with a huff, then squeaks when the heels of his worn sneakers slip against the floor and Bucky’s grip on his shoulders is the only thing that keeps him from falling on his ass.

“Go get ready for bed, doll,” Bucky says and he’s definitely laughing now, “an’ I’ll bring you somethin’ to eat.”

“I want waffles,” Tony demands petulantly and finally stops leaning back against Bucky’s shoving, starts moving towards the elevator instead.

“Waffles, you got it,” Bucky says, all warm and amused, and his hands finally fall away from Tony’s shoulders. There’s a second where Tony starts to shuffle forward, elevator doors already dinging open, and he hears Bucky start to turn back down the hallway, and then Bucky’s hand lands on his head and Tony freezes in his tracks. He’s not even breathing, just holds himself perfectly still as Bucky ruffles his hair.

When Bucky steps away and his footsteps disappear down the hallway Tony is finally able to drag in a ragged breath and start his forward shuffle again. He spends the entire elevator ride thinking it’s a good thing he’s already half asleep, or he’d be really freaking out right now about what this all means.

Tony is slumped down low on his couch and poking at his phone when Bucky turns up with the promised waffles, but it’s totally worth the wait because the waffles are hot and fluffy and covered with the perfect amount of syrup. After Tony eats them all Bucky smiles at him warmly and says ‘good’, and what’s left of Tony’s poor batted soul feels like its been dipped in warm honey.

Tony doesn’t actually remember falling asleep, and he definitely doesn’t remember Bucky carrying him to bed, but he wakes up later curled under the blankets with his socks still on and oh look at that, he’s awake enough to start freaking out again.

Because Tony had been pretty sure he’d ruined everything, given himself away, and now everything is back to normal. Maybe even better. And Tony has no idea what to do. He doesn’t know what’s changed, and he doesn’t know how to not ruin it again.

-

Tony is heading for the gym, figuring he might as well accomplish something if he’s too angry to sleep at three in the morning. Sure, he’s exhausted, but maybe if he gets some of this energy out he’ll be able to sleep. And it won’t even be the first time someone has found him blissfully passed out on the gym floor in the morning.

He passes Bucky in the hallway, and it’s somehow both a surprise and not surprising at all when Bucky catches him by the forearm and pulls him to a stop. His eyes move over Tony’s face, and at least this is an expression Tony recognizes, it’s Bucky’s ‘figuring out why Tony can’t sleep’ face, and it’s a game Bucky is disturbingly good at. Even if it’s been awhile since he last played, not that Tony is letting himself think about that. Much.

“Hey freezy-pop, just heading to the gym,” Tony says and aims for an easy smile, but Bucky frowns at him and doesn’t let go. Not that Tony is actually trying to get free, that would mean losing the warmth of Bucky’s skin against his.

“People problem or math problem?” Bucky asks with a crooked little grin and Tony really hopes it doesn’t show how much it makes it heart leap that Bucky knows that.

“People problem,” Tony says before he’s even aware he’s going to say it, and then sighs as it feels like something tense inside him starts to unravel. “Huge people problem. The board is trying to slip some shady shit past me again, and I have to wait until morning to yell at them. Because I’m, and I quote, ‘not allowed to wake the old bastards up to yell at them’ any more. But I want to, I’m all riled up now and I want to bite some heads off.”

Bucky’s smile gets a little toothier and his gaze flickers down for just a second before he says “As much as I enjoy watchin’ you bite heads, prob’ly not a good idea. Might give ‘em a heart attack.”

“Which would be a bad thing, because...” Tony says and waves his hand in a ‘go on’ type motion.

“‘Cause then Pepper will kill you with her shoes,” Bucky says, very seriously, and damnit he’s right. Down to the exact threat Pepper had used, and Tony’s heart gives another little lurch.

“And that is a thing I do not want,” Tony recites with a sad little nod, and then grins when Bucky laughs. “So that’s why I’m going down to the gym. I’m going to imagine their wrinkled old faces on the punch bags. I figure hey, punching bag therapy works for Steve.”

“No it doesn’t,” Bucky says with a snort, then gives Tony’s arm a gentle little tug and says “c’mon, come watch Star Trek with me.”

“You think you can just distract me with Star Trek?” Tony demands, “because you can. What episode are you on now? Should I grab popcorn? What am I saying, of course I should grab popcorn, come on I need your hands.”

“How much popcorn you plannin’ on eating?” Bucky asks, but lets Tony start dragging him towards the kitchen with a smug little smile, like he’s getting exactly what he wanted.

Tony’s heart gives another little leap, and apparently this is his life now. If he dies tonight, it won’t be from an anger induced aneurism, it’ll be from choking on his own stupid heart just because Bucky is taking care of him again. Because Bucky is smiling at him all warm and fond and a little awed, like Tony is the one doing something amazing.

“Also, I love it when math problems keep me up, that’s the dream. The metaphorical dream, obviously,” Tony rattles as he drags Bucky along by way of Bucky’s hand still on his arm, just firm enough to not lose his grip, thumb stroking over the inner bend of Tony’s elbow as he lets out an amused hum.

Bucky doesn’t let go even as they settle onto the couch with their own bowls of popcorn, just shifts his grip down to Tony’s wrist instead, tap his finger against the wild flutter of Tony’s pulse in time with the opening theme. Tony shovels more popcorn into his mouth, mocks the questionable science until Bucky starts good-naturedly shoulder checking him, and doesn’t let himself think about the fact that Bucky’s hand on his wrist is leaching all the tension out of his body better than anything else ever has.

And Tony especially doesn’t let himself think about the fact that Bucky is giving him that look again. Like he’s solving some kind of riddle. Or maybe like he’s already solved it, and he’s just waiting for Tony to ask about the answer. But Tony is terrified to ask, because fuck he doesn’t want to be wrong. Even more terrifying, he’s starting to think he might not be.

-

Tony isn’t sure how Pepper convinced literally all of the Avengers to dress up to the nines and show up for the fanciest and most painful charity gala of the year. She even got Clint into a tux. Tony does know how she convinced him, at least, which was with threats to both his person and his cars. It was very effective.

Tony is still pondering the mystery as he heads for the common room to round up the rest of the unwilling ceremonial social sacrifices, and instead finds only Bucky struggling with his bow tie. “Either I’m late, or everyone else is extremely late,” Tony says and doesn’t even try to hide his wide grin as he watches Bucky nearly strangle himself.

“It’s both,” Bucky grumbles, yanking at the ends of the bow tie so aggressively Tony is a little surprised the poor thing doesn’t tear, “Some of ‘em were here, but then Bruce spilled his tea all over him an’ Clint, an’ Steve laughed so hard he ripped his shirt. So they all went to change. I think Nat left without us.” Bucky drops his hands to his side and scowls at this reflection in the mirror above the bar, at the lopsided bow hanging loose around his neck.

“That’s why she’s Pepper’s favorite,” Tony says, laughing as much at the story as the defeated slump of Bucky’s shoulders as he starts unknotting the bow tie again. Before Tony can think better of it he’s stepping closer and tugging at Bucky’s arm, all wrapped up in soft black fabric that somehow makes his arms look thicker. “Stop, stop, you’re killing the poor thing,” he says as he grabs for the tie with his free hand.

“Good,” Bucky says with a pout that has no right being so adorable on someone so lethal, “I dunno why it’s bein’ so difficult. I can do a tie no problem, but this?” He whips the bow tie off his neck and eagerly shoves it into Tony’s hand as he declares “bow ties are bullshit. Do you have a clip on around here?”

“Bite your tongue, you heathen,” Tony tells him seriously and forces himself to let go of Bucky’s arm, only dragging his fingers along Bucky’s firm bicep a little in the process. Then he takes a deep breath and steps forward a little closer, until they’re pressed practically chest to chest, and says “Here, let me help you with this before you somehow injure yourself with neckwear.”

“Please,” Bucky says with a heavy sigh, his hand brushing over Tony’s hip just for a second before falling to his side. “I swear I’ve tried fifty times now, you’re my only hope. You always clean up so nice an’ I’m just tryin’ not to make a fool of myself.”

Tony tries to ignore what that particular choice of words does to him. Later, he can work himself up into knots over the fact that Bucky thinks he cleans up nice, thinks he always cleans up nice, like Bucky has been thinking it for a while. But that’s for later, for now he just has to focus on getting this bow tie in place so they can all get over to the stupid gala and live through the stupid night. And then he can go back to his stupid panicked pining.

Focusing on the bow tie turns out to be a little difficult though, because all Tony wants to focus on is Bucky standing so incredibly close to him, the way Bucky is looking at him, eyes half lidded and chin tipped up to give Tony better access to his throat. His first attempt looks even worse, too tight and the bow lopsided, and Bucky barks out a laugh.

“Do you actually know what you’re doing?” Bucky demands, play-swatting at Tony’s stomach, “Are you wearing a clip on?”

“You take that back!” Tony squawks, swatting back at him before he starts aggressively undoing the bow tie again. He needs to get it together, because the longer this takes him the longer he’s standing all up in Bucky’s space, and the more of a blushing mess he’s going to become. And if Bucky hasn’t figured him out already, which is something Tony still can’t get a definite, undeniable read on, then Bucky definitely will now.

Especially because Bucky keeps his head tipped back and smiles lazily in a way that has Tony’s stomach clinging up tight as he asks “Are you trying to kill me, is that what’s happening here?”

“Yes dear,” Tony says, sickeningly sweet, and gives an extra hard tug at one end of the tie, “I’m trying to kill you with a bow tie. Slowly.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but his smirk gets wider and wider and finally Tony huffs out “Turn around, I can’t work like this.”

“Sure, much easier to strangle me from behind,” Bucky says agreeably as he spins in place to face the mirror again, and his reflection fixes Tony with an expectant look.

Before he can talk himself out of it Tony steps forward and up onto his toes, hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder to properly see what he’s doing in the mirror, and brings both arms up over Bucky’s shoulders. From this angle it only takes a couple seconds to get the bow tie perfectly centered and secured around Bucky’s neck, just like it only takes a couple seconds for Tony’s pulse to jump up to truly unsafe levels.

“There, told you I know what I’m doing,” he says with a smug grin and then can’t quite seem to pull himself away, can’t seem to break eye contact with Bucky’s reflection.

“Looks perfect, thanks doll,” Bucky says, low and warm, and raises one hand to gently grab Tony’s forearm where it’s still draped over his chest. Like he doesn’t want Tony to pull away.

“So how did Pepper talk you into this?” Tony blurts, which, all things considered, is probably the least damaging thing he could blurt out right about now.

“She pointed out that if the Avengers look good, it helps your company look good,” he says, like that’s any kind of explanation, still staring Tony right in the eye like that’s supposed to mean something.

“That- that’s not- what-,” Tony says, startled, taking an instinctive step back. Bucky doesn’t let go of his arm, just turns back to face him with his mouth already open to protest. “Seriously,” Tony says, cutting him off and feeling a little frantic for reasons he can’t name, doesn’t want to name, “That’s not something you need to worry about, what- why would that-“

“Hey,” Bucky says, soft like Tony is some kind of spooked animal, which, okay, that feels pretty fair right now. When Bucky gives his arm a little tug Tony steps closer, completely helpless against it. Then Bucky’s other hand is on his face, fingertips just barely brushing Tony’s cheek, the line of his throat, and cool metal thumb pressed oh-so-gently beneath Tony’s chin nudging his head up to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Hey,” he says again, “I want t’ make you look good, okay? ‘S the least we can do after all you do to make us look good. ‘Cause I know that can’t be easy.”

Tony just gapes uselessly for a second, breath caught in his chest, and he’s not sure when he grabbed two handfuls of Bucky’s tux jacket, but he doesn’t think he could let go if he tried. Finally he manages to drag in a shaking break and stutter out “w-we?”

Bucky smirks a little wider, taps his thumb against Tony’s chin, and confesses “I may have helped Pepper ‘talk’ some of ‘em into it.”

And Tony is right back to useless gaping, because what the fuck is he supposed to do with that?! Tony has never expected the rest of the team to worry about the effect their Avenging has on SI, that’s his responsibility, his problem to deal with, and he has the growing feeling that Bucky is trying to tell him something here but Tony is too busy trying not to hyperventilate to figure out what the fuck it is-

“I’m about to enter the common room!” Comes a sudden shout from the hallway, and Tony startles so hard that Bucky’s hand still on his arm is the only thing that keeps him from toppling over. “Please no one throw tea at me this time!” The voice continues and oh, that’s Clint. Of course, because they’re waiting for the rest of the team. Who will be here any minute, and Tony should probably get it together already.

“That was your own fault, an’ I think you know it,” Bucky calls back, smiling just a little ruefully as he drops his hands back to his sides. Tony untangles his hands from Bucky’s jacket and has to resist the urge to smooth out the slight wrinkles he’s left in the lapels.

“Now hold on just a minute,” Clint says as he bursts into the room to defend himself, wrinkled suit jacket only half on and waving a finger at Bucky and Tony sees his chance.

Tony runs. Sure, he says he’s going to get Bruce, but it is absolutely just a cowardly flee. He just needs a minute, he just needs to breathe, needs to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do with all the hope growing wild and unchecked in his lungs.

-

Tony gets home from a business trip and he honestly has no idea what time it is. He doesn’t even know what day it is, the only things he knows are that he’s jet lagged as all hell, and that he just wants to sleep.

When he gets to the penthouse there’s takeout from his favorite Italian place waiting on the table, still warm. There’s also a note that says ‘be a good boy and eat before you pass out for 12 hours’. It’s not signed, but at this point it really doesn't need to be.

He honestly doesn’t know what he’s expecting at this point, when he send a photo of the empty containers to Bucky with the caption ‘I want a cookie when I wake up.’

What Tony gets is an almost immediate response in the form of a picture of one of those chocolate-and-peanut-butter monstrosities that he loves, followed by a text that says ‘see you in 13 hours sweet thing’.

Tony wakes up almost exactly thirteen hours later, and he’s so far past wondering how Bucky does that. He’s also so far past his ‘avoid Bucky’ plan, all he wants to do is go find Bucky, get his cookie, and maybe even get the feeling of Bucky’s fingers ruffling his hair again.

So he does.

-

He’s heading for the elevator to leave for a press conference when Bucky and Natasha suddenly appear in his way, arms crossed and matching terrifying assassin glowers on their faces.

“Seriously, bells,” Tony says, clutching at his chest with the hand not clutching his to-go cup, “bells for everybody, I can’t live like this. I have a heart condition.”

They don’t laugh, but it’s not the usual ‘Tony please don’t joke about your heart condition’ not-laughing, and Tony is instantly on high alert, because something is going on here and he has a feeling he’s not going to like it.

The feeling only gets stronger when Bucky actually hesitates before slowly saying “I know you already talked t’ Pepper about this-“

“No,” Tony says instantly and he can’t believe he ever thought it was kind of sweet that Bucky talks to Pepper, that was clearly going to come back to bite him in the ass some day. Sure enough Natasha pulls out the very same body armor shirt Pepper had been waving at him this morning and Tony groans out “no.”

“You’re wearing the armor,” Natasha says flatly, and it’s completely unsurprising that she’s the one playing bad cop here.

“I am not wearing the armor,” Tony returns, just as flat, “because why would I? It’s a press conference, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could get shot again,” Bucky bursts out and his face is doing something truly fascinating, like he’s cycling through emotions too quickly for any of them to properly settle.

