#people really should stop putting 3 lines on a chin and calling it good

[delusionsofspace]

List of Picrews that should add Facial Hair:

- All of them

- Yes all of them

- Even the feminine ones

- Feminine people have facial hair too

[thelibraryiscool]

(some of) my top books of 2022: prose edition

Last year I made a post with some of my favorite books, using first lines and bullet points. This year I read about twice as many books, so this certainly won’t cover all of them, but it’s a selection -- and I’ll make a separate post for the poetry.

1. Almond by Won-Pyung Sohn (trans. Sandy Joosun Lee)

I won’t tell you whether it has a happy ending or a tragic ending. Because, first of all, every story becomes boring once the ending is spoiled. Second of all, not telling you will make you more engaged in this one.

you should read it if you like:

coming of age novels

thinking about what makes humans human

delicate character development

2. The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon

One grim winter evening, when it had a kind of unrealness about London, with a fog sleeping restlessly over the city and the lights showing in the blur as if is not London at all but some strange place on another planet, Moses Aloetta hop on a number 46 bus at the corner of Chepstow Road and Westbourne Grove to go to Waterloo to meet a fellar who was coming from Trinidad on the boat-train.

you should read it if you like:

novels about city life

vibrant prose

thinking about the immigrant experience

3. The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa (trans. Stephen Snyder)

I sometimes wonder what was disappeared first -- among all the things that have vanished from the island.

you should read it if you like:

stories of loss and memory

elegant allegory

books that leave you with a haunted, desolate feeling

[note: this was my first book of the year, and i kind of worry that’s why 2022 went the way it did...]

4. The Stone Face by William Gardner Smith

He leaned forward on the edge of his seat, his chin in his palms and his elbows on his knees, rocking imperceptibly to the movement of the train. It was evening, and in the fading light beyond the window the flat green-and-brown French farmland hurried by. He found his lips almost forming a prayer; not in words, not to a God, but in an emotion reaching out to the earth, the sky, to the world in general.

you should read it if you like:

books that face head on the question of our duty and responsibility to fight for a more just world

nuanced, empathetic explorations of people and relationships

powerful, vivid prose

5. The True Deceiver by Tove Jansson (trans. Thomas Teal)

It was an ordinary dark winter morning, and snow was still falling. No window in the village showed a light. Katri screened the lamp so she wouldn't wake her brother while she made coffee and put the Thermos beside his bed.

you should read it if you like:

quiet, understated books

seeing unexpected human connection

books that inhabit nature and the seasons

6. Faithful Place by Tana French

In all your life, only a few moments matter. Mostly you never get a good look at them except in hindsight, long after they've zipped past you: the moment when you decided whether to talk to that girl, slow down on that blind bend, stop and find that condom. I was lucky, I guess you could call it. I got to see one of mine face-to-face, and recognize it for what it was.

you should read it if you like:

long-buried secrets

characters haunted by the past

some really messy families

7. The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh

There was only one person in the food-stall who knew exactly what that sound was that was rolling in across the plain, along the silver curve of the Irrawaddy, to the western wall of Mandalay's fort. 

you should read it if you like:

sprawling multi-generational tales

intricate, atmospheric historical novels

thinking about the complex entanglements of people and events within history

8. I Wonder as I Wander by Langston Hughes

When I was twenty-seven the stock-market crash came. When I was twenty-eight, my personal crash came. Then I guess I woke up. So. when I was almost thirty, I began to make my living from writing. This is the story of a Negro who wanted to make his living from poems and stories.

you should read it if you like:

literary memoirs

a way of approaching things with humor

seeing the 1930s across europe, asia, and the US brought vividly to life

9. Night and Day by Virginia Woolf

It was a Sunday evening in October, and in common with many other young ladies of her class, Katharine Hilbery was pouring out tea. Perhaps a fifth part of her mind was thus occupied, and the remaining parts leapt over the little barrier of day which interposed between Monday morning and this rather subdued moment, and played with the things one does voluntarily and normally in the daylight. 

you should read it if you like:

careful psychological studies

stories of 20-somethings figuring out their feelings

prose that flows like butter

10. Noon, 22nd Century by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

Когда рыжий песок под гусеницами краулера вдруг осел, Петр Алексеевич Новаго дал задний ход и крикнул Манделю: «Соскакивай!» Краулер задергался, разбрасывая тучи песка и пыли, и стал переворачиваться кормой кверху. [When the orange sand under the crawler’s tracks suddenly subsided, Pyotr Alekseevich Novago backed up and shouted to Mandel: “Hop off!” The crawler shuddered, tossing up clouds of sand and dust, and began to turn stern-up.]

you should read this if you like:

hopeful sci-fi

stories about friendship

thinking about humanity’s first steps towards alien encounter

[note: this is available in english as a pdf online, i’ve checked]

looking back, are there any running themes? perhaps whether humans are by and large good, or when they are capable of goodness. finding connection, sometimes against great odds. an even mix of stories about leaving home and stories about staying there. covers that have people on them?

stayed tuned for pt. 2: poetry edition!

[angelplummie]

Okay so like for starterssssss, I love getting represented as a chubby gal 🥺🥺 so I love you for writing that last Oikawa imagineeeee 😩😩😩

Soooo, I was wondering if I could request a plus size reader that really likes Kuroo, (and he’s like a super cliché bad boy🤰🏽) but he’s too embarrassed to be seen with Y/n. So she starts to hit on his friend or try to make him jealous. (I want you to add your own little idea here! But likeee, make her a baddie 😘😘)

Thanks baby 😚

HE’S A SCUMBAG DON’T YOU KNOW

KUROO X CHUBBY F!READER

Angsty?? kinda, a pinch of suggestive stuff

masterlist

post girlboss was referring to

a/n:i decided to go for emo / anger issues / definitely has punched a hole in his wall kuroo, just cuz i love writing losers, and i love seeing grown men cry. reader is like 20/21 just like college age yk, kuroo is 23 as stated in fic. p.s where my artic monkey hoes at

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex n specific sexual acts, suggestive stuff, uhhh bad boy but he’s not a (bad boy) he’s just a (bad) (boy) he’s just no good, like no fr never date guys like this, he may SEEM COOL and give you the dick but girl you will be so embarrassed once u realised u gave up the kitty for a man that genuinely believes tame impala and mac demarco are unheard of and calls himself an empath even though he’s mean to his mum every time she comes over to help with the laundry and has manipulated every girl he’s ever been in the vicinity of but i digress! on with the story!

“Kuroo-!” you yelped in surprised, bed bouncing beneath you. The second he had thrown you down, he ripped off his shirt and made a noise of frustration when he couldn’t shed his skinny jeans fast enough. Brows furrowed, he began hopping furiously to yank them off.

You laughed, much to his annoyance.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep up with that. What’s the rush?”

He sighed, and carefully pulled them off his ankles. Standing up straight, he seemed to have composed himself, with that cocky smirk on his rugged face. Your eyes trailed down his lean, long body. It was all you could do not to scream, he was so gorgeous. He took a few sweeping steps to where you lay, and got right on top of you, hands either side of your head. His eyes bore into you, it made you squirm internally, not that you would ever admit it.

“Just want you so bad, kitten.”

You barked out a laugh as if your heart didn’t jolt at his stupid pet name. It was such a stupid name, but coming from him it made you melt. Again, not like you’d ever admit it.

“Ew, Tetsu don’t call me kitten, it’s cr-“

He cut you off by leaning down and kissing you, you could feel his snake bites against your bottom lip. He groaned softly, shoving his tongue down your throat. He tasted like his sour apple vape, and his hair was soft when you ran your fingers through it. You could barely contain your butterflies, eyes squeezed closed.

“Come on babe, you know you like it.”

No matter how many times you and Kuroo hung out, it always felt so fresh. Maybe it was because he was exciting, or because he was a little bit wild, you didn’t know.

He leaned down closer to you, getting on his elbows, deepening the kiss. He pulled away and smirked at your breathlessness. With a slender, ring adorned hand, he reached beneath your top and cupped your tits over your bra. He gave them a sharp squeeze and started placing chaste kisses on your neck. He was considerate like that, didn’t leave hickeys because he knew they’d be hard to cover for you. He groaned as he jiggled the fat of your boobs in his hands,

“God, you have the nicest tits, babe.”

You had been dating for nearly 3 months now, if that was what it was. To be honest, you weren’t really sure what you were. You hang out all the time at his or your place, there was rarely a time when you didn’t have an ache between your legs, one way or another. He didn’t really take you on ‘dates’ but chatting to him was fun in itself, you didn’t need to go out to do that. He didn’t necessarily say romantic stuff either... but he didn’t not say romantic stuff either? He beat up your ex at a party one time! That had to mean something right? He exactly wouldn’t tell you how he felt but he showed you, kissing your cheek or tilting your chin up to look at him or kissing your neck or feeling you up. But that usually led to sex, so you couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t like you only screwed though, you watched your favourite movies together... although the last couple times he just started fingering you. You showed him your playlists? No no, he showed you his playlists, his sex playlists. There seemed to be a common theme here. But... there were times, afterwards, when he would pull in you so tight, tell you how good you were for him, how well you did, how pretty you looked. Any doubts you had were gone after a few hushed words on his tobacco reeking rickety old bed. You’d never really had a relationship like this before, but you assumed it was just because Kuroo was so chill. You were probably boyfriend and girlfriend, he just didn’t feel the need to announce it, he was laidback like that. So what if you guys had a lot of sex? Weren’t you a new couple? Wasn’t this just the honeymoon stage were you can’t get your hands off each other? You didn’t want to seem high maintenance and nag, so you let it be. He was sweet enough to you, right now everything was good.

Until it wasn’t.

A clatter sounded downstairs, the door slamming open against the hallway wall.

“Kuroo! Hey man, I brought some California!”, a voice called from bellow.

Kuroo broke away immediately, spit trailing from your neck to his pink lips.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Kuroo mumbled, pushing off the bed and scrambling the pick up his discarded clothes and shove them back on.

You sat up, disgruntled, rearranging your bra strap from were he’d kneaded at it.

“What’s wrong? Who is that?”

He shot you a glance before continuing to yank back on his jeans.

“Uh, so change of plan, I can’t do tonight. I need you to go home. Discreetly.”

What?

“What? Tetsu, I’m already here,” you scoffed.

What was going on?

Why was he acting like this?

You had never seen him so... frantic.

“I know babe, and I’m really sorry about that, but my friends are here early than I said.”

“So? Can’t I meet your friends?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, just let out an exasperated breath, zipping up his fly.

“Well, yeah you can meet them, just not with me. I don’t want them knowing that I-“

He cut himself off, but you had heard enough to understand.

There was a beat of silence, only disturbed by Kuroo’s friends calling for him.

Your mouth hung open, and you scoffed in shock.

You shouldn’t be surprised really. It’s so obvious now that you think about it. So that’s what this was. That explains everything. He didn’t really like you, he was just using you. That’s why he didn’t take you anywhere, or why he didn’t show you he cared. It was because he didn’t. He wasn’t “afraid of getting close to people” or “emotionally distant”, he was just upfront about not giving two shits about you aside from your vagina. I guess he didn’t want his friends to know he was furiously screwing a fat girl any chance he got. He was embarrassed of you. You were something to be ashamed of. Your stomach jerked as you got to your feet. You were pissed, but that didn’t mean it didn’t really hurt. You had liked him. A lot.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You could see the panic in his eyes, it was quite funny actually. Of course you new what it meant, but it still made you feel a little better to watch his eyes widen like that, to hold a shred of power over him.

“I mean- well I didn’t- come on babe you know I didn’t mean it like that-“ he laughed nervously, not noticing the footsteps in the landing. You rolled your eyes. You may have been naive, but you certainly weren’t going to fall for his shit again. Whatever he spouted.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Just say it, your embarrassed of me.”

“Y/N, please, don’t you think-“

Two men burst through the door, one with spiked grey hair and one with fluffy black hair.

“Kuroo! What the hell are you doing up here we’ve been-“ the grey haired one, stopped when his eyes went from a shirtless Kuroo to you.