Tony can’t help rolling his eyes a little, because are they still on that? “What’re the odds that’ll happen again?” he says dismissively, “Smart assassins never try the same move twice, you know that frosty.”

Bucky’s face twitches harder and okay, apparently they are not yet to the point of joking about Tony’s recent gunshot wounds. Noted. “If you don’t wear the armor? Odds’re pretty damn high,” he growls out and yep, he’s even got his angry-eyebrows on. That’s usually reserved for Steve-levels of stupidity.

“You made this, it's the same material you use for all our gear,” Natasha points out, and okay, maybe she’s not ‘bad cop’ so much as ‘rational cop’. She holds the armor out to him, one eyebrow raised, and demands “are you saying it’s not good enough?”

“That is not what I’m saying, and I think you know it,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes because oh, that’s a low blow, how dare she imply he’d put his team in anything but the best. Her challenging smirk only gets wider, so Tony sniffs and drags his free hand over his chest as he says “I just don’t want to ruin the lines of my suit.”

“It’s the size of an undershirt, your figure will be fine,” Natasha says, but her lips twitch ever so slightly upwards.

Bucky remains staunchly unamused. “Yeah, I’m just gonna put the armor on you myself,” he says with a decisive nod, and Natasha gleefully hands it over.

“I’ll throw my coffee on you,” Tony warns, holding it up like a shield and taking a step back, “it won’t accomplish much, but then you’ll have to listen to me bitch about how I don’t have my coffee anymore. I might even cry.” Bucky keeps advancing on him, armor in hand and a determined look in his eye, so Tony pretends to fumble with the lid of his cup and warns “I’m talking ugly crying here, Bucky-bear, you’ve seen me without my coffee, it’ll be embarrassing for everyone, and-“

"Tony," Bucky snaps, standing right in front of him now, voice low and rough and cracking ever so slightly, "be a good boy and wear the damn armor!”

Tony's stupid heart trips all over itself. Natasha is somehow suddenly all the way down the hall, pointedly ignoring them while sipping Tony’s coffee, and when did she even steal that, and she is very clearly blocking Tony’s escape route. Not that Tony could actually flee right now if he wanted to, he’s much too busy just trying to stay standing under the force of the hot flush that rushes over him, stomach clenching hard and blood roaring in his ears. Tony can’t find the air to reply, can only stare, and Bucky’s face crumples a little further.

“Please, doll? I gotta know you’re safe, I can’t-'' Bucky cuts himself off, clenching his jaw, and Tony feels some confusing mix of horrified and elated. Because of course he feels terrible that he’s the reason for the terrified, pleading look in Bucky’s eyes, the reason Bucky’s right hand trembles slightly as he gives the body armor held between them a little shake. But on the other hand, Tony is the one who made Bucky look like that, cracked open and vulnerable, Tony did that. And oh, he knows that Bucky is letting it show, for him, it’s a gift that he hears the way Bucky’s breath hitches as he pleads “Just- jus’ do this for me? Be good and wear th’ damn armor so I can feel like you’re safe, will you do that?”

Fuck, Tony is pretty sure he’s going to die, he’s pretty sure the entire tower can hear the way his heart is racing in his chest, He has no idea how he’s supposed to respond to that, because all he really wants to do is take that single step it would require to bury his face in Bucky’s chest. But Tony knows he has to say something, anything, Bucky is still staring at him like he’s waiting for an answer, and it nearly knocks him off his feet all over again when he realizes Bucky has been waiting for an answer from him for a while now.

"O-okay," Tony finally manages, voice weak around the way his heart is lodged somewhere in this throat and already shrugging off his jacket so he can just take the stupid god damn armor.

"Yeah?" Bucky asks, voice pitched low, gaze heavy, so much in that simple question. It’s so new and so familiar and Tony is already nodding because oh fuck yes, anything Bucky is offering, anything he wants, yes.

Tony has to swallow thickly a couple times before he can actually say “Yeah, I- I can do that. Wearing the armor, being safe.” Being good, he doesn’t say, but Bucky’s eyes darken like he heard it anyways. Once Tony has finished tugging off his jacket and tie Bucky takes them from his shaking hands, and Tony can only manage a vague huff of protest as Bucky carelessly drapes them over his own shoulder and makes an impatient gesture with his free hand.

And here’s the thing, Tony is not generally what people would call ‘shy’. He left his shame far behind him about a decade or two ago and never looked back. But it’s Bucky, and he just keeps staring as Tony starts fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and Tony has a terrible feeling the flush on his face is spreading down his neck. He’s more or less gotten used to the scars that litter his torso, his teammates have all seen them and on a good day Tony even forgets they exist. He’s still getting used to the three new freshly-healed bullet holes scattered across his stomach, so of course that’s right where Bucky’s eyes settle and it’s all Tony can do not to fidget, not to snatch his shirt back out of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky’s fingers are warm as they trace over the shiny new skin, ticklishly light and unbearably gentle. “Jus’ wanna feel like I’m protectin’ you,” he says, voice barely more than a sigh, and Tony wants to protest that it’s not his fault but he can’t find the air. Instead all he can do is nod, scared to breathe too hard in case it dislodges Bucky’s fingers from tracing the edges of each slightly raised scar. Tony can’t help the soft noise he makes when Bucky’s hand falls back to his side, already mourning the loss of contact, and Bucky smirks just a little as he says “Arms up, babydoll.”

Tony definitely hears Natasha snort, somewhere down the hallway, but it’s pretty low on the scale of her ‘insulting snorts’ and Tony really doesn’t care right now. He’s too busy throwing his arms up so quickly that it’s a miracle he doesn’t smack Bucky in the face or dislocate his shoulder or something equally ridiculous. Bucky smirks a little wider but doesn’t say anything, just carefully slips the deceptively thin body armor onto Tony’s arms and then gently lowers it down over his head.

Bucky makes sure the armor is pulled all the way down, big hands running over Tony’s hips and the small of his back, and then hands back Tony’s shirt. “There y’ go, nice and safe for me,” Bucky says almost absently as he fixes Tony’s hair and Tony is mostly still just marveling at the open relief in Bucky’s eyes.

“You’re only paranoid because I’m an average squishy human,” Tony tries to accuse, mostly to distract from the way his hands are shaking as he does up his buttons, but it comes out wobbly because even he doesn't believe that anymore.

Bucky’s lips quirk up like he knows Tony doesn’t really think that, but he still says “Nah, I worry cuz its you,” voice soft, like he needs to be sure that Tony knows. His eyes are dark as he watches Tony settle the knot of his tie against the hollow of his throat, and Tony’s hands are shaking so badly that Bucky has to help him get his jacket back in place. “Didn’t even ruin th’ lines of your suit,” he adds with a smug little grin, running both wide palms down Tony’s chest, fingers spread wide, and there’s no way he can’t feel the way Tony’s heart is trying to beat straight out of his chest.

“Lucky for you,” Tony says, voice equally soft, and when Bucky’s hands fall away he drags in a ragged breath.

“Lucky me,” Bucky repeats absently, like he’s talking about something else entirely, and then leans forward. His grip is firm but gentle as he cups the back of Tony’s head with one hand, his lips are dry and soft against Tony’s temple, and Tony freezes up all over again. “Thank you, Tony,” he whispers, lips moving against Tony’s skin and sending shivers down his spine, “always so good for me.”

Tony makes a sound that he refuses to categorize as a whimper, and Bucky pulls away smiling amused and warm and amazed. When Tony steps onto the elevator he’s still trying to catch his breath, but his hands are steady.

-

“You should date me,” Tony blurts out that night, because he can’t not, anymore. Because he’d smiled like a loon all the way through the press conference, face still warm, and at the end Pepper had asked him if he had a concussion, half serious and half knowingly smug. Because the warm flutter in his chest still hasn’t faded. Because Bucky has been giving him that look, and Tony thinks he’s finally figured it out.

Bucky just blinks at him for a second, and okay yeah, maybe Tony could have picked a slightly better place than the middle of the kitchen. At one in the morning. When they’re both in worn pajamas, odds are unfortunately pretty good that Tony has the remains of his PB&J sandwich smeared around his mouth.

He probably could have picked some better words too, so Tony scrambles desperately for some and all he comes up with is “Or, I should date you. We should date each other. No, I mean- yes, but- fuck-“

“Yeah,” Bucky says, cutting him off and still blinking at him like he’s vaguely dazed. “Yeah, we- us. Dating. Yes. Okay.”

Tony blinks back at him, because that sounded a lot like Bucky agreeing to date him, but it also sounds a lot like he just broke Bucky’s brain. “Are you sure?” Tony has to ask, shuffling on his feet a little, “Because-“

“What- yes,” Bucky says, surprisingly vehement, lurching up from the stool he’s been sitting on. Tony dares to let a wide smile start spreading across his face. Still-

“I’ll be a good boyfriend,” he offers helpfully, and really wishes he could sound more sure of that. He’s damn sure going to do his best.

Bucky is up and across the kitchen in an instant, taking Tony’s face in his big, deadly, gentle hands and breathing out “Tony.” He’s moved from looking dazed to looking something almost like awed and he says “Tony, doll, you are already so good to me, I just want you.”

Tony shudders all over and he’s not sure when his hands landed on Bucky’s waist but he’s holding on for dear life. “Bucky,” he sighs, and then, because he’s weak, he begs “Say it again.”

And oh, Tony just knew that Bucky knew what he was doing, and he gets his proof because instantly Bucky tightens his grip, drags his fingers along the hollows behind Tony’s ears. “Gonna be my good boy, yeah?” he asks, breath hot against Tony’s lips, eyes dark and intent, smirk to die for.

“Oh,” Tony gasps and when he shivers Bucky just holds him tighter, pulls him closer, until Tony’s eyes fall closed and he’s clinging helplessly to the broad muscle of Bucky’s back. “I- oh,” he gasps again when Bucky’s thumbs trace along his cheekbones, barely catching his eyelashes, and Bucky’s answering laugh is everything. It’s happy and amazed in a way that makes Tony's chest warm and fluttery, dark and just a little condescending in a way that makes his guy tighten up in heated want.

“I see you, Tony,” Bucky says, low and rough and insistent, “I see everything you do for us, for everyone.” His lips trace the line of Tony’s brow in soft, feather-light kisses, and his voice is barely more than a breath when he adds “For me. Gonna be good an’ let me take care of you back?”

Tony is caught between the urge to nod frantically and the need to stay exactly where he is, Bucky’s hands cupping his face like the most precious thing he’s ever held, so instead he croaks out “Yeah, I- I can- fuck I want that.” Tony cracks his eyes open again, because it’s overwhelming, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

Bucky smiles, happy and proud and heated and a million other things that have warmth spreading through Tony’s chest, curling up tight in his gut, lighting up his entire body. “Can I kiss you, baby?” he asks, lips nearly close enough to touch already, and when Tony throws himself forward Bucky catches him easily, left hand sliding to the small of Tony’s back and pulling him in closer.

The first press of lips is electric, has Tony sighing out a soft noise and then Bucky’s hand still cupping his jaw tilts his head a little further back and Bucky licks his way into his mouth with a slow, consuming determination. Tony clings harder to Bucky’s shirt where it stretches tight across his shoulders and hangs on for all he’s worth, tries to catch Bucky’s tongue between his teeth and shudders when Bucky growls low in his throat.

Bucky’s thigh slots between Tony’s like it belongs there and Tony breaks away from the kiss with a shaking groan as he abruptly realizes that he’s achingly hard, soft cotton of his sweats damp and clinging and amazing. “O-oh, shit-“ Tony gasps out, helpless against the way his hips jerk forwards just once to grind himself against that thick thigh. “God, Bucky-“ he whines, ducking his head to pant against the curve of Bucky’s shoulder and then bites back a desperate noise when Bucky’s thigh nudges up against him a little harder.

“Tha’s real sweet baby, sound so good,” Bucky sighs out as his lips move over Tony’s hairline, down his temple, his breath as heated as his words. He shifts his hand a little lower, spreads his fingers wide over the curve of Tony’s ass and pulls him in encouragingly as he growls “C’mon doll, don’t stop, lemme hear you makin' all those pretty noises for me.”

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice, rolls his hips forward again with another muffled groan. “Bucky, oh my god-“ he whines and presses closer, until he can feel Bucky’s cock nudged up thick and hot against his hip. His legs shake and he just clenches them tighter around Bucky’s thigh, tucks his face into Bucky’s throat and grinds himself forward. The sweet friction against his cock has Tony gasping again, shuddering all over as fire races up his spine and his head spins.

“Good, so good sweet thing, fit so perfect against me, gonna take such good care of you, treat you just right,” Bucky says against the shell of his ear and presses his thigh up a little further, digs his metal fingers a little harder into the swell of Tony’s ass and pulls in time with the roll of Tony’s hips against him. When Tony moans and clutches at him tighter Bucky chuckles again, low and dark, and drags his calloused thumb along the line of Tony’s jaw as he asks ”Damn you’re easy for me, ain’t ya? Gonna come like this, grindin’ against me all desperate and shakin’ for it?”

It sends another wave of heated, slightly-embarrassed arousal crashing over Tony and all he can do is whine again because unless Bucky is planning on stopping him, then he absolutely is. At this point Tony couldn't stop himself if he wanted to, cock throbbing and leaking as he grinds himself against Bucky’s thigh, panting hot against the curve of Bucky’s throat.

He can already feel his orgasm building fast, feels like it’s been building forever now, and his voice is shaking as hard as the rest of him as he moans out “Bucky- please, I- I’m, I can’t, please-“ Bucky silences him with a scrape of his teeth over the shell of Tony’s ear that has him practically collapsing against Bucky’s chest, limp except for the way he can’t stop rutting himself against Bucky’s thigh, chasing the sparks that light up his body.

Bucky laughs again, just a low, warm rumble in his chest, and presses another kiss to Tony’s eyebrow before saying “You’re this worked up you better come for me now, babydoll. ‘Cuz I’m gonna take you upstairs an’ take my time with you, make you feel as good as you deserve an’ put you to bed real sweet, how does that sound baby?”

He somehow makes it sound like both a promise and a threat, and Tony chokes out a noise caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. “Y-yeah, fuck yeah that- oh- fuck please-“ Bucky’s fingers press a little more firmly against the base of his skull, sliding through his hair, and Tony feels like he’s burning.

“Good,” Bucky says, an uneven hitch to his breath and Tony can feel the way Bucky’s cock throbs against him, “Fuck, you’re so good sweet thing, so perfect, feel so good, sounds so sweet for me, c’mon Tony, wanna feel you fall apart for me.”

Every word settles hot in Tony’s gut, has his head spinning faster until all he knows is Bucky’s voice in his ear, Bucky’s hands firm and demanding against him, the rush of his own blood in his ear as the pressure builds inside him. His sweats are going to be ruined and Tony doesn’t give a fuck because he’s so close, thin cotton already soaked and clinging to his cock, thrusts of his hips gone short and uncoordinated as his fingers scramble at Bucky’s back.

“Bucky,” he moans out, completely shameless, and drags his teeth over the line of Bucky’s throat, just because he can. Because Tony still kind of can’t believe the way Bucky shakes and groans against him, pulls him in harder and meets every roll of Tony’s hips with one of his own. “God, you’re so- I, I can’t believe- oh- Wanted you so long-“

“I know,” Bucky says, surprisingly soft and something almost like sheepish. He presses his thumb a little harder to the underside of Tony’s chin and tips his head up again, making Tony gasp at the rush of cool air over his flushed face even as he keeps his eyes squeezed shut because it’s so much. He’s so close to breaking apart at every seam. Bucky’s lips brush against his and Tony whimpers even as Bucky says “I see you now baby, been taking care of me for so long, haven’t you? Been so good, takin’ care of yourself so perfect for me, shit- you’re so good for me doll.”