Your eyes flickered to Kuroo, he looked mortified.

“Ah. I see. Well, Akaashi, we better give these two some time, we can just-“

“Oh no, I was just leaving,” you grabbed your jacket from on top of his chest of drawers and turned back to the two men, putting on a big smile, adrenaline and fury spurring you on.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Your eyes shot to Kuroo, who looking like get was about to shit himself.

“You probably haven’t heard of me, me and Kuroo have actually been having sex for three months. He kept it a secret because he’s embarrassed of me. We should hang out soon though!”

“Y/N-!” Kuroo yelled, exasperation clear in his tone, but you were already descending the stairs.

He came into the hall, hands rubbing his temples.

“Y/N just come talk for a second, I can-“

But he was cut off by the door slamming.

You got in your car parked outside and sped away.

The whir of the engine and the monotony of the roads cleared your mind a bit, a mist of anger still remaining.

You can’t believe you let yourself be tricked. you were a fully grown woman, but you had been reeled in hook, line and sinker. Not only had you been reeled in, you have been reeled in by a man that still had tik tok LED lights in his room and a fucking monster can collection at the age of 24 fucking years old. The more you thought about him, the more you realised how much of an emo loser he was. Of course you were still hurting, but it was more of the angry hurt you feel when it turns out your crush is homophobic or something (been there done that, don’t ask). He was a waste of oxygen, you had decided by the time you made it back to your apartment. A waste of perfectly good space that could most definitely not get the kitty anymore. You got inside your house, pulled on some comfies and got on facetime with your friends.You told them all about what happened, and they passionately bitched about him with you, confirming your suspicion that they never liked him in the first place. They also told you to forget about his existence, he wasn’t worth a slither of your brain power, he was dirt compared to you. All in all, you felt marginally better, saying goodbye to your friends while they still giggled about how stupid Kuroo’s hair was.

This was just a speed bump, you thought as you tucked yourself into bed, you would get over this.

Fast.

“Who’s Bokuto been talking to all night?” Yamamoto leaned over to ask Lev, shouting over the blaring music.

It was a week after you had thrown Kuroo to the curb, and he was out with a couple of volleyball friends, some from Nekoma, but there was also Bokuto with them.

“I’m not sure. I think it’s Y/N something? She’s in class. She’s pretty chill.”

Kuroo’s ears perked up, and he turned around to face his friends up against the bar.

“Bokuto’s talking to who?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Y/N. She goes to my-“

“I know who Y/N is,” kuroo snapped, taking a swig of the beer in his hand and scanning the dance floor for either one of you. He found bokuto first, shoulder against the wall, holding a drink as he leant down to have you whisper something in his ear. That’s when Kuroo paid attention to you. You looked... you looked gorgeous. He felt jealousy creep up inside him. How many times had you been out looking like that since you broke things off? How many guys had you slept with since? How dare Bokuto chat you up when he knew you two had been a thing? Wasn’t he meant to be Kuroo’s friend? As Kuroo wound himself up, you and bokuto continued your extremely pleasant conversation.

“I just wanna say, sorry about Kuroo. He’s a real bonehead, but we’ve been friends since high school so I can’t ditch him.”

You snorted into your cocktail.

“What?”

“Bonehead?”

He frowned and straightened up indignantly.

“Yeah, and? What’s wrong with bonehead?”

“No no, nothing, it’s just very Legally Blonde.”

He beamed down at you.

“I love Legally Blonde!”

“You do? Me too!”

This big beefy man was very cute, you had been talking for nearly three hours now, but you never ran out of things to say. And, aside from the obligatory introduction compliments, he had not made any move to try and get you into a wendy’s bathroom as quick as possible, which you couldn’t say of yours and kuroo’s first meeting.

He had dreamy eyes, you noted as he smiled for the nth time that night.

“Whose your favourite-?”

“What the fuck are you doing man?”

You glanced scathingly over to the familiar face of your old fling.

“What?” Bokuto asked back, clearly done with his friends bad boy shtick.

“Why are you talking to her when... when you know?”

“What’s there to know? I’m talking to her because I want to, and she wants to.”

He looked over to you for approval.

“Right?”

You nodded, a little nervous. You hated Kuroo’s guts, but you knew how weirdly possessive he was, you didn’t wanna cause trouble for Bokuto.

“See? Now I don’t think she wants to see you, right?”

He looked at you again. You nodded again.

“Ok? You guys are over, now are we done?”

Kuroo huffed. His eyes flitted from Bokuto to you, remembering you were there most likely, and he scowled.

“No, we aren’t done, what are you trying to pull anyway? Trying to piss me off by talking to someone I know? Are you really that petty? Well, your little plan is working, so just-just stop, ok?”

You felt like screaming. You had just come out here to have a nice time, not listen to Kuroo’s narcissistic whining.

“Can you just fuck off? Was I not clear enough or something? You’re dead to me, Kuroo. I’m just trying to have a nice night.”

Kuroo’s mouth gaped open. He had never been spoken to like that, never. He clenched his fists at his sides and his glare intensified.

“You’re lucky I gave you the time of day, fat ugly slut.”

He grabbed Bokuto’s shoulder roughly, turning him to face him completely.

“Hey man, thanks for clearing up my sloppy seconds, really good of you. Good to know I’ve got great friends like you.”

Those were the last things out of Kuroo’s mouth before bokuto landed a punch on his cheek, knocking him to the ground.

“You’re a fucking asshole man,” Bokuto grunted.

He stepped over where Kuroo lay, and held out a hand for you to step over too. You took it quietly and trailed along behind him to the door, fingers still locked. His hands were warm, and big. Kuroo’s face must hurt right now. The thought made you smile. He held the door open for you before sighing, resting his back against the wall. You stood in front of him, twiddling with your fingers.

“I am so sorry about that,” You apologised, embarrassed and shaken by the scene Kuroo had made, “I shouldn’t have wound him up, and I shouldn’t have talked to you after I knew you guys were friends, I promise I didn’t mean to start anything.”

“Don’t be, if anything I’m sorry for not making him leave right away. And either way,” he gently reached for your hand again, and you let him take it,”I’m glad you talked to me. I’d like it if you talked to me even more.”

DISCLAIMER FOR KUROO STANS!!!! I DONT THINK HIS HAIR IS STUPID!!! it’s just when ur bestie is going thru a break up or anything entailing a male you shit talk everything about him to high hell, doesn’t matter if he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. also i have no ill will towards kuroo nor any of the characters i write shit bag fan fics about i just like to complain any way i hope you enjoyed! reblogs and replies always appreciated!!!

[metalbuckaroo]

Hi! So from the prompt list, could you do the 44th dialogue prompt where reader and roommate!Bucky are talking and bucky just keeps falling in love with her more and more but reader is oblivious to his flirting bc she doesn't think anybody wants her and while they are talking and bonding one evening they fall into the category of relationships as the topic of the conversation (sorry if it doesn't make sense, english isn't my first language)

Bad Night

Summary: After a bad date, Bucky offers his help.

Warnings: Some angst, lil fluffy, pretty cheesy, mentions of sex,

AU: Roommate!Bucky x reader

AN: After 3 days I'm finally letting this go. Not very sure how this got so long, but part of me wants to make a part 2 if that would interest anyone.

Prompt from this list. Requests are always open, reblogs and feedback are appreciated.

MASTERLIST

"Hey, dollface, can you look at something for me?" You heard Bucky call, his footsteps getting closer to your room. "If it has to do with your testicles, then no. I will not."

He stopped in your doorway, eyes wide as he looked you over. "Oh, wow. Where you going? Got a hot date you didn't tell me about?" He teased, walking further into the room.

"Yeah, hopefully this one actually goes decent. Now what do you need?"

He turned so his back was to you and pulled his shirt off. "This place on my scar is all itchy. Does it look irritated?"

Until that day you had came home early from work to Bucky standing in the kitchen shirtless. He had expected you to immediately look at the cluster of scar tissue on his shoulder and never see him the same. Instead, you had just greeted him like any other day; a warm smile that made his heart melt before blabbering about your day and asking him about his.

This hadn't been the first time he'd asked for you to inspect a spot on his jagged scar. Although for the first month he'd make it a point to cover it, not wanting to freak you out.

That's when he got more comfortable, walking around without a shirt or just in a towel after a shower. When your smile started making his heart melt even more than before.

You touched your fingers to a small red blotch on the spot where dark metal met skin and he shivered slightly, goosebumps forming on his skin. "Yeah, it is a little. Try putting lotion on it."

He sighed and turned to face you, looking down at your dress. "Who is this guy? Do I know him?" He said cocking an eyebrow at you. "I tried that stupid dating app you suggested." You exhaled, shrugging your shoulders.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he shook his head. "You're not going." He said folding his arms across his chest. You raised your eyebrows and copied his actions. "And whys that?"

"Because, I should've never told you to try it. Dating apps are full of weird people." He muttered, going over to your dresser. "Murderers, stalkers, creepy cat people."

He opened the drawer and pulled out some clothes to stuff into your hands. "Which is why, you're staying in with me." He smiled, sparkling white teeth flashing at you.

Rolling your eyes you put the clothes back in their spots. "If I don't go on a decent date for once, I'm going to end up a creepy cat person. Besides, not all cat people are creepy. Mrs. Lawrey is really nice."

"She's an exception." He nodded, following you towards your bedroom door and down the hall. "If it makes you feel better, I'll text you if he starts acting creepy."

He huffed a breath and grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around to look at him. "Fine, but, that means I get to come rescue my girl if he does."

You felt a slight blush creep your neck and moved away from him to slip your shoes on. "You're just saying that, because I pay half of the bills." You said, opening the front door.

"And you cook pretty good. Now, go on. Be safe." He teased, swatting at your backside as you walked out into the hallway. "Try not to break anything, please." You told him on your way down the hallway.

"Not making a promise I might break."

_____

The date had went horrible, one slip up and he said a few choice words to you before calling a cab to leave.

You swiped your fingertips under your eyes to erase any sign of crying before you got to your front door, wanting to avoid Bucky at all costs.

"Hey, dollface. Back already?" He said from the living room. "Yeah..." You mumbled back, trying to make a break for your bedroom to change.

Bucky could tell something was wrong by how you weren't rambling about everything that happened. "Oh, no you don't. Get back in here."

You exhaled and turned back around to look at him. "What, James?" You sighed, walking closer to where he was sat in a recliner. "What'd he do?" He said, narrowing his eyes at you. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"You're crying, I wanna know why. What'd he do?" You rolled your eyes at his stern voice and shook your head. "Just didn't go very well." You said, sucking in a deep breath.

They never did. As soon as you let one little fact slip, they'd high tail. You would've been better off staying home like Bucky had suggested.

Bucky's voice broke you from your self pity. "C'mere." His hand reached out to grab your wrist and tug you closer. "I'm not sitting on your lap, that's weird."

He scrunched his nose up and shook his head. "Doesn't have to be. Stop being a brat and let me comfort you."

Once you were sat on his right thigh with your side against him, he wrapped his arms around you and leaned his head back against the chair. "This should be our new bonding method. Feels like we're getting closer by the second."

You teetered your head back and forth, pressing your lips into a thin line. "Maybe because, I'm on your lap. That's pretty close."

A soft pat to your thigh and he was looking directly at you, blue eyes dancing back and forth in curiosity.

He wanted to know what made you so sad and torn up about one stupid date. "Tell me about it?"

You took another deep breath and he lifted his head so you could slip your arm behind his neck. "Every single time I go on a date, they mention sex. As soon as I tell them I'm a virgin they're gone. Tonight's was just extra rude about it."

His eyebrows creased together, hand moving to your knee. "You're a virgin? How?"

You looked at the ceiling, tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. "Hm, could be from never having sex." You said the most obvious answer.

"No, I mean-" he huffed a laugh and gestured a hand over you. "Look at you."

You pinched his side and he narrowed his eyes at you. "I thought we told each other everything?" He mumbled, his lips turning down into a frown.

"No, James. You tell me everything. I don't tell you near as much." You said patting his chest, the chain of his dog tags cool on your palm. "You don't have to, I know a lot just by paying attention." He said, giving a nonchalant shrug.

"Now, explain, miss goody-two-shoes. Why hasn't anyone popped your cherry?"

You looked to your lap and pursed your lips. "When I was younger I never felt the need to lose it. Now, I can't seem to find a guy who doesn't want to have sex on the first date. I'm not losing it to someone I barely know."

When Bucky stayed silent you looked at him, he was chewing on the inside of his cheek and you could see the gears turning as he looked at you.

He wanted to offer his help, but didn't want to scare you away. That was the whole reason he hadn't said how he felt over the past couple of months.

Although, he wasn't sure how you never noticed. How you hadn't noticed the lingering touches and looks, everything he'd say.

You had waved it off as mindless flirting because that's how he played it off; as him being a flirt without any serious intentions.

"You're being quiet and it's weird. Say something." You said flicking the tip of his nose. "I'll do it. If you wanna lose it, I'll do it. I know a lot about you."

"Buck-" you shook your head, trying to wrap your head around what he was saying. "You can't be serious." You said breathing a soft laugh.

He nodded and his hand on your knee moved to the back of your thigh.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you looked at him, his strong features completely serious. "I'm gonna go to bed. Its late."

Just like Bucky thought would happen, he was scaring you away. "Wait- no, come back." He said as you pulled out of his grip and stood.

You shook your head and cleared your throat. "Nope, not coming back. I know you don't mean it because... You're Bucky and you say shit like that all the time, so..." You inhaled deeply and started towards the hallway. "I'm gonna go get ready for bed."

Bucky stood from the chair and followed after you. "Sugar, wait." He grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you towards him, nearly crashing you into his chest.

In a sudden movement, his hands held your cheeks and his lips engulfed yours, the abrupt motion causing you to stumble a step back; your hands flying up to grip the sides of his shirt.

The kiss was slow and deep, the taste of his minty toothpast flooding your tastebuds when he slipped his tongue pass your lips.

He pulled away after a moment, looking at your shocked expression. "I mean it."

[gotnofucks]

Will you make me a drabble where I ask Steve to be my daddy or just make him my daddy🥺🥺👉👈 love you bestie!!

Title: The Journey to Daddy

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Five times you call Steve ‘daddy’, and the one times he asks you to.

Words: 1.6k

Warning: slight smut, daddy kink, some jealousy and possessiveness, 18+ Only

A/N: There is only one person who can ever make me go soft. Berry, this is for you. Love you more my queen @donutloverxo

+++++

1.

Sometimes, you felt like an onion. You had a lot of layers around you: secrets, insecurities, dreams you were scared of living, things that were never said. And every time, it felt like Steve would peel a layer to expose the truest form of you. You'd never felt as naked as you did when his eyes were fixed on you, with no judgement or question, only love.

You'd been going out for months now, learning about each other, exploring your boundaries. Steve was the most attentive boyfriend. He was caring and respectful, always there for you before you even asked for him. He'd lift you up when you needed something from the top shelf. He'd cook for you because he knew you liked the domestic look on him. He'd tickle you to tears when you were down, trailing kisses down your forehead to your nose to your chin before blowing a raspberry on the hollow of your neck that would have you giggling.

Steve was so perfect, and it was very unconscious the first time you called him Daddy. You were in the kitchen and had broken a plate when Steve came rushing out, carrying you away from the wreckage to make sure you were okay. he wouldn't let you clean it, afraid you'd hurt yourself.

"You're okay baby?" He had asked.

"Yes daddy" you had softly replied into his neck, soothed by his smell. And though he didn't say anything, the thought kept running in his head. Daddy?

2.

Your cries got higher with each thrust, nails digging into Steve’s shoulder as he pumped into you. He loved it when you got like this, all dumbed down and messy, garbling words that felt like poetry to him. You came around him again, squeezing his length between the velvety walls of your sex and he released into you with a growl.

Sweaty and spent, you looked a beauty to him as you laid under his naked body covered in his essence. His large body framed yours and as he leaned in to kiss your glistening and bruised lips, you tiredly said, "I love you, daddy".

He stilled, whispering a love you back before collapsing next to you. Looking at you drifting away, he got up to clean you and cover you up, holding you close as his thoughts ran wild. There it was again. Daddy. Why did you call him that?

3.

Your birthdays were more important to Steve than they were to you. Every time, even when you’d not been dating, Steve would pull all stops for your birthday. He’d arrange a party that would consist only of your closest friends and family, cook all your favorite food, and would make sure everyone got you a present you liked.

There was that time Steve had made a list and gave it out. “Just get her something from this. I know what she likes.” Idiot. He should have put only his name on the list, since there was nothing you wanted more than him. Today, as you celebrated this day as a couple, he decided to make it intimate and private.

He decorated the balcony in your favorite fairy lights, lightening soft candles and putting your favorite flowers everywhere so that it smelled divine. You both sat under the stars, holding each other as you snuggled in the blanket, talking in hushed tone.

“What did you wish for when you blew the candles?” He asked, pressing his lips on the crown of your head. You looked at him, eyes reflecting the candles that danced in the wind.

“I have everything I want. Here.” You said, touching his chest. “You’re all I want. Thank you for today, daddy.”

You kissed him, not noticing the slight hitch in his breath as you said that. Daddy, he liked how that sounded.

4.

The sounds of typing were a normal in your house, but it bothered Steve when it went past midnight for the third night in a row. He saw you stifle another yawn, rubbing at your eyes as you tried to finish this project on time. You worked way too hard if you asked him.

“Baby, come to bed. It’s late.”

“I can’t, really need to get this done.”

Steve sighed, washing your now empty coffee mug before sitting beside you. He counted three more yawns along with four curses whispered under your breath and he knew he needed to step in. Gently stopping your hand, he turned you to face him and cupped your face.

“You still have four days before you need to turn this in. Come to bed honey, you’re tired and I don’t wanna sleep without you.”

You pouted, tired and internally glad that he finally stopped you. Nodding, you allowed him to more or less carry you into the bedroom and put you into pajamas, tucking you into the warmth of his body as he turned out the lights.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll make you your favorite breakfast tomorrow so you’re all charged up for another day of working. I love you.”

His arms came around you, your back to his chest. Tangling your fingers with his, you pressed a sleepy kiss on his knuckles before whispering into the dark, “good night daddy. Love you too.”

5.

The fifth time you did it, you scared him.

The Avengers Gala was something Steve hated and loved. He loved he could have you on his arm, his girl to proclaim before the world. His friends got together and had a nice time, and people he hadn’t seen for a while surfaced too.

What Steve couldn’t handle was the audacity of men to ogle you. Despite you being on his arm, they would follow you with their creepy eyes, trying to sneak in a word whenever someone pulled him away from you. He knew he mustn’t be jealous; if there was anything Steve was ever secure about, it was your love for him. But he couldn’t stand still watching some good for nothing bastard try to win you over with a pick up line that was older than he was.

“Excuse me gentlemen” He almost growled, taking your arm possessively before whisking you away into a dark corner, intent on having you all to himself. You rolled your eyes, used to this act by now. You’d never told him, but it was almost endearing watching a man like him get so antsy over you.

“You can’t always hide me away!” You chided him but didn’t push him away. You preferred his company over any other, and if were to take you home right now, you wouldn’t mind. Steve bit his lips before cutting a glance to the men who were flirting with you earlier, a snarl lodged in his chest.

“No, but I can do this!” His lips crashed on yours, pulling you into a deep kiss that tasted of his power and love. You melted into his touch, arms hooking around his neck to bring him down to your height, tongues tangling together in a sloppy kiss. Steve didn’t let up until you had to finally break to breath, both panting hard.

“What was that for?” You asked, softly touching your lips that tingled.

“To remind everyone that you belong to me!” He said, pulling you closer. You smiled, pressing another kiss on his lips before tucking your head under his neck.

“Of course I belong to you daddy.”

He spent the rest of the party distracted. You’d called him that a lot recently. But why? Did you want him to be a daddy? You'd both decided to never to have children in the early days of getting together. Why then did you call him daddy? And why did it send a thrill down his back? God, he hoped you weren't pregnant.

+ 1

The morning after the party, he woke you up with kisses trailing down your neck, soothing the sting of the bites he had placed there last night. As you whimpered, wanting to sleep some more, he pushed a hand under your top to tickle your ribs, smiling as you giggled and squirmed.

“Steve!” You squealed as he reached under your breast. He chuckled before kissing up your exposed tummy, loving the sounds of your laughter as he reached your mouth and pressed deep and slow kisses there.

“Good morning.” He said, nuzzling his nose into you. You sighed in happiness, snuggling into him and breathing in his scent.

“Good morning.”

You stayed that way for a while, him gently rocking you back and forth as you hummed, enjoying the quiet morning together. It was after a few minutes that Steve spoke.

“Why do you call me daddy?”

A sudden shyness came over you and you buried your face deeper into his chest, not speaking. Steve tutted, gently pulling you back and titling your face up to meet his eyes.

"Do you want us to have a kid?" Steve asked and you shook your head.

"No." You said, embarrassed.

"Then why do you call me daddy?"

You looked at him with glittering eyes, cupping his cheek softly that was threatening to develop a scruff if not shaved.

"Because I trust you." You said. "I never have to hide from you, never have to worry. You look after me, you love me unconditionally. You care about me in a way no one has ever before. When you take charge, it makes me feel good. I love it when you guide me in bed. I love it when you step up and look after me. Calling you daddy puts those feelings into words."

Steve couldn't look away from you and your eyes. The love and trust you put in him made him a better person, it made him feel worthy. All he ever wanted in life was to have someone to call his own, to hold them and love them and never let any harm come to them. Looking into your eyes, he knew he had all he wanted. He held you closer and tighter, brushing your lips with his.

"Say it again then, baby."

"Daddy"

[highdramas]

forever is the sweetest con | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: language and tfatws spoilers? not really but just in case

word count: 2167

summary: bucky makes a friend in his neighbor and her cat.

note: hiiiii so happy that so many people enjoyed the world's a little blurry! i am going to be writing multiple one shots, all connecting and showing little snapshots from the life of bucky and the reader <3 you don't have to read them in order, but reading all of them will help you better understand the relationship!

enjoy! <3

“stupid fucking thing.”

the swearing followed by incoherent irritable grumbling is like a dog whistle to bucky barnes. he’s standing outside of his apartment, lingering in the hallway, waiting to see if the person will speak again. to the surprise of no one, bucky hasn’t put much effort into getting to know his neighbors. he gives curt nods as he passes them in the hallway, tries his best to muster a smile when he gets caught at the mailbox beside someone else. he thinks that it looks more like a grimace than anything, but still-- it’s something.

“son of a bitch.”

the voice is feminine, and it is angry. he’s trying to discern if there is any immediate distress, and if there is-- maybe he can help. he’s pulled from his thoughts quickly as a door swings open and a large box is thrown out onto the doorstep. “fucking hell.”

the door doesn’t close. it stays open, still swinging, as if recoiling from the force in which it was tossed open. bucky could very easily continue on his way to his apartment, put away the few groceries he had purchased-- mostly pasta and cereal-- and spend his evening how he spends most evenings. fighting off sleep, because he knows what comes the moment consciousness fades and the darkness swallows him whole.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he dashes to his door and places the bag at the entryway, turning back on his heel. he fiddles with his gloves as he grows closer and closer to the door. and then, he sees you.

bucky can’t see much-- the door is only cracked. but what he can see almost makes him laugh. you’re huddled over what he assumes is a cat tower. well, a sorry excuse for a cat tower, really-- it’s half put together with miscellaneous pieces strewn all around you. you seem to be studying the instruction manual, flipping through it before you eventually toss it to the side. “kitty, i don’t know about all of this,” he hears you say.

again, there are multiple options here in terms of what bucky can do. he can leave now, pretend he never saw anything. he can check on you, and then… and then what? he doesn’t know.

he knocks.

bucky takes a step back as you scramble to your feet, pushing your hair back. you open the door and up at the stranger. “hi.” the word is short, and he can tell that you are not in a good mood. “if you’re going to bitch me out about the noise, i’m sorry. i bought a new cat tower for my cat, and it’s a bitch to put together. and i hate building anything, so i’m basically useless.” you suck in a breath and muster a smile. “so, like i said. sorry. i’ll be a better neighbor tomorrow.”

you go to close the door, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he blurts-- “wait-- no.” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “no, i wasn’t gonna bitch you out. i was--”

what was he going to say? what was he going to do?