“Bucky,” he gasps again, so close to the edge, every inch of him tingling, burning, so close-

“Look at me, Tony,” Bucky says, barest edge of a demand to his voice and it still has Tony prying his eyes open instantly. Then he groans weakly because Bucky is right there, blue eyes gone nearly dark, wild and hungry and fixed on him like there’s nothing else in the world as he breathes out “now be a good boy and come for me.”

Tony’s orgasm hits him overwhelming and inevitable, leaves him moaning breathlessly and clinging to Bucky impossibly tighter. Bucky’s hand on his ass keeps pulling him in, dragging it out until Tony is shaking and nearly sobbing into the feather light brush of Bucky’s lips against his own as Bucky calls him ‘good’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘gorgeous’.

As soon as he gets back the bare minimum brain cells Tony tips his chin up to kiss Bucky again, blissed out and lazy and it makes him shiver all over again when Bucky clutches at him tighter with a deep groan. Tony has to break away from the kiss sooner than he’d like because he still hasn’t quite caught his breath, hasn’t been able to get his hips to stop twitching forward as aftershocks race through him.

“Damn,” Bucky sighs, one hand petting at Tony’s hair and the other gentling against his waist as Tony slumps against him fully, “Good boy, so good baby, so perfect for me. Let’s get you up into bed, huh? Spread you out real nice and get my mouth on every inch of you.”

And that sounds good, it really does, but Tony can still feel Bucky’s cock thick and hard and throbbing against his hip, and he wants it now. So instead Tony drops to his knees, moving quick enough that he slides easily out of Bucky’s lax grip, presses his face to Bucky’s hip and nuzzles his cheek against the clear outline of Bucky cock through his thin pajamas.

“Fuck-“ Bucky gasps and his fingers tighten in Tony’s hair, holding him in place as his hips jerk forwards. “Damn what a sight you make, you want it that bad, doll?”

Tony turns his head just enough to look up at Bucky, lips moving against the hard line of Bucky’s cock, and he’s never meant anything more as he breathes out “Please, honey.”

Bucky’s eyes get impossibly darker and his cock throbs, the scent of him thick and heady and Tony’s mouth is watering. “We’re still in the kitchen, baby,” Bucky points out, but he’s already hooking his thumb into the front of his pants.

“I can be quick,” Tony promises, smirking a little because Bucky’s hips keep twitching forward against him, parajams visibly wet where they pull tight over the head of his cock, and this isn’t going to take long at all. And Tony really, really doesn’t care right now that he’s in the kitchen in a tower full of insomniacs, all he cares about his getting his mouth on Bucky, making Bucky feel as amazing as he does.

Bucky groans out something that was probably meant to be Tony’s name, but Tony has more important things to focus on because Bucky shoves his pants down far enough for his cock to spring free and Tony wastes no time trying to choke himself on it. He’s so loose-limbed and orgasm-dazed that when Bucky’s cock nudges at the back of his throat Tony just keeps going, only gags a little even as his eyes water and a whine builds in his chest.

“Oh- fuck Tony, so good, you’re so good baby, so- fuck-“ Bucky’s every word comes out rough and gasping and his fingers dig harder into the back of Tony’s neck, hips jerking forward like he just can’t help himself.

Tony moans encouragingly and clings to his hips, presses his nose to Bucky’s stomach and swallows around his cock. Bucky pulls back and then thrusts himself deep into Tony’s throat with another shuddering groan. Then he does it again, and again, until Tony has spit and precome sliding down his chin and arousal building again, almost painful, in his gut.

“Good, fuck you feel so good, you’re so- Tony-“ The way Bucky groans out the compliments, practically snarls his name, sends a hot shiver down Tony’s spine and has shaking all over again.

There’s a desperate moan caught in Tony’s chest that comes bursting out of him when Bucky abruptly tightens his fingers in Tony’s hair and yanks him back, leaves Tony panting for breath. His protest dies away when he opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s gaze, dark and ravenous.

“Open up, sweet thing,” Bucky growls, metal hand flying over his cock and his other hand still holding Tony in place, so close to the flushed, leaking head of Bucky’s cock and yet so far.

Tony doesn’t even need to think before he lets his aching jaw fall all the way open and he doesn’t care that his face is wet, constant pleading noises slipping out of his raw throat. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling on the hard tile of the kitchen with his own come cooling in his sweats, all he cares about is getting more.

“Good boy,” Bucky gasps, and then finally comes. It streaks warm across Tony’s chin, the bridge of his nose, into his open mouth, and Tony lets his eyes fall closed again with a pleased moan as he runs his tongue over his lip, chasing the musky taste of him. “Fuck- shit, oh, Tony-“ the way Bucky groans out his name is going to stick with Tony for a long, long time, ringing in his ears, lighting him up, and Tony wants to hear it forever.

He’s still catching his breath when Bucky pulls him to his feet, into his arms, and Tony is all too happy to wrap his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, his shaking legs around Bucky’s waist, and let Bucky take his weight. “Okay, now we can go upstairs,” Tony slurs out as he drops his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder, voice rough, still feeling like he’s floating on air.

Bucky laughs, quiet and rumbling, and his hand is so gentle on the back of Tony’s head again as he tucks Tony’s face down into the curve of his neck. It’s definitely smearing Bucky’s shirt in come but if Bucky doesn’t mind then Tony certainly doesn’t care, just snuggles in closer and wonders if it’s actually possible for his heart to swell straight out of his chest.

“Whatever you want, babydoll,” Bucky says, warm and fond, presses a quick kiss to the side of Tony’s head and then starts carrying him towards the elevators. “Gonna take such good care of you, my good boy.”

Tony is pretty sure it’s not physically possible to get any closer, but he wraps himself tighter around Bucky and gives it his best shot and he mumbles “Gonna take care of you back.”

“I know you are, sweet thing, ‘s what makes you amazing,” Bucky says with another warm laugh, and Tony could probably argue that, because he’s really not, but he decides to let Bucky have this one.

For now. Apparently, they’ll have plenty of time to debate it later, over dates, and Tony is so looking forward to it.

-

Tony wakes up sore in places he didn’t even know he had, teeth marks on his shoulders and stubble burn on his thighs and just- deliriously happy. He can’t even try to convince himself it was some kind of crazy dream, because the physical evidence is kind of overwhelming. The other half of his bed is still warm, and there’s a telling clattering sound coming from his kitchen, and Tony decides he can afford to let himself lay here grinning at the ceiling like a loon for a while.

Soon enough Bucky is back with a giant plate of waffles and a wide smile, pausing in the doorway to drag his eyes down Tony’s bare chest. His hair is a mess and he’s unbearably gorgeous, and Tony smiles back as he realizes he can say it now.

“A beautiful man and breakfast? Help, my heart can’t take it,” Tony says, clutching at his chest with one hand even as he makes grabby motions at Bucky with the other.

“Not funny,” Bucky says, but he’s laughing as he sets the plate down on the nightstand and crawls back into bed, into Tony’s arms, and he’s still smiling softly when Tony pulls him into a kiss.

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Female Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Requested by: anon x 2

Yule Ball, best friend to lovers, Ravenclaw reader, Calum (your house choice). Murder me please*

hi love could i still request? slytherin calum and ravenclaw reader, best friends to lovers, yule ball. im a hoe for hogwarts au and i hope u can still do my request. thank you 💗 (requested by anon)*

Trigger Warnings: strong language

A/N: this came out longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you as always to @h0tsos and @5-secondsofcolor for all the help pulling this together!

***

Having built up a solid sporting reputation during your six years at Hogwarts, this is proving to be as far from your comfort zone as possible. 

The Triwizard Tournament as a whole, is right up your alley, of course. Especially since the type of dangerous tasks that it used to consist of had long since been discontinued. These days the tournament was basically a huge sports festival, whereby the three school champions, from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, would take part in events such as magical assault courses, spectacular broomstick flying demonstrations and other athletic exercises. Therefore you’ve been excited to watch it for longer than you care to admit. You only wish that it’d been scheduled for next year instead of this one, so that you could actually put your name forward to be the Hogwarts champion. Unfortunately, only students over the age of seventeen have that potential honour open to them and you’ve only just turned sixteen.

Despite all of that, you’re excited for the contest to begin. Before you can enjoy all of the sporting festivities, however, you have the not-so-small formal tradition of the Yule Ball to contend with.

You smooth down the front of your dress robes nervously. Staring at yourself in the full length mirror doubtfully, wondering whatever possessed you to think that this particular shade of periwinkle blue, is one you could pull off. Before your inner jock can convince you to simply attend the ball in your quidditch robes, muffled voices from the Ravenclaw common room beneath your dormitory alert you to the fact that you’re running late. Most of the other girls have already headed down to the Great Hall, leaving only you and your best friends, most of whom belong to other houses, in the whole of Ravenclaw Tower.

Finally convincing yourself that you look decent enough for the formal occasion at hand, you quickly slip a glittery hair slide into your neatly curled hair, Hoping it will distract people from the fact that you look incredibly uncomfortable.

As you head downstairs to your common room, the previously muffled voices you’d heard a moment ago slowly become more distinct. 

“Does anyone know who Ashton’s date is?” 

Michael’s curious tone carries through the mostly empty space just as you reach the halfway point of the spiralling staircase. 

The mention of the Hogwarts Champion causes your insides to squirm uncomfortably and you have to stop for a moment to compose yourself.  Your last interaction with Ashton Irwin, your long-term friend and the celebrated Gryffindor Quidditch captain, isn’t one that you really want to relive, especially not right now, moments before having to endure this stupid fucking ball. 

“No idea…” Calum replies, his voice suggesting that he’s only mildly interested in the answer anyway. “He hasn’t mentioned any names to me.”

The sound of your second friend’s voice brings a subconscious smile to your face, you notice it in the dark window you’d stopped in front of but you quickly shake it off and continue down the stairs.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if we ever get downstairs!” Luke huffs, raising his voice for the last few words to express his impatience at having to wait for you. 

“There’s no need to yell, Hemmings.” You scowl, trying to act as casual as possible when you reach the last few steps. 

All three of your friends turn to look at you as you enter the room, each of them with expressions of  varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

Michael seems to be the least affected by your somewhat unusual appearance. His look of mild surprise gives way almost instantly to a cheeky grin. “Wow, didn’t know you could scrub up this well.” He smirks, already turning towards the door, too impatient to tuck into the buffet that is waiting in the Great Hall, no doubt. It makes you smile, his love of food is rivalled only by his love for his friends but seeing as he’s eaten nothing since lunch time, you’re unsurprised that his first love is winning out.

“He’s right!” Luke grins, his pretty blue eyes drifting over your outfit as though he’s struggling to take in the sight of you in an outfit that’s so uncharacteristic for you. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where you wore anything other than your uniform, quidditch robes or those ratty old muggle music t-shirts!”

You want to argue with him and explain for the millionth time that those shirts you love to wear, are meant to have holes in them, but he’ll never understand the concept of distressed clothing, he’s a spoiled little pureblood and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. Besides, how can you focus on a mundane argument with Luke when Calum, AKA the most beautiful boy in existence is staring at you as though he might actually be seeing you as someone other than his quidditch training buddy for the first time ever.

“You look incredible.” The Slytherin gasps, his chocolate brown eyes locking onto yours as a faint smile curls the corners of his lips. He nervously runs his hand over his short hair. His fairly recent buzzcut is rapidly growing out but you’re happy to see that he’s decided to keep it blue for the time being. He’d surprised you with the daring dye job a couple of weeks ago, insisting that he’d tried to turn it green as an outward display of his loyalty to Slytherin, but something had gone wrong and it had turned a shade of blue that shockingly resembles the Ravenclaw colour instead. 

You feel the blood in your cheeks rise to the surface of your skin. He’s never complimented you like that before and your heartbeat quickens at the words. It’s ridiculous, you know that. He’s probably never going to see you as anything more than a friend but there’s a tiny bit of hope left, if the sparkle in his eyes right now is anything to go by.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you manage to giggle, trying not to let the way Calum is looking at you trick you into thinking that the crush you have on him is in any way reciprocated. He’s probably just shocked that you even own something like this to wear. 

Calum smiles at your half-hearted compliment and gestures towards the door. “We better get going before Michael gets too hangry. I’d rather avoid a repeat of breakfastgate, if we can!”

You laugh at the memory of Michael hexing some unsuspecting third year Slytherins a couple of weeks ago. They’d wrongly assumed that their whole house had already finished breakfast, and tried to take the last remaining pastries. Michael, who’d been delayed getting to the Great Hall due to helping Calum with a homework emergency, had been devoid of patience when he aimed a nasty hex at his fellow Slytherins, that caused all four of their faces to break out in a terrible itchy rash. He’d earned himself a week’s detention for his rash actions, but he still maintains that those pastries were worth it.

“Yeah, if we keep him from food for much longer, he might even start breaking out the unforgivable curses!” Luke huffs dryly.

Calum and Luke continue to tease Michael about his irrational anger when it comes to food, all the way down to the main lobby of the castle. You join in a little bit, but ensure that you stand up for Michael too, after all you’ve never taken too kindly to being kept away from your food either. 

It’s only when your group reaches the entrance to the Great Hall that you all fall silent. The large room has been transformed into nothing short of a winter wonderland. Large, ice sculptures shaped like animals line the two longest walls. Each frozen statue is as intricate as the last and all of them have been charmed to move their limbs or revolve on their individual platforms like giant versions of the ballerinas in those little music boxes your muggle mother used to buy for you when you were a little girl.

The usual Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the room at this time of year, had been decorated particularly extravagantly for this occasion. All of its branches are covered in glittering snow whilst real candles burn prettily in fancy spiralling patterns.

A small stage has replaced the spot where the teachers table is usually situated and it’s occupied by a band playing a song you vaguely recognise from the wizarding radio show that Luke forces you to listen to every Friday night when you hang out in his dorm whilst Michael and Calum attend their gobstones club.

“Wow, look at the floor!” Michael exclaims, gesturing at the exquisite frosty patterns etched into the wooden floorboards. 

“And the roof!” Calum gasps, pointing up at the enchanted ceiling.

You take a moment to admire the wonder on your friend’s face, adoring his soft smile and the way the light reflects in his eyes, before following his gaze to the enchanted ceiling where rows of snowflake shaped fairy lights have been hung beneath the clear starry night sky.

“They’ve really gone all out, haven’t they?”

The familiar voice causes a jolt in your stomach and you curse yourself for letting down your guard so easily and so quickly. You’d hoped to avoid Ashton for much longer than this.

Calum nods in response to the older boy’s question. “It looks so beautiful! I can’t believe they did all this in just one afternoon!”

Ashton doesn’t reply, his hazel eyes move from Calum, to Luke, to Michael before settling on you. His expression is somehow thoughtful and confused all at once. You know what’s going through his mind, though and you can’t allow him to voice it.

“Yeah, it looks amazing.” You interject quickly. “Hey Cal, why don’t you go and get us all a pumpkin juice?”

“Sure.” The blue-haired boy agrees easily. “Do you want one, Ash?” He adds, turning to the Hogwarts champion with a beaming smile.

Ashton shakes his head. “My date’s just gone to get me one, thanks.” He replies, his gaze never drifting from yours.

“Oh yeah, who’d you pick in the end?” Michael questions, his tone inquisitive enough to make him appear interested in the answer. “I bet you had hundreds of offers.”

Luckily, Calum doesn’t hang around for Ashton's response, apparently too eager to get the juice you asked him for.

The raven-haired boy’s eyes never leave yours as he answers. “I chose to bring Arielle Lamer, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” His gaze drifts over to the long row of buffet tables against one of the walls. “She was my second choice.” He looks back at you, his displaying the same hurt they had done when you’d refused his invitation to the ball a few weeks back. 

“Why did you have to go to your second choice?” Michael asks, his face twisted into a confused expression. “You’re the Hogwarts champion, who in their right mind would have turned you down?”

“Never mind that!” Luke gasps, “why the fuck would she be anyone’s second choice? She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Ashton doesn’t offer a verbal response to either of the confused boys, but his gaze is still locked on you, which unintentionally tells Luke and Michael the truth. 

Your friends stand silently beside you, their mouths agape as they stare between you and Ashton, trying to wrap their heads around the unspoken but incredibly obvious situation.

“I thought you turned me down because you had a better offer.” Ashton frowns, “but it looks like you’ve just come here with our friends, I’m confused…”

Your guilt at having refused Ashton’s offer gnaws away at your insides as your shoulders twitch in a vacant shrug. “I never said there was anyone else, Ash I just…”

“You just didn’t want to come here with me.” Ashton interrupts, the sad realisation in his eyes and voice almost breaking your heart. “I get it.”

“I didn’t think anyone had asked you to the dance.” Calum’s voice is almost too quiet to hear over the music but his shocked tone just about reaches your ears nevertheless. 

You turn to face your secret crush, your heart pounding in your chest. Calum is literally the last person on earth you would want to overhear this conversation. “I never lied to you, Cal… if you’d asked I’d have told you.”

“That’s not the point.” Calum shrugs. “You got asked to the Yule Ball by Ashton fucking Irwin and you turned him down, just to hang out with three dateless losers. Why would you do that?”

The truth almost slips past your lips, but you manage to replace it with a vaguer response before you embarrass yourself even further. “Because I just don’t see Ashton that way.” 

“But he’s the fucking Hogwarts champion and probably the hottest guy in the whole school.” Calum insists, gesturing a little too wildly with his full hands and sloshing pumpkin juice over the floor.

Before Calum can make any more mess, Luke steps forward and takes the drinks from him before shuffling back to his spot next to Michael. 

Despite your initial urge to tell Calum the truth about why you’d refused to come to the dance with Ashton, your anger at his persistence is starting to override it. “Well why didn’t you ask him to the dance if you love him so much?” You counter, trying not to raise your voice too much. 

Calum frowns, glancing over to Ashton for a second before returning his attention to you. “Stop trying to deflect, I’m asking you a simple white question here!”

“I just wanted to come here with you, okay?” You reply snappily, gesturing at Luke and Michael faintly with one hand but never taking your eyes away from Calum’s. You can only hope that your weak attempt at trying to imply that your other friends are included in the ‘you’ that you’d just spat out, was enough.

Calum opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s trying to speak but his vocal chords are refusing to comply.

Taking advantage of the continued silence from your friends, you continue your reply to Calum’s initial question. “Not that I really owe you an explanation, but; I love Ashton as a friend and the thought of coming here with him as more than that just didn’t feel right.” You turn to Ashton, the guilt that had been laying heavily in your chest since your conversation with him a few weeks ago, finally giving way to a sense of acceptance that you’d done the right thing. “I’m sorry, Ash. You know I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

Ashton nods in recognition of your apology. “I know. I think I understand why you had to say no to me.”

There’s a sickening theory in your mind that Ashton’s realised that you have feelings for Calum. That’s something that you’re just not ready to be proven right about. Knowing that there’s no way to shut Ashton down without inadvertently giving away your own secret, you take the easy option and turn on your heel before making a run for it, heading straight out of the great hall towards the open doors of the castle.

You barely notice the cold night air biting at every inch of the exposed skin on your arms and face as you stumble out of the entrance hall. Stragglers from the visiting schools were still filtering into the castle but most of them spared you nothing but sideways glances before disappearing inside.

Deciding to hide in a quiet corner until you can gather your thoughts properly, you head down the stone steps and drift across one of the front lawns. Luckily the grass is frosty and your high heels don’t sink into it very much.

You haven’t made it very far before a familiar voice yells your name, stopping you in your tracks. Part of you doesn’t really want to turn around but it’s not like you could outrun the Hogwarts champion in these heels anyway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.” Ashton pants as he jogs to a stop beside you. “It’s freezing!”

Now that you’ve stopped walking and your initial anger is wearing off, you really start to notice the chill in the air and wrap your arms around yourself as an ill attempt to protect the bare skin of your arms from it. “You sound like my grandma.” You huff, your voice already betraying a slight tremor. 

“She sounds like a smart woman.” Ashton shrugs. “I’m sure she’d think you storming out here without a coat on was a stupid idea.”

You let out a defeated huff, sparing a glance at the warm castle, wishing you’d thought to storm back to your dormitory instead. “She would have thought what I said in there was stupid, too!” You reply, dropping your gaze to the frosty grass at your feet. “I should have been more honest with you and…”

“And Calum?” Ashton interjects, his tone solemn but not at all angry like you’d have expected if he ever found out about your feelings for your Slytherin friend. “I think he’s the one you need to talk to the most. At the very least you need to tell him how you feel.”

The very thought of confessing your feelings for Calum to anyone, especially the Slytherin captain himself, sends a stab of fear through your chest. “I can’t do that…”

“If it helps at all, I think he’s been struggling with similar feelings for you for a while.” Ashton admits, his tone hesitant to and cautious. “If I think back, there’s been plenty of signs there that I should have noticed. The way you two act around each other should have tipped me off a long time ago.”

As much as you want to believe that Ashton’s telling you the truth, you can’t really bring yourself to believe that Calum likes you back. In the back of your mind, you think that Ashton must simply just be doing what he thinks is best. 

“I never should have asked you to come to the ball with me.” The raven-haired boy sighs thoughtfully, “regardless of whether I should have seen whatever it is between you and Calum, I’ve always known that you don’t really feel that way for me.”

That guilt in your chest seems to grow even more. You can’t take the sadness in Ashton’s voice anymore. “I’ve always loved you as a friend, Ash. I just…”

“You only have romantic feelings for Calum, I get that.” Ashton smiles glumly, reaching out to stroke your arm in a comforting gesture. “I hope the two of you can work something out.”

“Me too.”

Calum’s voice takes you by surprise for the second time in just a few minutes. Your face automatically snaps towards him as panic starts to flood your brain.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk things out.” Ashton announces before you can even begin to form any words. He flashes you one last smile and claps Calum on the shoulder reassuringly before heading back the castle.

Part of you wants to follow Ashton, but your legs refuse to move. “Look Cal, I don’t really know what to say to you right now.”

Calum simply stares at you for a moment as though he’s struggling with the same predicament. 

“Maybe we should just head back…”  You shrug, forcing yourself to take a step past him.

You’ve barely taken a second stride before Calum’s strong hand closes gently around your upper arm. “Please don’t take off again.” He pleads. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You ask, shivering a little at the prolonged physical contact with your crush.

Calum apparently misinterprets your slight trembling and instantly shrugs off the outermost layer of his dress robes and hands it to you. “About how I’ve been a huge wuss for the past year or so…” He suggests timidly.

You silently accept his jacket-equivalent and drape it over your shoulders. The confusion you feel must show on your face because Calum lets out a humourless laugh. “Okay.” He breathes deeply, dripping his gaze to the floor. “God, I hope you’re not gonna hate me after I tell you this…”

“Calum.” You whisper softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m starting to get worried, what is it?”

Sucking in another deep breath, Calum composes himself before summoning the courage to meet your gaze again. “At the very start of our fifth year, you waited for me on platform 9 ¾ so that we could sit together on the train, remember? Just like you always have done, since our second year.”

You nod, the memory of the bright September morning still clear in your mind, although you have no idea of its significance to Calum’s story. 

“You were wearing those tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was scraped back into a loose bun and your face was twisted into an anxious expression because I was a bit late and you were worried that there wouldn’t be any empty compartments left for us.” Calum explains, a slightly dreamy expression on his face. “Just as you caught sight of me trying to work my way through the crowd towards you, some clumsy seventh year knocked into you. One of your suitcases toppled off your luggage trolley and burst open, a bunch of your books and stuff spilled all over the ground and you looked so fucking pissed off…” he chuckles, subconsciously reaching for hand as he continues. “I know it sounds weird but, that’s the moment that I knew I loved you. The way your cheeks went all flushed when you grumpily threw all your shit back into your suitcase and muttered about how much you wanted to push that dickhead onto the train tracks. Like, I’d had feelings for you before that, but I’d put it down to a silly crush because you're one of my closest friends and we have so much in common. In that moment, though, I just fucking knew that you had my entire heart.”

Your brain struggles to process everything that Calum has just told you as he runs his fingers down your arm in order to wrap them around your hand. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this sooner and I completely understand if you think I’m weird and creepy and don’t want to be my friend anymore…” Calum rambles.

“You were sitting at the Slytherin table, eating jam on toast, laughing at something Michael had just told you.” The words spill from your mouth almost of their own accord. “It was the morning of your first quidditch game as the Slytherin seeker, so you were a bit nervous. I could tell because your smile didn’t reach your eyes and you only nibbled at your toast. That’s the moment that I knew I loved you as more than a friend.”

A shocked expression colours Calum’s face in the seconds before he gasps out his response. “But that was like… four years ago.”

You can feel the blood rising to the surface of your cheeks as you nod, dropping your gaze to try and hide your embarrassment. Before you’ve recovered enough to meet his gaze again, soft fingers rise to cup your face tenderly and you automatically lean into the touch. 

“How the hell did we both miss each other’s feelings like that?” Calum asks, a sigh escaping him as his lips brush your forehead. “I’m sorry I was so oblivious and that I was too scared to tell you about my own.”

Savouring the softness of Calum’s lips on your head, you wrap your arms around his waist, curling into his strong, warm body.

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re trembling.” The Slytherin whispers winding his arms around you to keep you close to him. “Let’s get inside so we can talk more without the fear of freezing to death, yeah?”

As much as you want to take Calum up on his offer before you become an icicle, the thought of breaking away from the hold he has on you is the last thing on earth you’re contemplating at the moment and you tighten your hold on him to express your utter reluctance to let him go.

Calum giggles, stroking your back soothingly before pulling away a little. “I promise I’ll cuddle you as you much as you want once we’re inside.”

The slight shiver that runs through the Slytherin, helps your rational side to win out. “Fine…” You pout, “but you’d better deliver on that promise when we get back to the castle.”

You allow Calum to lead you back across the lawn and up the stone steps to the front doors of the castle. The fact that he keeps one arm around you the whole time, makes your heart flutter in your chest, making you feel very much like a lovesick little puppy.

Just as you enter the warmth of the entrance hall, Calum takes your hand and instead of leading you into the great hall like you’re expecting him to, he guides you to the bottom of the staircase instead.

A confused expression takes over your face before he takes your hands and swallows thickly as though he’s trying to voice something that is incredibly difficult for him to say.

In an attempt to comfort him, you cradle his cheek gently, just as he’d held yours a few moments ago outside. “Is everything okay, Cal?”

Nodding, Calum reaches up to press your hand harder against his face as he meets your gaze. “I just wanted to ask you something before we go back to our friends.” He explains, a light blush rising in his cheeks. “But I’m worried it’s gonna sound stupid now that we’re already here and…”

“You can ask me anything, Cal.” You reassure him.

Before he responds he pulls his wand from his dress robes, pointing it at the ground near your feet and quietly utters a spell. A moment later, a beautiful exotic blue flower sprouts from the floor. Calum leans down to pick it up before handing it to you. “Will you go to the dance with me, like as my date?” He asks nervously

A giant smile bursts across your face as you take the flower and slide it into your hair. “One one condition.” You smirk cheekily, a sudden burst of confidence extinguishing the last of your lingering doubt about how Calum feels about you.

Your date raises a questioning eyebrow, silently urging you to elaborate.

“Well I’m a strong believer in that whole, ‘try before you buy’ thing.” You chuckle when Calum still appears to be utterly confused. “I need to know if you're a good kisser before I agree to be your date to the Yule Ball, Calum.” You clarify, hoping that you’re not going to scare him off by coming on too strong.

Calum mirrors your delighted grin before pulling you closer to him again. His beautiful brown eyes are sparkling joyfully as he allows them to drift down to your lips. He takes a moment to build up the confidence, but when he finally leans forward and kisses you, it’s more than worth the wait. His lips are soft and he kisses with a tenderness that you weren’t sure he was capable of. All-in-all, you’re incredibly impressed and you cling onto the tail end of the kiss for as long as possible before answering your date’s silent question when he meets your gaze again. “That wasn’t bad at all, Hood. If you dance half as well as that, I think tonight will be the perfect first date!”

Tag list: @cherrycolamike @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​ @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @babylon-corgis

[freddiesaysalright]

Just Like a Woman - Part 9

A Roger Taylor x Reader Story

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby​, @moon-stars-soul​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @ixchel-9275​, @jennyggggrrr​, @zyanmaik​, @mypassionfortrash​, @a19103​, @madeinheavxn​, @beepbeephardy​, @rrogerchxrm​, @qweenly, @blisshemmings​, @seasidecrowbar​, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone​, @takemetoneverland420​, @coffeexcigarette​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @thatpunkmaximoff​, @angelkissys​, @rocknroll-stolemyass​, @simonedk​, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor​, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit​, @joseph-mozzerella​, @theprettyandthereckless​, @flick-ofthe-wrist​, @johndeaconshands​, @rogerandhiscar​, @queenmaracasandlove​, @sunflower-ben​, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99​, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace​, @itsabenthing​, @bookandband​, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife​, @grazessa​, @borhapqueen92​, @theonsasheart​, @vektorivittu​, @chanti-frn, @brianssixpence​, @dancingcoolcat​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: It’s time for some courtroom actions, baby!!

Warning(s): Descriptions of assault

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8

Part 9 here we go!!!

Weeks passed. Nick was pleading self defense and refused to negotiate, so it was going to trial. In front of a jury. Dominique was struggling with having to relive the events of that night over and over again. You, Roger, and Bill were trying to keep her spirits up in the conference room before the trial was set to begin.

“Just one more time, Dom,” Roger told her.

She looked at him with watery eyes. “I’m telling you I can’t do this anymore.”

“We can get him, though, if you just power through,” Bill added. “We’ve got your testimony, photographs of your injuries, and then the witness who found you. Our case is solid. And you’ve said yourself you don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

“I know, but…” she trailed off.

“What is it, Dom?” you asked gently. “Speak your mind.”

“It’s not helping me recover,” she said quietly. “Maybe that’s selfish, but every time I have to tell another room full of people what happened to me, I feel again all this...shame and guilt. And don’t tell me it’s not my fault, Roger, I know it isn’t, I just…”

He closed his mouth.

“We understand,” you told her. “But we’re all here for you, okay? I know you can do this. But if you’re not feeling up to it anymore, we’ll support that too.”

She paused, looking at the ground. “I’m tired.”

“You can’t give up now,” Roger said. “We’re so close.”

She sighed, refusing to meet his gaze. When she blinked, a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Dom, we’re going to support you no matter what you decide,” you said. “But Roger is right, it’ll be only one last time. And we can put that man away.”