“i was going to say i could help. if you want.” he clears his throat and rubs at his chin with a gloved hand. “i’m alright at putting furniture together.”

you linger in the doorway and look at him. though there are countless people who look at him every day, oftentimes, bucky doesn’t feel like he’s being recognized. sometimes he wonders if he is secretly invisible, drifting through this too-long life as a ghost. but the look you give him is piercing, and the smile that follows makes his heart stop in his chest.

“i’m not gonna turn down someone building this god forsaken thing for me,” you open the door wider. “come on in.”

--

bucky finishes his handiwork on the cat tower within thirty minutes, but something about you draws him in, and now it has been an hour and a half and he has not tired of your company.

you are very charming. that is the first thing that bucky notices about you. and it’s not just your personality, either. everything in your apartment seems to drip in you. there is no wall that is bare, there are different colored lights twinkling around each window, plants galore. it makes him almost feel embarrassed about the state of his own home. if you can even call it that.

it’s not a home. it’s a place where he fights off his demons and drinks cheap beer and pretends that he is okay, pretends that he is not alone, pretends that he doesn’t need sam or his therapist or anyone else in order to figure out how to live in the present.

but yours. yours is a home.

there’s a pang of jealousy, nestled deep in his heart. he doesn’t care if the thought is unreachable for someone like him, someone who has done the sort of things that he has done-- he wants it.

the thought will never reach the light of day, of course. no, it will stay buried in his belly, churning with the guilt and the anguish and the loneliness, too.

“you good over there?”

“huh?”

bucky looks up to see that you’re looking at him. your head is tilted and your mouth slightly agape, and the look… he can’t quite place it. it’s more confusion and less concern, and in a weird way, he likes that. “yeah. i’m fine.”

he’s confused by the way that the corner of your mouth turns up. “you’re a good liar,” is all that you quip before you push up off the ground, dusting off your leggings. “do you like pizza? i’m starving, and i would cook us something, but i don’t want to subject you to that. my mom says the only thing i should ever make is cereal, and even that’s pushing it. says i use too much milk.”

bucky laughs.

and it shocks him. it takes no thought at all to laugh at your words, your charm, the way that you carry yourself with such easy self deprecating humor. you make him laugh.

you, on the other hand, don’t think anything of it. you raise your eyebrows at him. “well? it’s pizza or we’re eating two big bowls of honey nut cheerios.”

“pizza is good.”

you bite down on your lip and you nod, fishing your phone from your back pocket. “great.”

bucky studies you as you order the food.

he’s learning that there are many things that he envies you for.

every muscle in your body is loose and relaxed. you don’t walk, you seem to float-- drifting in and out of rooms, brushing past him, as if you’re made up of nothing but air and stardust. you joke with the employee on the other line and then you hang up and look back to him. “i said we’d go and pick it up. it’s my favorite place, just down the street.”

“yeah, that sounds nice.”

bucky follows your lead. he’d never taken off his jacket, or his gloves, but you hadn’t made a comment about them. you scramble into clothing suitable for a new york winter and then grin at him, face slightly obscured by the massive scarf. “ready?”

he nods, and then you set out. you’re quiet for a few moments, before you say, “you’re bucky, right?”

there’s a silence that settles between you, as if some jig is now up. you glance over at him. “that’s not a bad thing,” you say softly. “or an insult.”

“yeah, i know.” his elbow knocks against yours lightly. “but, yeah. i am.”

you nod and offer your own name in return, and that is that. you don’t allude to anything else that you might or might not about him, his past, or the fact that he was used as a hydra weapon for a majority of his life, now thrust into a brand new century. no, all you do is say, “bucky’s a nice name.”

“thanks, doll.”

the pet name rolls off of his tongue so easily, like breathing. he stops for a moment, leaning into the urge to be embarrassed, but you don’t let him. “no one’s ever called me that before,” you say, brushing against his arm. “i like it.”

“it’s what all the guys used to call their girls.” he stops. “not that, you know--”

“yeah, i know,” you laugh. “i know what you meant.” you glance up at him again. “like i said, i like it.”

bucky swallows his nervousness and instead comes reassurance at your words. “i can keep callin’ you doll, if you really like it that much.”

playfulness. ease. comfort. things he has not felt in so long-- yori has tried to pull them out of him when it comes to women, but it has always felt forced, too fast, not right. this feels right.

“you make it sound like it’s such a chore!” you gape at him, but your voice is not malicious in the slightest. you are holding james buchanan barnes in the palm of your hand and you do not even know it.

“it’s not a chore,” bucky reassures. “trust me.”

“whatever you say,” you point to a small hole in the wall shop. “this is it.”

bucky holds the door open for you and you smile and wink as a thank you and god it sends his mind spinning, intoxicated by even the look that you give him. your name is performed like a symphony by every employee in the shop-- they all grin and wave, some make small talk. they eye bucky who stands a step behind you. but you turn and you place a hand on his forearm and even through all of the layers he swears that your touch burns. “this is my neighbor--” you look to him.

bucky clears his throats and he musters a smile, somewhere between his normal grimace and the smile that only seems to form in your presence. “james.”

they greet bucky with kindness and send the both of you on your way with the large pizza and a free liter of diet coke. “her favorite,” the owner says pointedly, winking to you. “we’re always trying to tell her to stop. maybe you can get her to knock the habit.”

“i don’t think anyone can get me to stop drinking diet coke,” you joke, looking at bucky with a level of fondness. “but he can certainly try.”

“i’ll give it a valiant effort,” bucky says and he tips his head to everyone before he opens the door for you once more. he holds the pizza and you hold the soda, tucked beneath your arm, and you make the trek back to your apartment in comforting quiet.

bucky learns that you don’t have a dining room table. you call it a waste of space, so you two sit in front of your coffee table on floor pillows, eating off mismatched plates and drinking the diet coke out of mugs from the thrift store you frequent.

the night is growing quieter, and you think that both you and bucky sense that it is coming to an end. you think you might be a bit addicted to being around him. he reminds you of the smell after it rains and black coffee, of laughter under neon lights and gentleness.

bucky is beginning to gather his things to leave when a meow turns both of your heads. your eyes light up. “hi baby,” you coo and the cat goes right to you and you scoop her up in your arms, presenting her to bucky. “this is katherine. or kitty, as i call her. she’s normally pretty scared of people.”

bucky hesitates, looking between you and the cat. finally, his hand reaches out and scratches kitty beneath the chin. she purrs almost instantly, nuzzling her face into his hand. you watch, somewhere in between shocked and amazed, as bucky interacts with her. “no, i swear, she hates people.” you pause. “wanna hold her?”

“oh, i don’t know…”

you raise your eyebrows and then he looks back at the cat, who gives a yap. it seems to say: please? he huffs and it fades into a smile and he holds his arms out. you set kitty into them and watch as she curls into him, rubbing the top of her head against his chin.

a girlish laugh bubbles from the deep pit of you belly and you clasp your hands together in front of you, watching with hearts in your eyes. the corner of his mouth turns up as he continues to pet the cat.

“bucky,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “i hate to inform you, she’s never gonna let you go now.”

bucky looks up at you through his lashes. you, with your easy and calm demeanor, your loud laugh and your inability to build even the simplest of furniture.

“i think i’m okay with that.”

[freetheshit-outofyou]

Last night my Bride was on the phone with her sister, her sister was going on about a lady inserting herself in to my sister in law disciplining one of her kids in a public setting and how her sister handled it. Then my Bride tells her about what happened when a similar thing happened with me a few years back while I had the kids at Walmart……

Our kids are normally well behaved kids, they have been from the start. But, as siblings will do, they both started acting up. Then started feeding off each other acting the fool until it was out of hand. I asked the kids to stop, I told them to stop, lastly I told them what would happen if they did not stop. This ultimatum caught their attention, for a bit, but in the middle of the bread aisle they lost their shit again. For that each of them earned a swat on the ass in front of all the people around us. With both of them looking at me with crocodile tears and quivering chins I knelt down so we were all on the same level and asked them if they understood why they got a swat on the butt. As my kid were about to answer a lady pushes her was past and old couple and yells at me, "I know why they took beating in Walmart, it's because you are a pig and a child abuser, and I'm calling the cop!" I looked at the kids and said "Kids, this is a learning moment." My kids had genuine confusion on their faces now.

I stood up and turned to her and said "Ma'am if you feel the need to call the police please do, I'll be in the checkout line." She bears down on me and is about 3 feet away when she stops and screams "I saw you beat those children I'm going to make sure you get arrested and your kids are taken from you, you fucking pig."  Now my kids are freaking out because some nut case is screaming about tearing apart the family and my kids lost it.

I looked at my kids and said please pay attention, this is important. I then looked at the lady and said. "Ma'am I swatted my kids butts because they were getting well out of control and needed to be reeled back in. Not unlike you, here and now. I then attempted to talk to them on their level so they could learn from this even, then you had to open your mouth screaming all kind of foul crap, scaring the kids with your threats and your aggressive verbal attacks that now have all these good people looking at you like the total nutcase you are." I looked at my kids and said "You see this women, she has never been swatted on the ass and it shows in the way she acts. She's never been popped in the soup cooler for running her mouth and I really really need you to learn this lesson now so you won't be her in 10 years. I spanked you today to get your attention, but this lady has taught you more than that swat ever will.  She's shown you what it looks like when you have no honor, no discipline, and what it looks like when you are a total cunt and inject yourself into things that don't involve you." Oh she freaking exploded, screaming at levels that should have broken glass, and she started to close that last few feet and I put my hand to my hip. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned fish belly white, in a voice that was quivering with rage, hate and uncontrolled emotion she spits out "Do you have a fucking gun? Are you going to shoot me....in front of your kids?" I said "Miss if you don't back up I will do anything and everything to protect my family and myself from you."

Now there are like 30 people packed in the bread aisle like we are having a school yard fight. She screams I'm calling 911. as she does her hands are shaking with rage and as she starts to talk to the 911 dispatcher and she drops her phone and it breaks into a dozen pieces. She looks at my with homicide in her eyes to mad to even speak at this point. I extend out my hand and ask her if she'd like to use my phone. The whole aisle let's out a communal "OHHHHHH".

Now Walmart’s loss prevention folks have come and are trying to act hard and tell her and I to go to their office and wait for the Sheriff's office. I looked at them while she is screaming at them and mouth "I'll be in the checkout line" as I walk past them.  The old man she had shoved passed at the start of this mess, pats me on the back and said "Son, you're doing just fine, you've got some good kids there. Keep it up."

The Sheriff did eventually get there, looked at security footage and told me to have a nice day. I don't know what happened to her.

I'd forgotten all about that day until my Bride brought it back up.

I also think that was the last time any of the kids took a pop on the butt, funny how that worked out.

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[honeyedhoseok]

Blue | 01

genre | jeon jungkook x reader; lifeguard!JK but this isn't really a lifeguard fic; soulmate!au if you squint; smut; angst

word count | 9.9K

summary | that summer with jungkook was blue--a shade that carries with it a tinge of melancholia that you should have accepted from the beginning.

or,

to say that you fell in love with a color was an overstatement, but to say that you fell in love with him was an understatement.

a/n | i've been writing this to avoid my responsibilities. hope you enjoy! <3

series masterlist

It rained the first day Jungkook worked at the pool.

You’d heard the news of a few new lifeguards starting that day, but you’d been too busy serving ice cream at the snack bar to really get anything other than a quick glance at the lifeguard stand before you were locking eyes with the next greedy customer in line.