“You said you want to get him,” Bill said. “So let’s get him.”

She sighed. “I...yes. I still want that.”

He knelt in front of her and took her hand. 

“Like Y/N said, we’re with you,” he said. “We’ll all be standing right beside you and in front.”

You and Roger exchanged a surprised look at Bill’s uncharacteristic tenderness.

She smiled at last. “Thank you.”

“Alright, let’s prepare for this trial,” he said, grinning back.

“One thing,” you interjected. “Tim sent over the final copy of the divorce settlement. I got a call from the judge that it needs to be finalized before the trial begins.”

“We can sign it now?” Roger wondered.

“Yeah,” you said. “Remarkably, Tim was comfortable with you both signing with just me and Bill as witnesses.”

You put the papers down on the table. Bill handed Dominique a pen. She signed and slid it over to Roger. He picked up the pen and stared at the papers for a moment. For a feeling second, you feared he would refuse to sign it. If he didn’t, what did that say about where he stood with you? But then, after he glanced at Dom, he swiftly scrawled his signature across the line and dated it.

Just like that, their marriage was over.

“Could we have a moment, please?” Roger asked.

“Sure,” you replied.

You took Bill’s arm and led him out of the conference room. Roger looked at Dominique.

“Just because we’ve signed these papers doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you,” he said. “And how this trial will go.”

“I know, Rog,” she returned. “I still care about you too. And I appreciate your support more than you know.”

“I still love you,” he said. “Just….not…”

“You don’t have to say it,” she told him. “I understand, alright? We’re all friends here. I’m not angry at you - at least, not anymore,” she finished with a chuckle. “I think all this has shown me what really matters.”

A beat passed.

“I love you too, you know,” she said. 

He smiled. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me,” she teased.

“I’m not, Dom,” he said. “You’re...impressive. And I’m sorry I couldn’t -”

“Let’s not go there,” she interrupted. “Let’s leave it at loving each other. Alright?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

With that, he waved you and Bill back in. You picked up the paper.

“Alright, I’ll give this to Jane to process,” you said. “Are you two okay?”

“We’re perfect,” Dominique said. “But I’m starving. Is it alright if I go get some lunch before we prep for trial?”

“Sure,” Bill said. “I’ll go with you. I know a great Italian place just around the corner from here.”

She smiled and you were certain you saw her blush. “Well, alright, then.”

They left together, Bill placing a gentle hand on the small of Dominique’s back as they walked to the elevator.

“Wow,” Roger joked. “Our marriage isn’t even cold yet, and he’s making a move.”

“I don’t think this is normal Bill, though,” you said. “I think he likes her.”

“Well, if he likes her, I’m alright with it, but if he’s just trying to get a shag in, I’m not,” he said.

“Relax, Roger,” you said. “If that’s what he wanted, he’d be more obvious about it.”

“Well, while they’re gone, you wanna start the trial prep?” he asked.

“We need Dom for that,” you said.

“Well, we can do my part,” he argued.

Your brow furrowed. “Roger, are you under the impression that you’re going to be called as a witness?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he demanded. “She’s my wife, isn’t she?”

“Ex-wife,” you reminded him. “But you’re not a witness to the crime. You’re just a concerned loved one. I’m sorry, but you’re not relevant to the case.”

“Like hell, I’m not,” he protested. 

“Roger, think for a moment,” you insisted. “You didn’t see the crime take place, you didn’t come across her body, and you’ve had no interaction with the defendant. What exactly would your testimony do besides look like an emotional manipulation of the jury?”

“Maybe that could help,” he said.

“No, we’re sticking to the facts,” you asserted. “The facts are the strength of this case, and if we stray from that we only give the defense weapons to use against us.”

He huffed irritably and sat down in a chair.

You opened your mouth to scold him for pouting, but at that moment there was a knock on the door. A man stood there - tall and handsome in a Ken doll sort of way, with a swaggering stance that made you already hate him.

“Can I help you?” you asked, sharper than you meant to sound.

“I’m Glen Harrington,” he said. “I’m the new attorney for Nick Sully. I’ve come to speak with Dominique Beyrand.”

“She’s represented by counsel, you can’t speak to her,” you replied.

“You’re sharp,” he said, looking you over. “Love that in a woman.”

Roger jumped up from his chair. “Watch it.”

Glen ignored him.

“Anyway,” Glen continued. “I only wanted to have a chat. We’re not in court -”

“I don’t care if we’re in your fucking hot tub, you can’t speak to her,” you snapped.

“Are you her lawyer?” he wondered. “God, I’d love to see what the two of you would do alone in a room together.”

You scowled at him.

“I’m the second chair,” you said. “She’s with the first chair lawyer now. And she won’t be speaking with you.”

“Well, maybe you and I could have a conversation,” he suggested, winking at you. “Although, usually with me, you’ll just end up saying my name.”

Roger could stand it no longer. He put himself between you and Glen and pushed the latter back a step.

“Watch. It.” Roger warned.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” Glen questioned, laughter behind his eyes.

“He is,” you answered. “And I believe he told you to watch it, pig.”

“You can’t win ‘em all,” he sighed, and then stepped further away from Roger. “I’ll see you in court tomorrow...I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you practically spat at him.

“Well, Y/N, I’ll see you in court,” he said.

“Oink,” you retorted.

He smirked, turned on his heel, and left. Roger rounded on you.

“How do you put up with that?” he cried.

You shrugged. “This industry has been a boy’s club as long as I’ve been in it. I’m not afraid of some crass remarks.”

“But that was ridiculous!”

“He’s just trying to intimidate me,” you explained. “I’ll admit, that was a bit more than I’ve seen before, but I can handle myself.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna be in that courtroom every day,” he said.

You chuckled. “You were going to do that anyway.”

“True, but now it’s different,” he said. “He came on to you.”

“And I will feel securely protected knowing you’re there,” you joked.

“Don’t tease me, Y/N, I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t like the way he spoke to you.”

You softened, seeing the earnest need in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Roger,” you said. “I really do appreciate you defending me. I guess I make a joke out of it so that it really can’t frighten me.”

He pulled you into his arms. You settled into him. The pressure of everything was hitting you. The trial, this new ass of a lawyer, your concern for Dominique going forward...it felt like too much. But with Roger’s arms around you, it felt lighter. You knew you could walk into that courtroom with confidence.

Bill did the opening statement. Your stomach squirmed with anticipation. There was a lot at stake here and you didn’t want to mess it up. Then, Glen stood up and made his opening statement as well. Bill sat down and gave Dominique’s hand a squeeze. She returned with a grateful smile. When Glen had returned to his seat, the judge, Seymore Walsh, looked at Bill.

“You may begin,” he said.

Bill stood up. “The prosecution would first like to call Ms. Dominique Beyrand to the stand.”

Dominique stood up from her seat at the table. She took a deep breath and then, with her head high and shoulders back, she walked up to the witness stand. She took her oath, and you saw her hand just barely trembling as she did, and then sat down. Bill came out from his place behind the table.

“Ms. Beyrand, take us through what happened the night you went on a date with Mr. Sully here,” he said, indicating Nick.

“Well, Nick and I met at a bar a few days before,” she began. “We flirted and he asked for my number, which I gave him. He called the next day and we arranged to meet that Saturday.”

“What happened when you met up again?” Bill pressed.

“At first, things were great,” she said. “We were chatting, flirting just like before. But it started to get late and I was ready to head home. He offered me a ride. I agreed, thinking it was awfully generous of him. Only...it wasn’t.”

“What happened in the car?” he asked gently.

“He kissed me,” she said. “I didn’t pull away at first because I don’t mind a kiss or two. Only things started to heat up, so I tried to push him away. He said that I wasn’t being fair. He’d bought me drinks and I’d flirted all night, so it wasn’t right for me to turn him down. Then, he grabbed my breast.”

She paused a moment and gathered herself.

“When he did that, I pushed him off,” she said. “So, he slapped me. I slapped him back. He punched me in the eye. We started fighting. He was still grabbing at me and hitting me. He got me by the throat once. I felt like I was going to pass out. But I broke free, and tried to get out of the car. That was when he slammed my head against the door. It’s all sort of fuzzy, but after that, I don’t remember anything.”

“So, let me see if I’m hearing you correctly,” he said. “He asks you on a date, pays for the drinks like a gentleman, he even offers you a ride home - only to sexually assault you in the car?”

“Yes,” Dominique said. “That is my testimony.” 

“For clarification, when he attempted his sexual advance, did you use the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’?” Bill asked.

“I did,” she said. “More than once. When he was hitting me, I was begging him to stop.”

“Are you certain he heard you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she went on. “Because he kept telling me to shut up.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, thank you for your testimony, I have no further questions.”

Glen got to his feet. He cleared his throat as he approached Dominique. She looked nervously at him.

“Ms. Beyrand, it is your testimony that you were attracted to my client, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I was attracted to him before he beat me within an inch of my life.”

You stole a look at Roger and beamed. You saw the pride in his face as well.

Glen ignored it. “Is it also your testimony that my client bought your drinks the night you went out?”

“It is,” she replied. “But that does not entitle him to -”

“I’m not saying it does,” he interrupted. “But we all know the implications. Society has taught us that drinks and flirting is usually a lead up to...something more.”

He took that moment to turn and wink at you. 

“Objection!” you cried, jumping to your feet.

Judge Walsh looked at you with disbelief. “Ms. Y/L/N, what exactly are you objecting to?”

“He - well - he winked at me and I didn’t like it,” you said, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“The objection is overruled,” he said. “But, Mr. Harrington, do not wink again at opposing counsel. Focus on your witness.”

“Of course, your honor,” Glen said. “Now, Ms. Beyrand, you also testified that you struck my client, yes?”

“Yes,” she said. “Only because he struck me first.”

“When you claim my client was assaulting you, why did you not continue to strike back?”

“I tried,” she said. “But after that punch, I was a bit dazed. Not to mention your client is a professional kickboxer, so he had the upper hand.”

“This is shit,” Roger hissed to you. “He’s just asking her to repeat herself.”

“He wants her to say it differently than before so he can twist it,” you whispered back. “Don’t worry, she’s doing great.”

Fortunately, Glen was unable to get Dominique to change even one part of her testimony. Her wording was clear and consistent, the same as when Bill was questioning her. Finally, Glen gave up, and Dominique was allowed to return to her seat. Roger put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She smiled shakily at him.

Now, it was your turn. You stood up.

“Your honor, the prosecution calls Miss Lucy Thomas to the stand,” you said.

Miss Thomas strutted up to the witness stand, took her oath - though not without rolling her eyes - and then sat down. You approached.

“Miss Thomas, tell us what happened on the night you found Ms. Beyrand,” you told her.

“I was out for my nightly jog through my neighborhood,” she began. “On my usual path, I saw a person lying in the grass. At first I thought it was one of those drunk hobos again, but she was awfully still. I got closer and realized it was a woman.”

“Can you identify that woman?” you requested.

She extended her hand, pointer finger out, toward Dominique. 

“That one,” she said, and then promptly returned her hand to her lap. “Although you’d hardly recognize her with her face all bruised and blood everywhere. It was disgusting.”

“What did you think when you saw her condition?” you asked.

“I honestly thought she was dead,” she answered with a shrug. “But then I saw that she was breathing. So I went to the nearest payphone and called the police.”

“What did it appear had happened to her?” you asked.

“Objection!” Glen interrupted. “Your honor, Miss Thomas is not a medical professional, therefore her speculations about what happened to Ms. Beyrand are guesses that should not be admissible as evidence.”

 “Sustained,” Judge Walsh said, and then looked at you. “Counsel, keep your questions strictly what the witness can actually attest to.”

“Sure,” you agreed, then returned to Miss Thomas. “Were you able to make contact with Mrs. Beyrand?”

“I tried, but she was out cold,” she said. “Like I said, I thought she was dead. It’s a miracle she’s alive right now.”

“Thank you,” you said. You faced Glen. “Your witness.”

You returned to your seat as Glen got up, buttoning his blazer. He sauntered over to the witness stand. Miss Thomas looked at him like a jungle cat about to pounce.

“Miss Thomas, you say you were out jogging when you found Ms. Beyrand, right?” he began.

She glowered at him.

“Objection!” she cried, and then looked at Judge Walsh. “Your honor, I’m bored. If this lawyer is going to be so unattractive he could at least be interesting.”

Glen blinked and stepped back. “Excuse me?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. The judge just looked at her, stunned.

“Miss Thomas, you are a witness,” he reminded her sharply. “You do not make objections, only attorneys may do that.”

“I’m sorry - unattractive?” Glen interjected.

“Yes,” Miss Thomas snapped. “I’m penile psychic, and you’re not getting laid nearly as much as you’d like people to think. Maybe it’s the odd shape of your nose or that your hands are freakishly small that makes you so repulsive to women. But it could also be that you’re just an asshole.”

You heard Roger snicker behind you and you shushed him as subtly as you could.

“You don’t even know me!” he argued.

“I don’t really have to,” she returned coolly.

He sputtered a moment before the judge intervened.

“Miss Thomas, that’s enough,” he scolded. “Answer his question and from here on, refrain from commenting on his sex appeal.”

“Well, then let me just say that he has a tiny -”

“No!” you and Glen both cried. You with desperation and him with offense.

A pregnant pause hung in the room. Roger was biting down on his lip so hard he almost broke the skin. Dominique tried to give him a harsh look, but a smile was on her lips as well.

Glen cleared his throat. “The question, Miss Thomas, was -”

“I remember what it was,” she cut across him. “The answer is yes. I was jogging. Like I’ve already said.”

“It was autumn and quite late at night,” he said. “Why were you jogging at that time?”

“There’s fewer people out so I feel safer,” she replied. “Plus, I like the cold. It reminds me to be myself.”

“You feel safer jogging alone at night?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she said. “Little did I know there were psychos like your client out there, I’ll have to start carrying pepper spray.”

“Objection!” Glen groaned, looking at the judge.

“Miss Thomas,” Judge Walsh warned. “Please remember your answers should pertain only to the question asked.”

“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes again.

“Now, Miss Thomas, did you see anyone else by the time you came across Mrs. Beyrand?” Glen asked.

“No, she was alone,” she said. “Bleeding from her head and face. Barely alive. She was alone.”

She shot a meaningful look toward the jury. Glen swallowed.

“No further questions,” he said, and returned to his seat.

Judge Walsh released Miss Thomas. After that, Bill called Officer Colmes. He explained the blood on the dress. You examined one of the medics who took Dominique to the hospital, and he affirmed that Dominique appeared to have been beaten by someone. Your final witness was the doctor, who confirmed the source of Dominique’s injuries, and was able to point them out on the photographs taken just after she was brought in. You saw the jury wince at the first picture. The doctor also testified that the blood type found on Dominique’s dress - aside from her own - matched Nick Sully’s. As did the hair. All the evidence was pointing to Nick and you were feeling confident.

Before you would break, the defense would get to call a witness. Glen looked at you with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Your honor, the defense calls Mr. Roger Taylor to the stand.”

[samwritesforyou]

can the sinner get a happy ending?

Fandom: Code Geass

Summary: nunnally decides to clear lelouch’s name and lelouch - conveniently - around that time decides to visit his sister in disguise, because he just misses her so much. but what happens when he learns that people for some reason can’t remember him as a bloody emperor?

A/N: this fic is turning out to be longer than 15k already, so i will post only one part here, as of.. a “prologue”, or just a feel for you to what this story might bring with it. the rest i will upload on ao3! im really proud of this work :D enjoy!

also... im finally coming back to my favourite formatting of this “description” part for the fics, finally :D its been a mess last four fics, sorry! also sorry to everyone who doest follow me for code geass content, i will write different things too, dont worry!

Warnings: mention of a panic attack, no serious proof-reading

Wordcount: 4k (Prologue)

“Nunnally, I do not agree with this,” Suzaku said firmly, looking the empress straight in the eye, brows furrowed together.

“Suzaku-kun, I understand why you’re upset, but this will not harm the people in any capacity. I do this for my brother,” she stated just as strongly, not daring to shift her gaze elsewhere from his emerald pearls.

“But that doesn’t matter, using this power is just wrong!” he was almost yelling now, clutching his hand in the fist.

Whenever someone was talking about geass or even thought about using it, he always had severe reaction to that topic, probably due to all the trauma and suffering that it caused.

Kururugi has never had a fight with Nunnally yet, they had a calm relationship full of mutual love and trust. Despite her being Lelouch’s sister, she was never like him in any sense. And Suzaku feared the day once he’ll start to see the similarities. Despite loving his friend beyond any measure, his actions and thinking was oftentimes just.. extreme, to say the least. Extreme and dangerous, he was never supposed to gain the power he got ahold of. That’s what was going through Japanese’s mind as they were arguing with Nunnally.

She looked at him wide eyed and he could almost be able to see how the wall of trust they’d built together cracked ever so lightly, as the young empress lowered her gaze and sighed.

“Zero, this is an order. Tell Lloyd to have it ready by tomorrow,” there was such unfamiliar coldness in her tone that it made Suzaku stop in his tracks as she turned around in the wheelchair and started to drive away from him.

It was unfamiliar from her, yet.. so familiar from Lelouch.

There was hardly a day when he didn’t think of him. Either cursing him or praying to him to come back.

He didn’t wear a mask right now, because they were talking in the empress’ private rooms where no servants had access to, so he could be himself around here, yet.. yet she addressed him as Zero.

Suzaku’s green eyes shifted slowly, now looking at his feet.

He was clothed in the purple costume with gold lines, purple gloves and a white puff scarf tucked into the shirt. He hated it. He hated all of it. Every single fibre. 

He fell to his knees, breath catching in his throat and he felt the familiar dizziness coming into motion.

He was having a panic attack.

It wasn’t anything new to him and Suzaku found out that the best way to fight it is to let it flow. Let it consume him and shiver uncontrollably, salty tears falling from his eyes onto the red carpet as he bowed his head to the floor.

He was alone possibly in the whole floor so there would be no one watching. No one acknowledging how much pain this human being has to endure, when his only wish is to die.. and when he can’t possibly even do that.

When he finally felt the convulsions stop and dizziness drifted away he sat up on the ground, lifting a hand to his face with a sigh that echoed through the richly decorated halls.

“What a fucking day,” man whispered to himself, slowly getting up and taking the mask of Zero, putting it on, feeling the material close surely around his head so no one could possible guess his true identity anymore.

The stare that nobody could see was deprived of any emotion. Now he was just a faceless person with a mission from the empress.

He went straight to Lloyd’s engineering wing, passing the painting of himself in the white suit as the pilot of the Lancelot, a piece of black cloth at the side of the golden frame, meaning that he’s still being mourned by the genius technician.

“Nunnally vi Britannia demands for the device to be ready by tomorrow,” he said sternly, never adjusting his cape as Lelouch always did - a waste of time and a touch that’s soaked with pretentiousness.

“Of course, Zero, your wish is my command! It’s almost ready anyways,” engineer answered, sitting alone by the table where he continued to work on some cables and connections to various pieces of metal.

He was offered to gain at least a dozen of good workers that could help him in his experiments but earl declined, saying that there’s nothing much to invent without his beautiful pilot and no grandiose war going on between Britannia and Japan anymore.

Suzaku just curtly nodded at that, staying watching him for a moment longer than necessary, just wishing he could reveal to him who he really is and that his pilot is still alive and well and could try some of his new knightmares if he ever makes some.

“Lloyd-san, it’s break time!” suddenly rung a high pitched voice through the empty working space as Cecile came closer to both of them with a little tray rattling with silverware and some food on the surface.

“Oh, Zero, I didn’t notice you come in,” she said sheepishly and smiled, pulling the tray towards him a little in an offering.

“Don’t you want to stay and have lunch with us?” she asked in her sweet voice, the one she uses when she wants to make the good impression, but Suzaku just sighed.

These two were the only people who didn’t really judge him. Even when they didn’t know his true identity, it almost seemed like they were friends like they were before. He liked spending time here, but possibly couldn’t keep them company in eating, since.. he couldn’t really take off his helmet.

“Cecile-san, you know that I mustn’t reveal my identity, hence I can’t keep you company at lunch. Only if I sat by the table without taking a single bite,” he said, a soft smile finally breaking to his lips, making the corners of his mouth go up just a little bit.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, finally realising why this offer wouldn’t work out, but then she said “oh” again and quickly made a beeline towards the main doors, locking them.

“But what if! I locked the main entrance so nobody could come in while we’re eating,” she started enthusiastically and then made another small run towards the light switch, looking with hope at her boss and then the masked man, “and we would also eat in pitch darkness, so you could finally enjoy something with acquaintances, like a normal person?” she smiled and then blinked comically, correcting herself and laughing nervously, “I’m not saying that you’re not normal, of course, I’m just. I realise that it must be hard to be wearing a mask all the time, mustn’t it?” she finished carefully, biting her lower lip.

“Cecile-kun, you’re making Zero intrigued, I think!” Lloyd barked a loud laugh, looking over at his ex-subordinate, “What do you say, Zero? I promise you no peeking!” he teased and got closer to him, wiggling his brows.

Suzaku couldn’t help himself but felt his smile growing wider at that suggestion. There really was no risk, right?

Did Cecile want to try it for a while now? Because it seems like a thought of plan, after all.

*If I keep shielding myself from others I might as well go insane sooner or later.. What’s the harm in one, pitch black lunch, right?..*

Suzaku thought to himself and then nodded.

“Okay, why not?” he said, making Cecile excitedly jump in the air and Lloyd lean deeper into his chair with a pleased hum.

“Alright! On the count of three I’ll turn off the lights and then.. hopefully make it to you guys without any problem!” she explained and on the count of three she really turned off the lights.

Suzaku wasn’t rushing in taking off his helmet, at first waiting for Cecile to make it safely to their little table. It.. was really dark. 

“Cecile-san, please be careful,” he said, now being kind of nervous for his friend.

“I’m okayyy!” in the end of the sentence she yelped, because her outstretched arm collided with Zero’s mask, making a low thud, “I.. suppose I made it to the table, right?” she laughed and Suzaku gave out a chuckle as well, carefully putting her hand aside, so she could find the chair to sit on in this ridiculous darkness.

“Okay, so.. I’ll just warn you that I won’t be speaking while we’re eating, because I have a voice modifier inside that distorts my original voice,” Kururugi explained carefully, waiting for their reactions.

“Ahhh, so you can’t be tracked even by voice recognition, that’s very smart!” mused Lloyd, already, what it seemed, with a mouthful of food, “Or you’re someone who we know, so you don’t want to be recognised! But that’s less probable than the first point,” he concluded to himself, now apparently drinking something.

“I won’t comment on that, Lloyd-san,” Suzaku said and then sighed, “Itadakimasu.”

And with that, the only sound in the room despite the munching on the food was the noise of Zero’s mask unzipping and being put near him on the ground.

Japanese inhaled sharply, filling his chest with some fresh air, even though they were inside.

He finally scratched his nose and then rubbed his eyes, using all of the time he has without a mask. Being without it in public was a really rare occasion, so he felt ecstatic, thinking that.. maybe one day his life might get better.

Once he took a big bite of some veggie balls that were on the plate in front of him, he already wanted to say how delicious it is, especially compared to first things she ever cooked for them, but then stopped himself, instead just gulping down the food.

He noticed that the other two were silent as well, probably honouring the fact that one of this trio cannot talk. How nice of them, truly.

During the whole process he was careful of sounds to be able to in time put a mask back on if needed, but nothing really happened. He only heard some clicking, as if someone was taking glasses on and off two times, but other than that, nothing. It was probably Lloyd messing around anyways.

He sighed with relief when he finished, reluctant to put the mask back on. Despite of being in the dark for so long, his eyes didn’t adjust and he still couldn’t see anything, probably because the place was really devoid of all light at the moment.

Then he shook his head to himself, thinking that revealing his identity would be too risky at the current situation, so he put the mack back on, making a clicking sound in the dark.

“I’ll turn the light back on,” Suzaku said and luckily didn’t collide with anything on his way there.

Once the light was back on, the trio grunted in unison, their eyes certainly not being able to absorb this all at once.

He didn’t sit back down to the portable table but just stood next to it, looking at Cecile.

“Thank you for the meal, it was very delicious,” he said, smiling at her.

“I’m glad it was,” when she lifted her dark blue eyes at him, it looked like she’s been crying, so he got instantly worried.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I am, thank you, it’s just the sudden light,” she laughed weakly in response, placing her gentle palm on top of his hand, squeezing a little.

Suzaku then pulled away and nodded, still with a warm aftertaste of being treated like an actual friend or an acquaintance.

“I’ll get going then. See you tomorrow, Lloyd-san,” Zero turned away on his heels and made his way from the engineering lab.

“Cecile-kun, the tears weren’t from the lighting, were they?” once they were alone, Lloyd looked at her with a pleased grin, swiftly putting his hand into her pocket and taking night vision glasses out of there, waving them in the air in front of her, “Who is he?”

“I’m sorry, Lloyd-san, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” she said with a warm smile, a single tear falling down her cheek, “but he is a good person. We can definitely trust him.”

.

.

Life went at significantly slower pace in the countryside than in the city. Nobody was busy.. there actually was *nobody*. Only him and C.C.

The perfect solitude life for two sinners who wanted to make their wishes come true.

Lelouch was just in the middle of harvesting some plants from their little farm, taking breaks every so often because his physique didn’t improve even in conditions like this.

The strew hat oh his head protected him from the angry sun that was shining though the eternity of summer in these lands.

“C.C., can you please get me a container for these? I think it’s better to grow them inside, they’re dying out there on all this heat,” ex-emperor barged into their house with two plants in his hands, taken out of the ground with the roots, waiting for help from the green haired companion he had by his side.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she put away the knitting equipment and lowered her bare legs from the table she was resting on, getting up to her feet, making a beeline for the back room, where the junk of all sorts was stored. For situations like this.

She looked around the whole room, noticing old Zero suit just hanging by the wall, some markers and scissors peeking out of the pockets. She sighed and lowered her olive eyes, finally finding what her partner has asked her for.

With two brown-ish pots in hands she went back and put them on the floor in from of the skinny man, returning to the back room once again to get some fresh soil for the poor plants.

Then she came back for the second time, plopping next to the bag with terra, tearing it open and pouring the soil into the pots.

Lelouch was looking at her this whole time, as if exploring every millimetre of her pale skin. He did it often now. Paying more attention to the details and that made him even the better deduction master than he’s been before.

Sherlock Holmes was onto something, truly.

He could now finally put the plants into their new home now, patting the ground with his elegant fingers, making sure they’re steady in it. 

Then he placed them next to the dining table and wanted to go out again.

“Lelouch,” simply said C.C., taking her knitting needles in hands alongside the purple yarn which for the most part was being dragged behind her as she followed him outside.

“Hm?” was the only answer she got, as Lelouch continued taking care of the garden, completely immersed in the activity.

Or maybe his mind was thousand miles away..

“I miss you,” she stated, still knitting, kind of furiously, even though her face was unchanging.

“What? I’m right here,” he chuckled, his hands firmly in the ground, making sure that the plants have enough space to grow and expand.

“No. The old you, the one who was always in motion, who didn’t let life stop him, the one who made me feel like life is a game worth winning,” she said, her hands slowing down in the tempo of her activity, “I feel like you’re losing yourself too.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment after that, working like some gardener, brows furrowed together.

“But we won, C.C. This might not be the life that you nor I want to live, but that’s a small price to pay for the world to stay in peace, don’t you think?” he finally met her eyes, lifting his amethysts from the greenery.

“What about Nunnally? Don’t you wanna see her?” there was no hesitation in her voice as the man got up from his knees and pointed a finger at her in a warning manner.

“I told you to never say her name aloud..” he whispered, no signs of anger on his face, only sadness pooling in his dark, beautiful eyes.

“So you just want to forget her? Or what? What’s your plan?” she stood on her tiptoes now to get closer to his face, talking in the same semi-whispering way, not willing to step down.

This kind of rivalry was the thing that kept these two going in the most dire times when they just wanted to fuck it all and return to the old swing of things.

“I have no plan,” said Lelouch so closely to her lips that at some point of his phrase they touched and he then pulled away, making his way back to the house.

“Hm. What a sore loser,” she mused with a smile on her face, following him and plopping herself on the couch, knitting away.

For the rest of the day they didn’t exchange a single word.

.

.

Suzaku was dreading today. The day started already badly from the beginning. 

He woke up with a headache and outside was pouring rain, attacking large windows in his private rooms, sound echoing through the space that lacked furniture.

Despite having amazing athletic skills, the curly haired boy was still very skinny for his height and his depression often made him feel like he doesn’t even need or deserve to eat anything.

He sat on the bed, white shirt loose on his shoulders, shuddering to himself.

It was so dark. And lonely. Everyday was the same. Lonely, lonely, lonely. Alone. Echo drifting through the void of his existence, springing off the rich, gold decorated walls which mean absolutely nothing to him.

He hated to reside in the royal palace but he would hate even more to be somewhere alone.

Here he at least has Nunnally... someone who knows completely and unconditionally who he is.

His first plan of action each morning is to wake her up, let her dress and then go together to the dining hall and have breakfast. Only after that they would proceed to go on official side of the business.

When he came to her room and saw an empty bed his heart sunk uncomfortably fast and Kururugi rushed to it, seeing a note neatly folded on the sheets.

*I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand, but I will be in my office earlier today. Have something to eat and then bring me the finalised Product. We’ll hold the ceremony in the evening.” 

It said and he slowly slid his fingers over the letters, face growing grim. 

The product.. she meant the geass button. His stomach curled up and he started to feel nauseous.

If any doctor would see Suzaku right now, they would probably tell him to take a vacation at least for a month and rest for the eternity of it.

There was no professional to stop him, though, so he just stepped hard on all of his emotions, knitting his brows together, putting the Zero mask on.

He marched from the private empress wing and saw quite a lot of commotion, probably because of the speech that Nunally will be giving later.

A lot of people started coming up to him, saying “Zero please do this and that” and Kururugi just waved them all away, for once without any capacity left to feel guilty that he can’t help with preparations.

Soon enough young man found himself in the technician part of the palace where everything was more silent. Way easier to bear the silence here than in his room, he noticed.

“Ah, Zero, welcome!” mused Lloyd, greeting his with open arms, “Everything is ready! Still don’t understand why would the empress need such a device that never brought nothing good but I guess it is not my business to ask, am I right?” he smirked and looked at the masked person, hands on hips.

“It indeed isn’t,” said Suzaku in the low tone, just being fed up with this day. He’d much rather take off his mask and tell the whole world that his death was a lie instead of even touching the device that can inflict such a power. Power that he despises.