It was the beginning of summer, with the air sitting hot, dry and heavy on the normal patrons of the pool: older moms who sunbathed and gossiped with their friends while their kids splashed in the shallow end and gave the lifeguards something to do. Teenagers too cool to actually get in the pool littered the sides, only dipping their feet in while using expensive Ray Ban frames like a headband to hold their hair out of their eyes while they talked with their friends.

The forecast had mentioned some scattered storms, but normally that just meant getting everyone to come inside for a few minutes until it passed. The storm that day, however, had plans of sticking around a little bit longer.

You were passing a cup of strawberry shortcake soft serve out the window when the first clap of thunder sounded, followed by a lightning storm that sent the lifeguards in a tizzy. Multiple whistles blew at the sudden appearance of a storm, and the atmosphere was a rush of splashing and commotion as people made their way out of the water and to their belongings scattered in chairs on the sides.

“Well, that came out of nowhere,” your coworker, Jihyo says, sidling up beside you to look at the clouds looming over what was supposed to be a normal day at the pool. “Wonder if we’ll get to go home early?”

“I hope not,” you reply. “I need these hours, damn it. The Blooming Festival is in a few weeks, and I plan on taking off at least three days to soak it all in.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve only mentioned it, maybe, every day I’ve worked with you so far?”

Serving ice cream at the pool was just a summer job. You were working there to make some money so you could do things with your friends, put gas in your car, and occasionally splurge on a new outfit or pair of shoes. It was supposed to be as normal as every other summer you’d worked there in between college semesters—until he showed up.

In fifteen minutes, the pool was shut down completely; all of the patrons were packed up and back in their cars after an announcement from your manager that the storm was forecasted to not let up for at least another hour and a half.

“Oh, we’re definitely going home,” Jihyo says, shutting the serving window and twisting the lock. “When’s the last time Seokjin shut down the pool indefinitely?”

You purse your lips, leaning back against the counter behind you and looking out at the pouring rain behind Jihyo. The wind was starting to pick up now, leaves and debris filling the once-clean surface of the cerulean water of the pool.

You start to make a bitter remark but the sound of heavy, slapping footsteps cuts you off, followed by a loud pounding at the back door. Jihyo looks toward the source of the noise with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her chin up stubbornly.

“More twelve-year-olds coming to demand that we restock Moose Tracks?”

“Hey, Moose Tracks is a classic!” you call at her back as she goes to unlock the door. “It’s not their fault you keep picking unpopular flavors to order each week—like Mint Chocolate Chip!”

The back door opens, and the shop is suddenly flooded with voices following Jihyo back into the small space.

“MCC is the goddamn classic, Y/N,” Jihyo says, stomping back into the conversation like she never left off. “Don’t ever bash it again, or I’ll stop ordering Sea Salt Caramel for your uncultured ass!”

You want to laugh, but you’re too distracted by the hoard of boys—lifeguards—trailing behind her. Yoongi and the two new guys crowd your space suddenly, and you find yourself backing up into one of the corners and trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt for just arguing with Jihyo over ice cream flavors, of all things.

The boys are soaking wet, puddles collecting at their feet on the tiled inside of the kitchen, but they seem unphased by it as they huddle in. Thankfully, one of them comes to your rescue.

“I’m with her,” he says, giving you a nod. His smile fills up his whole face as he talks, making his eyes turn into little crescent half-moons. “Sea Salt Caramel is where it’s at.”

The other lifeguard doesn’t say anything, gaze focused over your heads outside where the wind is knocking sunbathing chairs over. You realize then how tall he is—possibly half a foot or more than you—and the thought that if you were close enough, your nose wouldn’t even brush the dip of his clavicle, has your cheeks burning.

He and the half-moon lifeguard have similar builds: long, lean body statures, almond-shaped eyes, the same dark hair that falls in wet strands in their eyes. You wonder if they’re related. Maybe the taller one is the older brother, you think.

“The great ice cream debate,” Yoongi murmurs suddenly, sounding bored. “How about we have some and solve this problem once and for all?”

As he reaches for one of the serving spoons, Jihyo’s arm flies out, smacking it out of his hands. It falls with a clatter onto the counter, and he looks at her with an animated expression of surprise and disgust.

“Uh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “It’s like Seokjin’s only rule for us.”

“Seokjin can kiss my—“

As if on cue, the back door swings open and Yoongi shuts his mouth as Seokjin comes in, looking incredibly dry due to the floor-length plastic covering hanging from his umbrella.

Leave it to Seokjin to own something as extra as that, you think.

“Get comfy,” he says as he steps out of the plastic, shaking water off the top that splashes onto your scuffed, white Keds.

You gaze down, realizing only then that none of the lifeguards are wearing shoes. Yoongi’s pinky toe is edging dangerously close to a melted puddle of chocolate ice cream you forgot to clean up, but you don’t have the guts to tell him in front of your manager, so you shoo the thought away and focus on the grim look on Seokjin’s face. He’s chewing gum and looks slightly annoyed at the thought of all five of you huddled inside instead of doing work.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he says, “but I need you guys to stay here until the storm calms down. It should pass in an hour or two.”

Jihyo frowns. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll send you home.”

She grins triumphantly.

“And I’ll need you to come in early tomorrow to clean up that mess out there,” Seokjin adds, giving her a sickly-sweet smile. He blows a bubble with his pink chewing gum for emphasis, the pop resonating in the small space.

Yoongi frowns and Jihyo’s mouth drops open. The new lifeguards seem as surprised as the other two, and they eye Seokjin curiously, probably trying to figure out what kind of manager he is. Even after all this time working for him, you don’t really know the answer to that question, either.

“Any more questions?” he asks, tone leaning somewhat on annoyance. But then again, that’s how Seokjin always sounded.

Jihyo shakes her head and Yoongi gives him a deepened frown in answer.

“Good. You,” he says, looking pointedly at Yoongi and mimicking his annoyed expression. “See to it that Hoseok and Jungkook get acquainted with the rules.” He steps inside his clear cocoon of an umbrella, reaching down to zip it up above his head. “And I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go outside and clean up.”

Jungkook, you think. You know immediately that it’s his name because it just fits him. You feel yourself rolling the unspoken syllables around the inside of your mouth, wondering when you’ll get the first chance to say them aloud.

Yoongi salutes half-assedly, and Jihyo elbows him in the side after Seokjin turns around and makes his exit. After the back door is shut, the five of you visibly deflate, and Yoongi sucks his teeth.

“That guy,” he mutters. “One of these days—”

“I wish you’d learn your lesson and stop messing with him,” Jihyo says, interrupting whatever nasty comment was about to spill from his mouth. “It’s probably because of you that Seokjin wants us to stay, instead of going home in this god-awful weather.”

“Why doesn’t he like Yoongi?” Hoseok asks, eyes flickering to the chestnut-haired, simmering boy to his left.

“His most recent offense?” Jihyo ponders, crossing her arms over her chest as she thinks. “Not showing up for his shift—threedays in a row.”

“I was sick,” Yoongi says dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What did you want me to do? Not stay in bed and get better?”

“Oh, your bed must suddenly have relocated to the pool hall at five in the afternoon, huh?” she says, tilting her head to the side in mocking. “Snapchat locations don’t lie, Yoongi. If you’re going to play hooky, do it better.”

Hoseok chuckles. “Damn, man.”

Yoongi, never one to back down from an argument, flicks his brown fringe out of his eyes. “Why don’t you teach me then, Little Miss Stomachache?”

“I had cramps!” Jihyo says indignantly.

“You’ll learn that being around these two is like being around an old married couple,” you murmur to Jungkook and Hoseok as Yoongi and Jihyo’s voices rise louder and louder in contest. “They get along like cats and dogs.”

Jungkook grins at your comment, and you think your heart stops a little in your chest before starting an accelerated rhythm that has you feeling light. His lips pull back prettily over his teeth, his cheeks balling a little from the force of it.

“I’m thinking cats and dogs might actually be more civil than this, to be honest,” Hoseok says, gesturing to an annoyed Yoongi threatening to rub his clammy, wet feet on Jihyo’s bare, shorts-clad legs.

In the time that you had worked there, there were very few civil moments between Jihyo and Yoongi. You think that maybe they were civil when Yoongi first started, and you remember faintly a comment made by Jihyo that Yoongi was “cute” and maybe that they exchanged numbers at some point—but then rumors went around that Yoongi said Jihyo was too loud and controlling, and Jihyo said he was a selfish bastard, and you think they’ve been sworn enemies ever since.

“You’re probably right,” you say finally, giggling at Hoseok’s comment. You stop abruptly when you see Jungkook’s eyes fall to your mouth at the sight of it splitting open with a grin. They linger there for a moment before he speaks for the first time since entering you and Jihyo’s space.

“What did you say your name was, again?” he asks.

His voice is soft and low, almost a lilted hum, and it catches you off guard in comparison to his very boyish, young features. You expected it to be higher, to sound almost preteen-like, but it’s nothing of the sort—it immediately has you questioning how old he is in comparison to Hoseok.

“Y/N,” you say. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I guess.”

Jungkook smiles again, and this time it feels like one especially conjured up for you.

“Y/N,” he repeats, the sound of his tongue rolling over the syllables sends a little zap to your insides. “You um, have a little something there, on your shirt.”

He takes one hand out of his blue swim trunks and points to your breastbone, where a dark splotch of chocolate ice cream sits over your sternum.

“Aw, fuck!” you murmur, facing burning as you spin around on your heel, grabbing the nearest hand towel and dabbing at your shirt. “These kids—”

“It wouldn’t stain like that if it was Mint Chocolate Chip,” Jihyo sneers suddenly, cutting whatever Yoongi was about to say to her off. She grins triumphantly at the stain, returning to your argument from earlier. “Would it?”

You flip her the bird, still dabbing at the fabric—but you can’t help but revel a little in the cute smile Jungkook gives you as he watches you fuss over yourself, digging around the kitchen space for anything to save you from the ice cream on your shirt.

After that fated day, your mind lingered on Jungkook incessantly. At the pool, you glanced at him more often than not from the serving window of the ice cream stand, committing him to memory. You found yourself reminiscing over the upended triangular shape of his upper body, the lithe muscle covering his shoulder blades, the image of a whistle poised between his rosy lips, his teeth pressed tightly against the metal, his body wet and glistening as he rose out of the pool—

“You’re literally drooling, Y/N,” Jihyo says, breaking you out of your reverie by snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, go talk to him?”

“I will,” you say indignantly. “I told you—I’m waiting.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, nodding. “Still waiting.”

“Jesus,” Jihyo sighs. “I didn’t want to do this, but you know he’s only here for the summer, right?”

You freeze in the middle of cleaning the counter. “He’s what?”

“You heard me—you have less than three months, Y/N,” Jihyo says firmly. “I know rushing isn’t your style but, uh, you might not have a choice this time.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!”

You hate how your voice sounds pitiful and whiny, but your heart is literally sinking at this news—three months? Less than three months? Where was he going? What would you do with your time when he wasn’t there to look out the window at? It dawns on you suddenly that you won’t be there in three months, either. School started back at the end of August—your sophomore year.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were interested in him?” Jihyo crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been watching you fawn over him for all this time, just waiting and hoping you’d confide in me, but no.”

“What was I supposed to say?” you retort glumly. “That I like the lifeguard that seems the least interested in my existence? Yeah, no, I’ll save myself from that sadness train going nowhere, thank you very much.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Jihyo says with confidence, turning to the window. “Hey, Jungkook!”

You freeze. “What? What are you doing?”

Jungkook looks your way, raising an eyebrow above his black Ray Bans. Jihyo leans out of the serving window, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand.

She turns to you. “Look how easy this is going to be.”

You swallow to combat the sudden tightness in your throat, watching with bated breath as Jungkook climbs down the lifeguard ladder and walks to you two, his feet slapping a little on the wet cement surrounding the pool.

“What’s up?” he says, pushing his sunglasses back on his head and unknowingly releasing the full intensity of his doe-like eyes.

You inhale a small gasp that Jihyo obviously hears, because she lightly presses her Ked-clad foot on top of yours below the counter.

“Me, you, Y/N, Hoseok,” Jihyo says with a confidence you could never muster. “Dinner and a movie on the boardwalk this weekend?”

Jungkook’s eyes pass from hers to yours for a split second, and your pulse picks up speed in your veins. If he seems surprised from the random invitation, however, he doesn’t let it show on the easy-going expression that he wears.

“Sure,” he says. “Can you remind me when it gets a little closer? I’ll have to make sure my parents don’t have anything planned.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder, casually producing her phone from what feels like thin air. You blink down at her hand, realizing this was her plan all along.

“Put your number in,” she says. “I’ll make us a group chat. We should probably have one anyways, since we work together. You know?”

Jungkook nods and puts his number in before handing it back to her. A commotion happens in the water behind him, and he glances over his shoulder with concern. “I should probably head back,” he says. He gives you both a small smile before he flips his sunglasses down over his eyes again, hitting a slight jog back to the lifeguard stand.

When he’s out of earshot, Jihyo texts rapidly on her phone. When she’s done yours vibrates three times in your pocket: the start of the group chat, you’re sure.

“And that, my friend,” she says, giving you a grin that could rival the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas, “is how you get the ball rolling!”

Unfortunately, Jihyo’s plans—which she has annoyingly coined as Operation: Get Y/N Laid—don’t stop there.

On Thursday, just two days before the plans, she convinces Hoseok to come with her to something before the meet up that’s going to coincidentally make them late so that you and Jungkook have time to be alone.

When she tells you this, it’s as she’s making a double scoop chocolate cone, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge that comes over you to put your hands around her neck.

“Ack! Y/N! Let go!” she says between breaths with wide eyes. “I’m going to drop the ice—”

“You’re so dumb!” you yell, squeezing a little harder. “That’s such an obvious ploy to get us alone, he’s going to realize it!”

Jihyo finally squirms out of your grip by turning her head and licking your arm. The warmth of her tongue makes you recoil, and she gasps with relief as air floods back into her lungs, looking at the now-lopsided cone in her left hand.

“Now how am I supposed to give this to that little brat outside?” she says, frowning. “His mom will come and eat me alive if I hand this slop out of the window.”

“You probably deserve it,” you say sourly. You lean your hip into one of the counters, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take your plans back, Jihyo.”

“I can’t,” she says calmly. “Hoseok is already in on it.”

“He’s what?!”

“He’s in on Operation: Get Y/N Laid,” she says again, with that same ridiculous manner of calm, like you didn’t just make her life flash before her eyes thirty seconds ago. “Stop freaking out—he wants to give you some time alone just like I do. So, he’s not going to say anything to Jungkook. The plan will go on like normal, you will just have to do a little acting when we don’t show up on time. Got it?”

In all honesty, it’s not the worse plan she has ever come up with. But you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, so you keep your current frown plastered on your mouth for a little longer to let her know your displeasure with the sudden turn of events.

“Oh, don’t you go all pouty on me,” Jihyo says, wagging a finger at you as she trashes the cone you messed up and grabs another. She scoops more ice cream out of the container below her, giving you a look that reminds you of a mother watching her children open Christmas presents after telling them they weren’t getting anything for months. “You’ll thank me later—right after you tell me if Jungkook has anything worthy of talking about.”

“I’m sure he does,” you respond indignantly, falling right into her trap. “He’s intelligent.”

Jihyo hums a nod before brandishing the new cone, two scoops of chocolate perfectly centered and balanced on top of each other. “Before long this will be you two—are you a top or a bottom, though? I forgot.”

You groan in anguish as Jihyo lets out a cackle, opening the window to your stand and handing it out the impatient little boy that waits outside. You’re grateful for the breeze, although its simmering warmth does nothing for the same feeling that has settled high on your cheeks, dusting pigment there reminiscent of a similar shade of red Jungkook sometimes sports on his swim trunks.

The day of the boardwalk date, you find yourself sprawled out on the floor in front of your closet in your underwear and bra, contemplating why you ever purchased every single item of clothing in your closet.

These kinds of freak outs are normally reserved for the pressing dates in life—first day of college, nights out with the girls, birthdays—but today, you find yourself freaking out over the instance of having to wear the perfect outfit in order to feel comfortable around Jungkook.

Comfortable, and most importantly, pretty.

You shuffle through your two final picks, laying them across your bed in order to get the full effect of what they might look like on. They were both incredibly simple—your college wardrobe either consisted of exercise shorts and t-shirts and hoodies or going out clothes that were much too revealing for a fun night on the boardwalk. But you fret over them some more, so much that you almost have a nervous breakdown and text Jihyo to call the whole thing off.

But the slight hum of your phone vibrating your bed stops you before you can do so. It’s from Jungkook, and you heart beats a little off kilter at the sight of his name popping up on your phone screen.

Jungkook 5:15PM : We still meeting at 6?

It’s directed to your group chat with him, Jihyo and Hoseok. You take a deep breath. Jihyo had told you that she wasn’t going to respond to any messages until the last minute, to really sell her “emergency” that she had to bring Hoseok along on. You were driving separately, as was Jungkook, but the two of them had decided to conveniently carpool a day prior.

Y/N 5:18PM : I’ll be there! Park at Pier 14, it’s the closest one to the boardwalk

Jungkook 5:20PM : Yes ma’am 😊

You smile down at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip softly as you read the message over a few times before clicking the screen lock button. You prop your hands on your hips, deciding that it’s now or never. The nights got chilly in the summer when the sun wasn’t beating down as heavy, and you hated being cold. So, you choose the outfit on the right—a simple, oversized pullover and bike shorts, paired with some scuffed white sneakers, and rush into the bathroom to get ready so you’re not late.

You get to the pier at exactly 6:01 and search around for a parking space.

A part of you feels like this is a bad plan. Especially when you look down at your phone after cutting the engine and realize that Jihyo has texted you something that makes your stomach drop.

Jihyo 5:59PM : Haha…bad news

Jihyo 5:59PM : DON’T KILL ME

Y/N 6:02PM : Please, no!!! What is it!!

Jihyo 6:03PM : The check engine light on my car came on as I was leaving Hoseok’s. Don’t panic. We are waiting for AAA to come get us and take us back to his house so he can drive. I repeat: DON’T. PANIC.

“Okay, okay” you say to yourself, taking a few calming, deep breaths in. “At least she has a plan? This can still work out. I’m not panicking. Yet.”

Y/N 6:03PM : When are they estimated to be there?

Her messaging dots appear and disappear for a few minutes and your anxiety skyrockets.

Y/N 6:06PM : JIHYO

Jihyo 6:07PM : between 6:45-7PM…

Y/N 6:08PM : THE MOVIE STARTS AT 7:05 YOU ABSOLUTE

There’s a knock at your window that has you almost jumping out of your skin. When you look up, you’re met by the wide grin and big, childlike eyes of Jungkook. He peers at you through the tinted glass, looking a little sheepish at having scared you on accident.

All your anxiety about Jihyo having an actual emergency disappears as you unclick your seat belt and scramble out of the car to join him.

“I really didn’t mean to do that,” he says, stepping back and giving you space to swing your door open. “Is everything all right?”

“What?” you say. “Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. Well—sort of.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. “Did something happen?”

“Jihyo is having car trouble, so her and Hoseok are going to be late.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, shifting your weight from leg to leg. The outing was supposed to be all of you as a group—and originally, them being a little late wouldn’t have been such a problem. But you were thinking thirty minutes max, not an hour and a half!

You’re relieved when Jungkook shrugs. “Oh, okay,” he says. “Well, I’m still cool with walking around until the movie starts if you are ?”

You nod with enthusiasm. “Right—we’re already here, might as well go do some stuff?”

Jungkook smiles again, and you finally take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt under a black zip-up hoodie and a pair of chinos—a simpler outfit that looks way too good on his tall, lean frame. You hadn’t seen him in much other than his swim trunks because the only time you two really saw each other outside of this singular moment, was at work.

Of course, you weren’t complaining about that aspect. You could probably pencil out in detail the muscles of Jungkook’s upper chest and stomach, the way water rolled off them when he got out of the pool, the way they flexed when he pulled his whistle to his mouth. That is, if your drawing skills weren’t absolute shit—so bad at that a kindergartener could probably put you to shame with snapped Crayola’s and disproportionate stick figures.

The sun has already sunk below the horizon, taking with it all the heat and warmth of the day and leaving you with a slight breeze that could give you goosebumps if you let it, and a sky the deepened color of cornflowers.

It’s twilight, you realize, as you trail beside Jungkook from the parking lot cement onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A backlit, blue-hued time of day that you absolutely adored during the summertime because you still had just enough light accomplish the activities you wanted to.

Not that you needed to worry about light at a time like this—the bright boardwalk stadium lights are almost blinding, and because it’s the weekend, the two of you find yourself periodically weaving in and out of the crowd that seems to get busier and pushier the further you walk.

Jungkook takes the lead, his taller frame holding more of a reason for people to move out of the way than yours. You watch the back of his head the whole time, noticing the way his raven hair reflects the light—shiny and clean and looking incredibly soft.

“How about a snow cone?” he calls over his shoulder. “It looks like there might be somewhere for us to sit up there.”

He points ahead and you call out an agreement to him, hoping to be heard over the ruckus.

You realize that the crowd isn’t going to let up anytime soon—people have no qualms about walking in between you two, and you find yourself speeding up in order to not be further separated from him.

At some point Jungkook glances behind him again and realizes your struggle. He slows his pace, and you happen to look down and realize he is holding out the long sleeve of his hoodie for you to hold on to.

“Don’t get lost,” he says with a grin. “This snow cone will be worth it, I promise!”

You return his smile, holding onto his arm with a light touch as he continues to lead through the crowd. You curse Jihyo silently in your head—despite her fake emergency turning into a real emergency, she was right about one thing: time alone with Jungkook was something you couldn’t pass up.

When you finally make it to the snow cone cart, you let go of Jungkook’s arm quickly. He looks at you with suspicion as you snatch away, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a shit-eating grin, like he knew exactly what he was doing to your racing pulse by offering you his touch.

“What flavor do you want?” he asks, looking at the menu stand on the right. “My treat.”

You both immediately point to Tiger’s Blood, and Jungkook seems pleased with you.

“Good choice,” he says. “If you picked Pina Colada, I was going to lose it.”

You giggle. “You don’t like coconut?”

“No,” he says, frowning. “I snuck some of my mom’s Malibu one time without realizing and I almost barfed.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. You realize that you still don’t how old Jungkook is, and while he orders your snow cones, you look at him with scrutiny. There was something young about his eyes and face, the roundness of the tip of his nose and cheeks making you believe he was younger than you. But his body—good grief, his body—and the sharpness of his jawline and said otherwise.

When you’re both seated at a picnic table, you decide to ask him.

“Why?” he says. “How old do you think?”

You take a timid bite of your snow cone, relishing in the satisfying crunch of ice between your teeth. “Hmm, I know you’re college-age. Just wondering how old.”

“That story I told about sneaking alcohol was from a few years ago,” he says, laughing. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh.”

“You’re only nineteen, right?” he says, but it doesn’t seem like he cares much that you’re younger.

You nod. “But my birthday is in September.”

“So is mine,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll have to try to celebrate together, somehow.”

You try not to let on how happy his suggestion makes you—that months from now, you two will be friends that throw parties together, or possibly more—and you settle into your seat, munching happily on the cold treat that is slowly turning from ice to mush in the paper cone in your hands.

“So why the pool?” you say a few moments later. “Did you work at another one before ours?”

Jungkook blinks. “I have my CPR certification from another part time job I had at a gym,” he said. “I don’t know why they made us get it, honestly.”

You laugh. “Maybe in case one of the meatheads lifted too much at once?”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But the gym couldn’t work around my school schedule anymore. So, when I came home I saw the pool was looking for a new part-time lifeguard and I applied.”