But he can’t do that. He can’t do that because he is a slave. He always will be. Lelouch was right. He just lets people to spit on him over and over, in the end not changing a single thing in the grand scheme of things.

Suzaku wasn’t the greatest politician, despite his dad rooting heavily in politics, and so japanese were actually still being oppressed. He just didn’t know how to solve it. He wasn’t as great of a leader as Lelouch was, as the real Zero was. 

He’s just a mere replacement that can’t even do his job right. 

So he will take the geass button that Nunnally requested from his friend that doesn’t even know who he is, he will ignore Cecile-san as she comes in just seconds before he leaves and waves enthusiastically at him, he will continue in his heavy steps all the way to the palace, he will shrug off every single interviewer that wants to have a discussion with Zero, leader of a nation, he will knock on empress’ office where she is ready for the speech to give to the whole population. And he will bow down before her, getting on one knee, giving her the power he hates. She will just curtly nod at him and then put the device carefully in her lap, just out of reach of the camera. He will stand beside her as Zero, and there will be silence before the broadcast.

He is just a servant. Merely that.

“Nunnally,” he said, devoid of any emotion left, “you still won’t tell me which order are you going to give?” he was looking straight into the tv screen in front of them, as the countdown showed still two minutes left before the beginning of the stream.

“No,” she said seriously, looking at the same direction, tensing up.

“So it will work on me and I won’t even know, huh,” his tone was now softer and quieter, accepting the fact that his most loved person alive is essentially doing what he hated the most.

“No. I got that checked up, Suzaku,” in her voice could be heard a small smile, probably a sad one, as she continued “Apparently the order that my brother gave you was so powerful that you’re immune to any different type of geass,” she said with a deep sigh, “so you’ll hear it and won’t be affected. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

He couldn’t answer her anything on that because the timer was already up and the political duo went live to the millions of people that were watching, all around the globe.

The topic of the speech was supposed to be about more liberation rights for Japan, so that created a lot of so-called “hype” amongst the citizens, britannians as well as japanese. The maximum amount of people were watching and they will all obey the empress. That was the plan.

“Nunnally vi Britannia commands you,” with hearing these words Suzaku got goosebumps, his hands squeezing the handles of her wheelchair as much as he could to prevent himself from doing anything that he might regret later, “please, everyone who is watching this or hearing this, forget about the fact that the 99th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire was Lelouch vi Britannia. From now on, you will all remember him as just a person without a face, someone who wanted to rule the entire world, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Lelouch,” she said, after pressing the button.

Even a normal person could feel a literal surge of some energy coming out of the room they were in and Suzaku widened his eyes as he heard the order.

His mouth hung open as he was trying to make sense of what she just said.

Nunnally cleared Lelouch’s name. 

Nunnally... cleared Lelouch’s name. 

Kururugi couldn’t focus on anything that the empress proceeded to talk about after that, staring blankly at the wall and for the first time he was genuinely glad that he was wearing a mask, so that nobody could see his shocked expression.

A/N: this fic can be now found on ao3! i wont be updating it here on tumblr because that would be just too many chapters and that's just... too much work fdsjfjsf

[yesicanbelieveitsnotbutter]

what’s that? divorced mociet au for maximum angst? don’t mind if i do!

they meet in a local park, deceit probly says something like “Nature is so beautiful, it’s a shame man tries to own her” and patton is like “omg so deep take me”

they go on sum dates

patton dives head first into love and drags dee with him

pat wants to get married, dee is unsure, but want to make pat happy so he accepts

they adopt a 3 year old logan and 1 year old twins roman and remus

tensions rises as they have two distinct styles of parenting

a friend of patton gets pregent young and asks him to raise the baby (trans!remy for added angst maybe idk)

pat agrees without talking to dee

dee finds out and they have their 1st big fight

dee agrees to raise the babe but the tension has snapped and is poisening their relationship

lil babe virge joins the famILY

deceit goes “i’ve only know virgil for a hour but if anything happens to him i will kill everyone and then myself”

they divorce and there’s an ugly custody battle

dee: “you aren’t responble enough to raise children!!!”

pat: “my baaaaabbbiiiiieeeessss!!!”

Logan (5) and Roman (3) go with Patton

Remus (3) and Virgil (2) go with Deceit

Patton moves away to a new town and they break off contact

pat enrolls his sons in a K-12 school and they do really well

dee works long hours to support his sons

he puts remus in a public school, but remus doesn’t do well in school

he gets into fights and gets expelled

dee sends him to a new school

this happens alot

dee wants to keep remus and virge in the same school, so every time remus gets expelled, he moves both of them

they never stay in the same school for more than a year

this is very stressful for dee who eventually has to move around to keep up with remus’s school-switching

this is also super hard on virgil who never learns how to make friends

dee, who is always stressed and not always there, and remus, a fuck-up who couldn’t care less, become his contants

they move to a new town before virgil’s freshman year

virge and remus go to the local highschool

remus meets roman in their classes (surprise! they have ended up in the same town patton moved to earlier!!)

they don’t reconize either other (obv they were like 3)

remus chalenges roman to a fight durring lunch

virge is like “remus no” and remus is like “remus yes”

crowd gathers and roman wants to protect his pride

they fight and it gets bloody quick

roman’s older brother, logan (:O), comes rushing in and breaks it up

he reconizes remus and virge (he got good memory or sumn)

virge is like “WTF REMUS THIS IS WHY DAD HATES YOU”

and leaves

Logan is surprised pikachu face

the whole school is buzzing with gossip of new kids und log and rom

virge skips class and hides in the liberary

logan finds him after school

logan: “bro i’m like ur older bro” virge: “wth no way bro” logan: “no no i got this picture with both of our now single parents in it” virge: “fuck dude that’s sum pretty solid evidence”

virge opens up a bit to lo

they go to the dention room together but!! patton is there (gasp) and virge is like “omg i can’t let him see me” and lo is like “ur tots right, i won’t say a word”

pat and boys leave and virge goes into dention room

but remus is gone????

suprise bitch he went home early- virge learns thru dee’s “wth are u!!” phone call

dee and boys have dinner, which doesn’t happen often

dee: “im so sorry we can’t have this more often” remus: “whatever ur cooking stinks” virge: *internal panic* cantlethimfindoutcantlethimfindout

back to pat- he’s not angry, roman, just disapointed. fighting=bad

everyone goes to be tired and upset except remus, bc he’s a bastard (look i love him, but he is a bastard)

next day is school day

people whisper about virge and reem in the hallways, but he indimidates them with his Insane Looks TM

Roman “”””forgives””””” Remus when the meet and remus shrugs and insluts his non-existent mother

logan is there and calmly reminds roman not to retaliiate

things go okay for a few weeks

virge is loney, remus is bastard, roman is trying so hard to not punch him in the face, and logan is a nerd

virge needs lo’s nerd skills to pass a test

lo teaches him at the school

ro joins one of their study sessions

at 1st he’s rude to virge but then he reliezes virge is not a bastard like remus

they become friends, an lo and virge tell ro ~The famILY Seceret~

later ro begs virge to join Drama Club

virge is like “nuuu” ro is like “pleassss” virge is like “...ok fine.”

they are doing a play version of The Parent Trap

Ro and virge gets the role of the twins 

rem makes fun of virge for his growing interest in the-ay-tar, but dee’s happy he’s putting himself out there and making friends

logan finds the play ironic lol

pat is excite!! and support!! for roman and his starring role

but then!! lo ro and virge Relieze both parents will Be There and See their Sons or Each Other

remus shows up like an eavesdropping bitch and is like “lol what if we dedicated it to them lol it be funny”

“REMUS NO”

lo’s like “welp nothing we can do bout it now”

ro: “wait! what if u and remus took the other parent of the child on stage out of the theater so they only see their child!!”

lo: unrealilistic

virge panic tm

remus gives a ton of really bad ideas

everyone goes home with this big fat problem in their minds

remus starts dropping onimous hints about the play and dee is Concern

the day of the play comes

ro and virge decied that no matter what, the show must go on

they perform and do really well, breaking both their legs (jk)

(remus throws a tomato onto the stage at the climax lol)

after the show virge finds dee an ree in the crowd

dee is super quiet and looking around (he has the program in his hand)((the program with roman’s full name)) (((which would have patton’s last name)))((((u get it))))

virge panic pt 2, but remus saves the day (whaaa) by asking to go for icecream

dee agrees and they go for sum BR

BUT! ro lo and pat had the same idea!!

they’re in the same icecream parlor!

remus stiffs a laugh

dee cooly glances over to where the pat and boys are sitting before heading over to the country to order

virge quietly follows

lo notices them and nudges ro who abruptly stops talking and looks over at dee and boys, alerting pat of their prensence

flashes of grief on pat’s face

the table is quiet before ro awkwardly picks up the conversation where he left off

dee gets a table as far away from pat &co as possible

however, he looks up once and locks eyes with patton

both tables are quiet

dee breaks the eye contact and starts talking to his boys

patton smiles sadly at his icecream

“I thing we should go home kiddos.”

at home, lo explains everything

pat nods numbly and locks himself in his bedroom

logan comforts roman

at the ice cream, dee talks to virge and remus about the play until patton leave

“so do you know them?”

virge breaks down and admits everything

remus isn’t as much as a bastrad now

dee ods calmly and they eat ice cream in silence

they next day is saturday

virge stays in his room despite remus atempts to play 

remus also locks himself in his room

dee finds logan’s cell number in virgil’s backpack and calls him

surprisingly patton picks up

they talk for a while

they agree to keep the kids in the same school

“I miss you somethimes, dee.” a pause. “Your mistake.”

dee hangs up

he looks up to where virgil’s room is and sighs.

[traineecryptid]

tag game: first lines of my 20 most recent fics as tagged by @alxina and @fizferret *

*excluding collabs cuz i didnt write the first line for those.

**featuring multifandom galore, my changing title format, and NSFW content (yes, in the first line, im a very hasty person)

1. one two step

“I’m so full,” Aether says softly, mostly to himself, looking at the space between their bodies, forehead pressed against the jut of Zhongli’s collarbones.

2. nice cream

“Pants off,” Shen Qiong says in a tone that brooked no argument, hands on her hips in emphasis.

3. bound to you 

The eggs definitely did not feel this big originally. Wu Xie was sure of that. Xiaoge explained the process to him when they were talking about the whole thing, even though Wu Xie didn’t think it was necessary, because it is Xiaoge and there are only two things that he wouldn’t do for Xiaoge.

4. mad dog training

Hei Xiazi made an awful lot of noise when he banged open the door and marched into the room dragging a chair along with him.

5. defector’s timeout

Nan-jie had elbowed him in the stomach, lightly, cracking a joke, and it broke the careful facade that Wang Can had maintained throughout the day.

6. pollen problem

Wu Xie was blearily adding ice-cream to his first coffee of the day when he heard it.

7. stretch or tangle

Wu Xie doesn’t wake up as much as he startles out from a nightmare.

8. lunch hour rush

It’s a rather odd sight to see, though it is not unwelcomed, Xiaoge notes, shamelessly eyeing everything that is going on as he leans against a wall, waiting for Wu Xie to notice his presence.

9. trail town

The trip down the mountain is shorter, or so Wu Xie says. Xiaoge just nodded, happy to follow along the hiking trails marked out with colourful little flags once they had emerged from a part of the forest with the dozens of “Warning: Dangerous Terrain Ahead. Do Not Enter.” signs in seven different languages and levels of threat.

10. strange meals

Kan Jian would have missed the tiny cafe tucked between a hair salon and an arts and crafts supplies store if not for the hand-drawn location map that Wu-dalaoban had doodled on a piece of voided cheque.

11. healing process

A "where u??"  text notification popped up on his screen just as Liu Sang's ride pulled up at the gates of the apartment complex. 

12. chance of rain

Wu Xie steps out holding his phone in one hand and a flour-covered rice cake in another, peering around the overgrown foliage in the front yard for one particular person.

13. carpe armilliam

Wu Xie stares at the pond. It's a lake, really, based on the sheer size of it, but since it is enclosed within the Wushanju's sprawling compound, everyone just politely calls it a pond.

14. 95% humidity

Wu Xie’s hair is getting long, curling around his nape and falling into his eyes.

15. ship in a desert (how did it get there)

When Wu Xie had called out for Liu Sang from the hotel bathroom, Liu Sang had expected to find a cracked bathtub or an overflowing sink when he swung open the bathroom door. Perhaps an unusually large spider.

16. modded to hell and back

It takes Liu Sang quite a while to pinpoint what is off about everyone.

17. 怛然失色| blanched

The moment Xue Yang hears the click of a trapdoor he knows he’d fucked up.

18. 别有风味| special flavour

Pei Huai said two things when he handed over the inconspicuous, palm-sized plastic container.

19. 牛肉三明治| beef sandwich

The nice thing about going out to eat when the entire table is made up of people who have no qualms of eating free food is that Wu Xie doesn’t have to pull some ridiculous tricks to pay for the meal. He could just wave to catch the attention of a waiter and hand over his card without having to politely fist fight someone about it.

20. come get her (now say it three times fast)

“Thanks for the- Boya?” Qingming says, taking in the familiar silhouette. The spirits he, well, they were fighting scramble against each other to run away, disappearing further into the dark alley. Qingming would have wanted to chase them down to make sure they really understood the consequences of bullying but now that Boya is here, he is reminded that they were supposed to meet up.

and we are done yay!!!! that look a moment /is out of breath

wait most importantly, my ao3

bon apple tea!

[workingonit-currently]

Two parts to the heart.

Krish, our DM, is doing two parts today. One with the group minus Courage and one with Courage as she rides away. (80 min of aleris, silas and im time!) Let’s see how this goes. (discussion of bard and dragons before session officially starts.)

Start of session we check back in with Im and Aleris, walking to the crone.

Silas and Drusten still not exactly having a romantic walk. 

Im and Aleris time!

passing fields

They eventually get to the crone. She’s drawn a rune circle. She has WAY too much energy

Might be a sacrifice

Don’t touch Link-Noted!

Crone calls Imogen old and I LIVE for it!

Calls Aleris ‘short lady’ (I am happy.)

What is it with short people calling Aleris short

Imogen places the special book in the middle of the circle. 

SHE MIGHT BE SUMMONING SOMETHING!?

She’s grabbing random stuff to put in the circle?

SHE IS SUMMONING SOMETHING!

“It’s time to finally do an Arcana check.”

“Sorry, my hands are a bit stinky” - Thanks for that image Aleris!

Aleris knows the crone’s summoning something from the past or future.

Aleris wants to see where this goes so doesn’t say anything

Crone starts chanting mysterious words

“Hi. What the fuck.” - Imogen

They have summoned a very old man. Long grey beard, Typical wizard’s hat and a giant staff with one gem?

HE IS HARVISH HAVERSHAM?!!!

He gives Im another copy of his book. Im might rage

Haversham and Im are not getting along. Great...

“I’m going back to my own time. You-You were so much more pleasant back then. Now you’re just skin folds.” -Haversham to the crone.

He goes back and now Im has a SIGNED copy of his book of healing. 

Aleris asks the real questions while Im is grumbling. “Why did you summon him if you hate him?”

Apparently she did not mean to summon him. She wanted to summon someone else.

Im’s book has cool spells now! NICE!

The Crone is done with Imogen and Aleris now

Imogen hears giggling at the back of her head and questions what it is. (Shows she’s not use to having a warlock pact.)

The fey silences as she ALSO is not use to having a warlock.