“You only come home during the summer?”

Jungkook nods, but a look of annoyance flashes across his face before he answers. “There’s not much for me here, honestly. I like school and being on my own, away from my parents.”

“I get that.”

It was something you could both agree on. You didn’t realize freedom could taste so sweet until you moved into your dorm on campus. You could stay up when you wanted, sleep when you wanted, go out when you wanted. As long as you kept your grades up and didn’t lose your scholarship for your parent’s sake, you were literally allowed to do whatever your heart desired.

“It’s too far away to fly back and forth, anyways,” Jungkook adds, suddenly. He tilts his paper cone back, dumping all of the remaining liquid into his mouth before crumpling it in his left fist.

“How far?”

“California.”

“Oh. Why there?”

Somehow, you were taken aback to hear that he’d chosen a school so far from his home. You wonder suddenly if the sullen look he’d given your earlier had more to it than you realized.

Jungkook ignores your question—like you expected—and stands up. You scramble to finish the remains of your cone and he holds his hand out for your trash. You give it to him, feeling the slight brush of your fingers against his palm that reminds you of earlier when he’d offered his arm. He doesn’t this time, but you find yourself wishing he would again. Or that you two were close enough for you to reach out and grab it without his permission.

“That’s a story for later,” he says, giving you a look meant to soften the blow of his hard statement. “I don’t want to talk about it right now—it’ll ruin the mood.”

You nod slightly, bringing your bottom lip back between your teeth to gnaw on. You hadn’t meant to upset him.

“Is there anything you want to do?” he asks, looking around. “We have about thirty minutes before we should head back to the car for the drive-in movie.”

The boardwalk was in full swing as the night progressed, the sky now a deep shade of indigo behind him. You stand with him, leaning onto your tip toes in an effort to recognize any signs further down the wooden path.

“The arcade, maybe?” you suggest.

Jungkook fake clutches at his chest, staggering with clumsy steps to one side. “A woman after my own heart,” he says theatrically. “I might faint.”

You laugh loudly and roll your eyes to cover up your own heartbeat thumping wildly in your ears. You use the rush to match his energy: “I’m only saying it because I want you to win me a plushie.”

Jungkook smiles, his eyes full of light and mischief at getting to show off his skills. “That, madam, is a deal. Let’s go.”

Jihyo still hasn’t texted you by the time you and Jungkook exit the arcade.

You want to send a scolding text to her, but in reality, you don’t really care if they show up anymore. Jungkook seems to have forgotten they were coming—he doesn’t look at his phone once while you two flit from game to game in the arcade.

You’d watched from the side as he entered a water pistol race with a few other patrons of the boardwalk. He sat down on a stool right in the middle of everyone, leaning over the gun and closing one eye for better accuracy. His tongue poked out between his lips, his form rigid and unyielding until the announcer blew a whistle to start the race. You held back a laugh at his seriousness, pressing a hand to your mouth in case he looked over at you.

He did, but only once the flashing lights above his booth went off, signaling him as the winner. He’d hopped off the stool and raced over to you, placing a hand above your elbow before pulling you over to claim your reward from the prize table.

You chose a blue and white dolphin that was just big enough to be slightly comical. Jungkook carried it over his shoulder as you two walked back toward his car, giddy from the excitement of playing carnival games and teasing each other all the while.

“Okay, but you wouldn’t have even beaten me at basketball if yours didn’t come to my side and knock my shots off course constantly!” Jungkook insists. “You’re a sneaky little thing.”

“Why can’t you just admit my two-pointer is better than yours?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m almost six foot and you’re what—five-one? You simply can’t be a better shot that I am because of your genetics. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth drops open. “I’m literally five-three!”

“Minus two.”

“Oh, whatever!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, throwing his head back from the force of it. You pout alongside him, but you can’t help the telling smile that creeps onto your face. You like this side of Jungkook—it was so different from the stoic and quiet lifeguard you knew him as before.

“The drive-in is just a block that way, right?” he asks once you two come up on the parking lot. He shifts the dolphin higher on his shoulder, stopping in his tracks to turn and look at you. “I can drive us in my car, if you want.”

Your eyes widen a little at his suggestion. You didn’t even think about the fact that if Jihyo and Hoseok weren’t here, it would just be you and him watching the movie together.

“Oh—um, I mean,” you stumble over your answer. “If that’s okay with you?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he says with another laugh. He gestures to the stuffed animal perched on his shoulder. “Plus, we’ve got a nice seat cushion, here.”

You smile and nod before following him to his car. It’s a little navy SUV—something you didn’t expect him drive at all. He seemed like a “car guy” for some reason, one that would have driven something old and sturdy and loud.

“This is—cute,” you say, for lack of better wording.

Jungkook sucks his teeth. “Man, why does everyone say that?” He groans. “This thing is great on gas, okay? And look at all this trunk space! I mean, if you lived all the way in California—"

“Hey, hey,” you say, holding your hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, that was terrible wording. Did I say cute? I meant cutely efficient. You didn’t let me finish.”

Jungkook laughs again, nodding. “That’s what I thought you meant, yeah.”

He throws your dolphin in the backseat and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. Your cheeks are hot as you move past him to settle into the seat, giving him a timid smile as he shuts the door behind you. You watch him walk around the front of the vehicle, lit up by a neighboring car’s headlights for just a fraction of a second.

He’s handsome to you while doing the most mundane of things, and your heart hurts at the thought. You couldn’t have a crush on him. He was your coworker for one, and for two, he didn’t live there. He went to school across the country, and he was only home for three incredibly short months. There would be nothing to your relationship, so you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of having a crush on someone so, well—unavailable. You pinch yourself hard on the thigh as a seal of reminder: this could not, would not, happen.

The slam of the car door brings you back to reality. Jungkook presses the start button on his dashboard before clicking his seatbelt across his upper body.

“You good?” he says, looking over at you with a furrowed brow. When you nod, he backs the car out of the space, his hand on the back of your headrest for good measure.

You take a few uneven breaths in and out at the action, forcing yourself to remain looking out of the front windshield and to not turn your head towards him even a fraction. You know doing so would put your faces at an incredible proximity, and you what the hell did you just pinch yourself over if you weren’t going to stick with it!

“Any word from Jihyo and Hoseok?” he asks. “It would be cool if we could still get dinner with them afterwards, at least.”

You pull your phone out of your crossbody. The screen lights up to no new unread messages, so you sent Jihyo a quick text in your private chat.

Y/N 6:58PM : Update?

It sends but doesn’t get read immediately in normal Jihyo fashion.

“Hm, maybe the tow truck is there, and she can’t talk,” you say. “I hope everything’s all right.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “But this is fun—with just us two.” He pauses, glancing over at you. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say quickly, giving him a smile. “I’m having a great time.”

He seems sated by this information, but you’re not sure why. “I’m glad.”

Jungkook drives you to toward the movie parking lot—a grassy field with neat rows of cars guided by a parking attendant in a bright, orange vest—and Jungkook reverses in the directed spot in the middle row of cars. You can see the screen perfectly, but only out of the back window from the way he parked. That does little to deter your excitement, though.

“The screen is huge!” you say in awe, twisting in your seat.

You look on as it plays movie trailer previews for remaining months of the summer, and the thought flits across your mind just how many you might get to see with Jungkook before your time was up.

“You’ve never been to a drive-in?” Jungkook asks. “We gotta make this one extra special, then.”

You look over at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jungkook begins, unlocking the car doors, “I’m pulling out the big guns.”

He hops out and heads to the trunk of the car. You scramble after him, shutting the passenger door behind you and joining him where he stands with the trunk popped open. You watch as he lowers the second row of seats flat after moving the dolphin plushie and a conveniently-packed duvet. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he unfolds the blanket across the flattened seats, making you two a perfect spot to lay in the back of the car while watching the movie.

Jungkook sees the suspicion on your face and chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I just thought we might want to be comfortable if we’re going to be watching a movie for two hours, you know?”

You ignore him and climb in through the open trunk, settling down with the dolphin as a cushion for your back. “Where’s the popcorn?” you ask, laughing. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook holds up a finger. “One moment, m’lady.”

He takes off from the car and you sit up on your elbows, watching him jog up to a stand at the front of the drive-in parking lot that was selling snacks and drinks for the occasion. You pinch yourself again for good measure when he comes back a few moments later, reminding yourself of your pact. Just because you two were alone, in the back of Jungkook’s car, laying down, about to watch a movie together, alone, didn’t mean anything!

The scent of butter and salt fills your nostrils as Jungkook returns, handing you the popcorn and drinks as he climbs into the trunk and settles beside you. He sits cross-legged and digs into the pockets of his chinos to reveal candy in both hands.

“Sour straws or gummi bears?” he asks.

“Gummi bears, but I want a sour straw, too.”

Jungkook laughs. “Agreed.”

As you two dig in, the beginning of the movie flickers onto the big display screen. People pass by Jungkook’s car on their way to the food stands at the front, and you and Jungkook settle against the giant dolphin propped on the back of the front seats.

“I’ll have to figure out a way to repay you for all of this,” you say quietly in between sips of fizzy Coke. “You keep paying for everything before I can offer.”

“Would you rather us go Dutch?” he asks in the dark.

He’s incredibly close to you—his forearm brushes against yours when he moves because the dolphin only spans so far when you lay it down. It wasn’t the biggest prize, because you didn’t want to carry around a massive plushie, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest they had, either.

On screen, the heroine is introduced going about her daily life. She gets ready, brushes her teeth and hair, puts on her makeup for a normal day at school. When she pulls up to school, a sleek, black motorcycle is parked in her usual spot. A little ways from it, she notices the culprit—an extremely handsome guy holding a bike helmet within the crook of his arm as a swarm of cheerleaders surround him like he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I mean, I hate the thought of depending on other people.”

Jungkook turns to look at you as you say this, and when you glance at him, there’s an emotion plastered on his usually friendly face that you can’t pinpoint.

“Consider it our first date,” he says finally, with a shrug. “Then you don’t owe me anything and you’re not depending on me, either.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Oh—um—well—”

Jungkook tilts his head down as he bites into a sour straw, pulling the candy away from his clenched teeth so it makes a small pop as it separates. He nudges you with his shoulder that is already leaning against your own.

“Did you see that?” he asks with a chuckle. “The stunt doubles are so noticeable in this movie—they have totally different builds than the main characters.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a breathy laugh. A date. The word echoes within the chambers of your mind, repeating over and over like he just yelled it into a cave at the top of his lungs. It reverberates around your skull until you feel your skin buzzing from the meaning.

So much for your pact when he was saying things like that so casually. God, you couldn’t wait to get Jihyo alone to tell her everything.

The movie continues, and a glance down at your phone lets you know that it’s only thirty minutes in when Jihyo finally texts you back.

Jihyo 7:36PM : Hoseok and I aren’t going to make the movie. We’ll just explore the boardwalk until you two lovebirds are done and then we can get food!

You relay the information to Jungkook—leaving out the lovebirds bit. He nods in understanding.

“I figured they wouldn’t—but I’m glad we’ll get to see them,” he answers. “Hoseok texted me a while ago and said Jihyo’s engine light was on because she slams on her brakes too much. He thinks he has whiplash.”

You giggle. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“My little mom-car doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”

“I told you I liked it! I would totally pick my kids up from soccer at 6PM on Thursday in this!”

Jungkook throws a half-popped kernel at your forehead. “Rude.”

“You said the mom thing first!”

“Because I’m allowed to pick on Cheryl—she’s mine.”

“Cheryl?!” You dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Please—don’t tell me—”

Jungkook takes the weight of his shoulder pressed against yours and pushes you over with it before you can finish your sentence. You lean away from him but bring the force back with your own shoulder, fighting him for more room on the dolphin-plushie-turned-back-rest.

You two battle for a second, pushing against each other like children until Jungkook lifts his arm up and around you, cocooning you in his warmth and bringing you to rest fully on the right side of his body. He’s leaning a little against the corner of the back of the SUV and you are nestled within his side body, feeling the heat of his chest pressed against your cheek. You breathe in and out before you realize that maybe, you should move.