(hmm, too many ‘new’ gods I’d say. How to fix that...)

Imogen is RUDE! (that might come back to bite her.)

ALERIS IS ON HER WAY BACK TO THE TAVERN TO TELL COURAGE ABOUT THE EVENT! (Wee woo, wee wooo! ALERT! PANIC!)

Wow...the fey queen is so much nicer than the Raven Queen.

They head back to the tavern. (panic mode!-for me)

No one is there. 

Im sits and reads her book. Oooh, fancy.

ALERIS GOES TO HER ROOM! To talk to Courage...

(I am in panic!)

Aleris sees the note

She picks it up and it’s hastily written. It says (SOMETHING! I can’t remember it fully. okay. Panic! What we know is Courage has gone.)

Silas and Drusten time?

Silas and Drusten time.

They just sit, having lunch.

Silas checks if there’s a vet and apparently is getting a gift for Courage because their birthdays are both on April 1st. (what a LOVELY birthday present. Leaving after Silas’ birthday, just as he gets you a present.)

Silas and Drusten find a clinic to check Mat out. (Mat, Silas’ snake.)

Tortle receptionist.

Silas wants to check Mat in.

“My name is Silas Haruki.” -EXCUSE ME! That’s a cute last name Silas!

Tortle tells them to take a seat. They wait for 30min -an hour

They go in. (Drusten offers his hand to walk Silas in.)

The vet inspects Mat and is concerned with his quietness

We still might consume the rich

The doctor/Vet says to give him more time outside the bag and Mat should be fine.

Silas argues that his ‘friends’ wouldn’t like that. (So now, apparently, we’re his FRIENDS!)

Vet hands them a note for a place in Mernin Isle for them to go to, secretly...

“Mat won’t die in the next two days.” -How reassuring Doc!

They might want to go visit the other Vets on the Isle

Silas goes out to search for stores to buy a birthday gift for Courage’s birthday. 

Silas has strong opinions on Gifts and Gift Shops

Silas doesn’t know what Courage would want...he’s growing more distant from her.

Silas mentions the highland cow and the plush highland cow. (Aleris has that.)

Drusten offers to pitch in for the gift but..awkward...Silas refuses and stuff...

“She could start a highland cow plushy collection.” -Yes, thank you Drusten. Spitting some facts!

Apparently Aleris ave the cow to Courage at some point?!

Drusten advises him to get her chocolates

Silas thinks it’s shoddy and rubbish so Drusten says, ‘please let me pitch in to repay you.’

Silas casually talking about killing Aleris’ fiancé.

So they go to a blacksmith to get a weapon. 

THE BLACKSMITH IS IRISH! (I love her!)

And the accent is gone. But it was there!

Shows off her wares. 

Silas looks at the sickles and greataxes. 

Silas picks a greataxe, which is tragic really. As Courage’s player...I KNOW something Silas does not..

(Panic. Panicccc.)

AND HE’S GETTING AN ENGRAVING!

‘A shoeid’ (but with an accent I can not type.)

Drusten and Silas get a fish and chips.

(also: Where is Silas storing this axe? It heavy..)

They head back to the tavern. Surprised by Im’s reading! (Silas didn’t know she could even READ!)

“Our room now?” -EXCUSE ME DRUSTEN!? Oooh, moving fast I see.

Silas just wraps the greataxe and sees where the others are. 

Silas is SOMEHOW not a rogue.

Knocks on Courage’s door and then knocks on Aleris’ door

Aleris is not answering...

Goes to Courage: The P.O.V that is

no on the temple

Courage sees this weird chain tree walking..

veers away from tree and leaves them go, walk to the town

a caravan people ask if she wants to join them, she says no, ‘she’s done with people’. They think she might kill them, she will not. they part ways.

get in the tavern and order a drink, ask around for clues to find the cult/marina reviving people

frighten a few people out of the tavern

Brown cloaked man finally tells Courage goo information.

HE’S cool!

he’s a necromancer

“Come with me-Actually sit down.”

Sits and he explains.

Raven Queen symbol sets him off, pulling Courage over the table.

Courage rolls to intimidate and it fails, he sits back.

Courage is deluded. 

“A very advanced wizard?”

Courage communes with the raven queen to get her out of the man’s head

“Roll me a d20.” -Words all players want to hear

Courage in her mind: ‘I am going to get in trouble for this. Pain is coming.’

Courage walks him out of the bar and sets him down next to his house, old alley talking

Takes any obvious weapons off him. 

“He has a bag that could be used as a bludgeoning weapon given how full of books it is.”

He heads in and Courage follows. (darn. Should have locked him away.)

He gives Courage some books to look through on the table.

They won’t help and he just explains. IS SUPER NERVOUS.

He says “The Raven Queen is looking to resummon a pretty powerful person. It’s not uncommon. ”

Pulls out a poster with maddened scribbles.

“They’re trying to remake the world.”

The Raven Queen’s been insisting this man to find Courage, caused him pain. 

Wants to destabilize everything. So gods can summon what they want.

(oh god I might be making Courage evil...)

“The raven queen isn’t the only god in the world.”

He refused to help properly so as she leaves Courage cuts his arm and dislocates it, it’s barely hanging on.

(Me and the DM talk about aura of Courage. Also, may I just say: AHHH! Intimidation, being broody, all that junk...AHH! I am not ready for it but Courage has been brainwashed over the years so...Slightly evil Courage.)

[sero-sphere]

PT 3! Crimson Hearts

Summary: You just moved next door to Red Riot…but you can hear everything through the paper thin walls. You open your mouth and uncover something scandalous. Lets see what happens next…

Quirk: You can feel everyones emotional aura, and can secret phermones to alter them. Only side affect is their emotions rub off on you as well, both good and bad.

Warning: angst, implied sex, alcohol use, swearing.

Taglist: @silentw-lkr​

Part 1 , Part 2

Sooo, this one is a bit longer. also, sorry it took awhile…i was making stickers!!! im probabally going to write a bonus for this tomorrow!!!( ‘ㅅ’ )

You spent your off day relaxing, taking a bath, reading some books you’ve been meaning to get to, and catching up with your favorite series. You were just about to make yourself dinner, a nice thick steak with some veggies and rice, when you heard a knock on your door. You opened it to find Red Riot.

No seriously, there Kirishima was, staring at you in nothing but his hero attire. Sure you had seen him dressed as a hero..but that was on TV. This was the first time seeing him in the flesh and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander. Your eyes went over every ripple of every muscle, and every bruise….every scar. Those only seemed to make him more sexy.

“Hey uh, sorry to come and bother you like this. I got called into a closer district today and didn’t feel like heading back to the agency to shower…” He was blushing…hard. You wondered if he noticed that your eyes were wandering his body instead of looking at his face. You quickly corrected yourself and noticed he was holding something behind his back.

“Oh, no it’s ok…I was just a bit….distracted.” You couldn’t help the blush that came across your cheeks now as well.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday. If you hadn’t come to apologize I don’t know what I would have done. You really made me feel better….and I don’t want you to feel bad for telling me. I’m really glad actually, I know it sucks, but it’s better now that I’m not wasting my time on her.”

“It’s what I do, making people feel better I mean. I’m glad I could help, I really am. Trust me when I say I know EXACTLY how you feel.” You flashed him an apologetic smile.

“I got you this as a little thank you, I heard you crying last night. I wanna help you too if I can.” He brought his hands around the front of him, revealing what he had hidden. He reached out to hand you an adorable red teddy bear.

“I saw this today in a store I was passing by on patrol! It reminded me of you…well not OF you, but I thought of you. It’s a Red Riot ™ teddy bear. You said you were good at hugs, so I figured you could hug this whenever you get sad.” He was nervously scratching at the back of his neck. It only showcased his abs more and you couldn’t help it, as you thought about what it would feel like to hug him everynight…and not the teddy bear.

“Thanks! It will definitely help.” You pulled him into a big hug, forgetting he was shirtless and sweaty. You didn’t mind though, you could feel his mood start to shift a bit and smiled. He wasn’t lying, you really were making him feel a bit better.

“Uh, I should probably shower, I came straight here after work. I wanted to talk to you ASAP to make sure you were ok.” He pulled away from you and pointed towards his apartment.

“Kirishima, after everything that’s happened, it’s nice you thought about me. Go take your shower! I still have your whiskey so come over whenever you want! My doors always open… well not really, knock first, but you know what I mean.”

After saying goodbye, and locking your door, you put the teddy bear on the couch next to your set up for the night and returned to cooking your meal. You had made enough that way you could have left overs tomorrow for lunch. Before you could sit down to eat it you were interrupted by another knock. It was Kirishima again, but this time he was a little bit more covered. He was wearing a black tank top, grey sweats and a bandana.

“You said anytime so I figured I’d take you up on that…normally I’d go hang with Bakugou, but he’s had a rough night too…. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not….I hope you’re hungry, I just made steak and it just so happens there’s just enough for you.” His mouth was already watering.

After showering, Kirishima realized he didn’t want to spend time alone. He wasn’t entirely lying by saying Bakugou had a rough night…he always had a rough night. He was competing for the title of “Number 1 hero” after all. Even after only knowing you for a short while, he felt comfortable around you. If he hung out with Bakugou, he would only tell him to get over it, and by get over it he would probably suggest having sex with someone else. Kirishima wasn’t quite ready for that yet, so he made his way over to your place, where he knew he could relax.

The two of you bonded over dinner, and shared the rest of his whiskey. He watched as you cuddled up with a blanket on the couch beside him and clutched the Red Riot teddy bear he had gifted you. He’s glad you really liked it, and didn’t find it weird at all. He thought of the latter after he bought it, but decided to go with it anyway.

He came over more and more after that night. Some nights you two drank, sometimes you too didn’t. Mostly you talked, you explained how your quirk worked and how you used it to help people. He told you about his ex-girlfriend, and his best friends. All about his job as a hero! Every day you felt, as he returned to his old angelic self. Just being around him made you feel so much better, and you were glad he was finally beginning to feel ok.

That’s how you ended up in this predicament. Sitting in your living room, drinking too much sake with him. You let him persuade you with his notions “ oh, hey guess what! Ive got the day off tomorrow, and it just so happens Fat Gum gave me this big bottle of sake as a thank-you.”

“I thought being a hero was about saving people��not the free shit?”

“I mean it is, but it does have its perks.”

You both drank way too much and were giggling back and forth. You felt your face heat up. You were both reminiscing about the day you two met.

“OMG I am such an idiot sometimes, I can’t believe I said that to you.” You cringed as you tried to burry your face deep into your sweatshirt.

Kirishima was laughing, falling against the backside of the couch. “I can’t believe you heard everything! I should be more embarrassed than you! I went inside and cursed thinking about how you probably would never talk to me again.”

“And here I was thinking ‘ who the fuck lasts that long…omg.’ And then when It was Red fuucking Riot, and your quirk is hardening. It made perfect fucking sense!”

He blushed. He leaned his head back against the couch, but to the side so he could maintain eye contact, as you gave you the sultriest toothiest smile. You wanted to kiss him so bad, but you stopped yourself.

“You know, I think you can take all this back to your house now?” You motioned to all the alcohol you both had on the table. One bottle had turned into 2, into 3, and so on.

“Right, but then what excuse would I have to come to see you. I am feeling better now ya know?”

“Hmmm, you think you need a reason to come and see me? I could think of a reason or two?” You raised your index finger to your bottom lip and pouted slightly. You shifted a bit in your seat and leaned a little closer towards him. Just to the point you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Yeah, and what would that be?”

He met you the rest of the distance, and felt as your lips brushed against his.

You had enveloped him in a kiss he wasted no time in returning. It heated up rather quickly and you felt as his hands ran up and down your back. You moved yours towards his thighs, circling your thumbs in little motions against his muscles.You both were involved in a heavy makeout session. At some point you both broke away for some air. It was pretty late and while Kirishima might not have had patrol, he did have to go in for an early morning meeting.

“You should go, I know you have a meeting in the morning. Being a Hero comes first.” You moved away from him a bit, but still made sure your fingers were intertwined with his.

“But, that wouldn’t be very manly of me to leave you like this…”

“I’ll be fine. I promise, I have an amazing hero who lives right next door. He’ll be the first one I call if I find myself needing help in the middle of the night. He’s convinced he needs reason to come and see me!”

Kirishima leaned in and gave you another kiss on the cheek. He pulled back to look into your eyes. He gave you one last kiss on the lips and left. Both of you wished you had done that sooner, it was too late to get left hanging like that. You were tired. You made sure to clean up before you tucked yourself in at least. You had a previous arrangement with your brother and he was going to be staying over for the weekend.

The night came and went, and you were headed back to your apartment with a hand full of groceries. You had met your brother at the train station, and stopped at the store on your way home. He was behind you helping with some of the load. He made some joke about how he was surprised you walked up all these stairs every day. You were giggling as you made your way to the door.

Kirishima looked out from his window and watched as you passed by laughing…with some….guy? You were with a guy? What? He assumed it was probably family, and you would explain after they were gone, and he came over to visit. But that time never came. The male that had followed you into the apartment had stayed the night with you. He felt just a tinge of jealousy. He got ready for work and wondered if he would still run into you on his way out the door, or if you would be staying in late.

His questions were answered when you called out to him from the stairs.

“Oh, hey Kirishima! Hope you got a good nights rest! Good luck at work today!”

“Hey you too right? You have a big day? Hope the takedown goes as planned.” You were scheduled to help take down a really well known gang, and it was going to be one of the more tiring work days you’ve endured. It started off fine, but quickly turned sour and you were forced into staying well into the night to make sure things went according to plan. 5 am came and went. It was now 7 when you finally made your way back home. You hoped your brother would be awake by now, to say bye before he left. You didn’t know how long you would be able to stay up for. You made it to your door before you realized you had forgotten the key in the car. By the time you made it all the way back up, Kirishima was just heading to work for the day.

“Trouble sleeping, huh?” He looked at you and laughed. It sounded a bit forced and you wondered if he was trying to avoid.    

“Yeah I guess you could say that. Things just never seemed to end last night, it just kept coming and coming.” You looked at him exhausted.

“Those walls really are paper thin, I see what you meant before, when you said you couldn’t sleep.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with you. Instead he was staring at his feet which is something you hadn’t seen him do since he was upset about his breakup.

“What do you mean?” You were utterly confused at this point. You two were the only ones whose apartments shared walls on this floor. He shouldn’t have been able to hear anyone else’s, the noise would have to come from yours.

“Uhm, I mean I wasn’t trying to listen in, but like you said it’s kinda hard not too.”

You turned towards him, and the look you gave him was enough to make him scared. You looked pretty fucking mad. “I’m going to fucking kill him!! Figures the one time I’m out for the night!!!”

“Wait what, don’t tell me..” He was starting to panic. He hoped he didn’t just catch you in the same situation he was in a few weeks earlier.

“Oh! NO, no! I’m sorry, he’s my fucking brother! I should have told you that earlier. He came to stay for a few nights for work. Better not have been on my bed I swear to God.”

Kirishima was relieved, he couldn’t stop thinking about continuing what the two of you had started the last time you were together. He had really developed feelings for you during the time the two of you spent together. He was hoping you would return them, and had gotten worried when he heard all those sinful noises during the night. Before he could answer you, you had leaned over and placed a kiss on this cheek.

“Come over tonight? Depending on how my next conversation goes, I might need someone to help break in my new mattress! That is after I’m done burning my other one of course. I might find myself in need of a Hero”