You go to sit up, but Jungkook says, “Wait, stay. You’re warm.”

It’s not you that’s warm—your face, sure—but Jungkook’s body feels like your own personal heater. You try to relax, leaning against him once again in a better cuddling position with your head resting on Jungkook’s chest, right below his collarbones. You can hear his heartbeat this way—thudding what you think is a little faster than normal underneath the layers of his thin hoodie and T-shirt.

“Are you comfortable? Can you see?”

You’re not sure, but you think he sounds a little breathless—from the sudden change in your positions, or the tussle before, you can’t tell which is the culprit.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting a little so that you’re more on your side rather than just leaning over onto him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he says, and again, it sounds like there’s a hint of smile in his voice.

You can’t focus on the movie after that. Jungkook is too close, his intoxicating scent swirling into your nostrils with every inhale, your head rising up and down with each breath he takes. This was what friends did, right? This was totally friendly. He just wanted you to be comfortable. You repeat this to yourself as Jungkook’s hand—that was once just dangling over your shoulder—begins to trace soft patterns into your side.

You close your eyes, focusing on slowing the thumping of your heart, timing your inhales to let him know that this is okay. This is totally fine. You aren’t freaking out. You’re just here, enjoying everything that Jungkook had to offer you.

It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe he was just touchy—some boys were like that, after all. Some friendly relationships included tons of skinship. You just weren’t used to it, and you needed to quickly acquaint yourself with the fact that this was how it would be with him if you continued to hang out.

Before you know it, you’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t catch most of the end of the movie. In fact, you don’t even realize it’s over until the credits are rolling and people are moving around you again, the sounds of car doors and trunks slamming as people get ready to move onto their next activity.

It’s only 9PM, but it’s dark outside—the blues of the sky that had enticed you so much once before had faded to an indescribable navy, a blue so deep that it looked black. If you focused, you could see the minute twinkling of stars past the stadium lights on the outskirts that blink on after the movie is over so everyone could exit in a timely and visible fashion.

Jungkook yawns, patting your side. “I think I fell asleep for a moment—I was so comfortable here.”

He laughs in spite of himself, and you give him a breathless chuckle in return. “Sorry if I made your side sore.” You get off of him, scooting over to give him a little room to sit up straight.

“Sore?” he asks incredulously. “Y/N, you’re like a feather. I’m not that breakable.”

Boy, did you know. Thoughts of his muscular stomach flash in your mind, and you will them away. He watch him reach up to close the trunk as people begin to move outside of the car, cocooning you two back into a comfortable darkness from the tints on the back windows.

“Still.”

“Still, what?” he says. There’s a small silence that ensues. “You’re so nervous around me. Is it me?”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. Your skin pricks with the same nervousness that you are about refute. “I mean—”

“I know I’m pretty standoffish at the pool, but I don’t mean to be that way,” he admits. “I just felt like I was in this new place with all of these established relationships and rules. You have Jihyo, and well, Hoseok and I are close, but we’re not best friends.” He pauses. “I was really surprised when Jihyo invited me out with you all.”

“Surprised,” you repeat quietly.

His words absolutely contradict the Jungkook you thought you knew. But maybe that’s how it would always be—you realizing he had his own motives and reasons for being the way he was, and you not understanding a bit of it until he decided to divulge you in them.

“Yeah, surprised,” he nods. “I feel out of place, here. If I’m being honest.”

“But you live here.”

“I don’t have any friends though, because I’m gone for nine months out of the year,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t have any in high school, either. It was just—I don’t know. I didn’t like it here, so I didn’t see a reason to have any ties.”

You can’t really wrap your head around it, but you realize Jungkook is being vulnerable to you in this moment. You don’t want to make him regret it, so you reach out to him—the closest thing to you is his hand, resting on the duvet between you two—and you run your fingers over the soft skin in a timid, unsure fashion.

“Jihyo and I will never say no to new additions to our friend circle,” you say with a smile. “It gives us reasons not to kill each other if someone else is watching.”

Jungkook chuckles a little, holding your gaze. The trunk of the car is still closed, and most of the crowd has dispersed to other parts of the beach where the boardwalk is still alive and filled with weekend nightlife.

“That’s good to know,” Jungkook says softly, looking down at your hands on the blanket. He slides his underneath yours and links his fingers through the spaces in between.

“Y/N—” he says, leaning closer to you, “—thanks. Really.”

You lean closer as well, feeling the magnetism of your two bodies being pulled together in the dark. Your breath comes out in unmeasured puffs, threatening to give away how nervous you are. You’re glad Jungkook can’t really see you anymore, and you’re certainly glad he can’t hear the unsteady beat of your heart as your faces inch closer and closer. As the quiet of the night cocoons you two like a soft blanket, there is no noise other than your heartbeat in your ears as Jungkook’s mouth hovers over your own.

You feel his unsteady sigh outwards as he says, “Are you sure you’re not—”

You use your remaining courage to stop him before he can finish his sentence, closing the distance between your mouths into a soft, sweet kiss. It stays that way for a moment—closed-mouth and innocent—before Jungkook brings his hand to the back of your head and deepens it, pressing his mouth hard against your own in a way that is a command all in its own.

Your lips part involuntarily and Jungkook’s tongue presses softly against the ridge of your mouth, tracing the outline until he is exploring the inside with ease and expertise. As your tongues lace together, you find yourself placing heavy hands on his chest, slightly wrinkling the collar of his shirt with your nails before you slide your hands up and over his shoulders and hook them together behind his neck.

Your head tilts to the right and you push back against him, following the energy and putting it into the most passionate kissing session you’ve had—well, ever. Jungkook places his hands on your hips and pulls you over him so that you are straddling his waist, his experience showing as he places you right on top of his hardening member. You have no choice but to feel it between your thighs and the thin material of your bike shorts—a decision you certainly didn’t realize would come in handy when you’d picked them out a few hours ago in your bedroom closet.

You two kiss and kiss and kiss, getting lost within each other for what feels like hours. You can’t allow yourself to disassociate and think about anything other than what was happening in the moment—although there was a part of your brain that couldn’t believe it was happening, surely.

You were kissing Jungkook. Jungkook was kissing you—no, it was more than that. He was touching you: his hands making a lazy trail up your back, in between your shoulder blades and over the hump of your shoulders until they entangled in your hair and kept your mouth criminal to his. He was breathing you in: making a trail away from your mouth, down your jaw and neck, where he settled on sucking small, reddened splotches into the thin skin just around the collar of your pullover. You want more of him, but more would have to wait.

Jungkook pauses underneath you, much more intact with the real world than you are because he shushes you politely so that you can hear it: the tell-tale sound of your phone humming the vibrations of an incoming call.

“It’s Jihyo,” he says in the darkness, allowing the brightness of your screen to illuminate your faces, inches apart. He hands it to you, and you clear your throat in an attempt to sound less breathless than you actually are as you greet your friend.

“Where are you?” she asks—but it sounds more like a demand. “I know the movie is over by now. You haven’t answered my texts. Are you okay?”

“What?” you say but shake your head. “I’m fine, sorry. Jungkook and I were trying to find our way out of the theatre parking lot. It’s really crowded over here so we had to wait for our turn.”

In the light of your phone pressed against your cheek, you can just barely make out Jungkook’s knowing smirk in the dark.

“Hoseok and I are waiting at Pier 14. Did you two still want to get dinner?”

Jungkook nods in answer, leaning forward a little to press his lips softly against the center of your throat while you talk. You take a calming breath in and out as he mouths at the skin there, swiping his tongue over the space lightly before continuing to kiss away any of your troubles. You close your eyes again, feeling like you’re disappearing under his soft touch before you realize Jihyo is still waiting on your answer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you manage. “Text me an address—you and Hoseok can choose. I don’t care.”

You hang up before she can protest. Your mouth hovers over Jungkook’s, lips pressed together in a solid line.

“That wasn’t very nice,” you admonish him, placing your hands on his firm shoulders. “I was trying to talk.”

“I know,” he says in a soft tone, breathing out a laugh. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You better.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss—one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes you feel lightheaded before he lets you go. You feel warm all over as you two crawl toward the front of his car, returning to your seats while stealing knowing glances at each other.

You don’t want to dwell on the thoughts too much, but a lot had changed in the last hour that you couldn’t even wrap your head around, much less understand and come to accept. Your lips tingle as your mind flies through the events again, attempting to see you and Jungkook from a third-person perspective in your mind, but really just focusing on the way it felt when he was kissing you, touching you, breathing you in.

You knew one thing for certain, though: your pact with yourself was up. You weren’t just diving into the shallow anymore. You were in the deep end.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

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

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content. 

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses. 

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.” 

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.” 

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 6.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Asshole!Yoongi

A/N: As always, my loves @ppersonna, @ladyartemesia, @xjoonchildx consistently support me and make me feel better about how I’m writing. I’m so fucking grateful to them! I really wouldn’t be here without them and of course without all of you <3

Hospitals have always frightened you. They always smelled a little too much like cleaning supplies and for some odd reason they always had an underlying scent of sickness. Not that you could equate the smell of sickness to anything in particular-- but it just had that scent.

You can remember when your mother got her appendectomy and your dad told you to bring her doshirak while he went off to work, it scared the ever living hell out of you.

It's not that you were a hypochondriac or at least you didn't think you were. But now, as you stand beneath the large entrance to the VIP admittance area, your skin begins to crawl.

Maybe it’s the fear of entering the hospital and getting sick from others or maybe it’s the fact that you’ll be in a small space with the father of your child quite like that fateful night.

You hear a car quickly approaching behind you as you stare up at the gold trimmed sign of the entrance and you can practically feel him. You choose not to turn around, memories of your shopping trip still stuck in your mind like superglue.

Shopping with Yoongi was like a very failed, fucked up montage. You would try something on, come out of the dressing room and he would grimace and wave his hand while sipping champagne telling you to go put on something else.

Namjoon told you that he is a good person, and his life has been hard so being a dick is how he compensates. You want to believe him, but it’s just so hard.

“Little dove. Good morning,” you hear from behind you.

Angling your head to the voice, you take in his appearance. His black hair was combed back, a few odd hairs landing on his forehead. His eyes were fierce and piercing as always. And, his voice is as smooth as silk. For the first time, you notice two piercings on his left ear as he approaches. One is a small hoop made of diamonds and the other just a diamond stud. They look good on him, really fucking good.

“Hi.” you say, lifting your arm awkwardly to wave.

“You ready to see the Kisung heir?” he asks as he looks down at his Rolex.

Just the thought has a lump forming in your throat. Are you ready? This is all so fast and so fucked up.

“I think so,” you reply, earning half of a smirk from him.

“Let’s go up. We have other things to do today.” he tells you as he walks off to the entrance without you.

He makes you feel like such an intrusion. You really are a pauper in his lifestyle.

He holds the door open for you and you’re immediately hit with the smell that can only be akin to a hospital. It makes your stomach churn and suddenly you feel flush. Your skin prickles with heat, a thin layer of nervous sweat beginning to build up on your body.

Stopping at the entrance, you watch as nurses and doctors pass by without a second glance. The simple sight of scrubs and surgical caps is enough to have you leaning against the large potted plant that sits adjacent to the door.

Yoongi begins talking and the sound starts to drown out as you focus on the marble floor.

“Hey. Y/N.” you hear him call impatiently.

“Water,” you whisper softly as your vision begins to tunnel.

“Y/N?” he asks again, softer this time.

“I-I need water.” 

Your mouth is going dry and it’s starting to become hard to swallow.

Your shaky hand reaches out for the lip of the planter beside you to hold you steady.

“Oh fuck!” Yoongi yelps out, he catches your arm as you begin to fall.

“Can I get some water over here?!” he calls to the receptionist and they’re quick to do his bidding.

“I-I’m sorry,” you feel your eyelids getting heavy as you speak.

“Just relax. Calm down. What is it? Is it the kid?” he asks softly in your ear as he hauls you up. Tugging your arm just enough, he’s able to slide his body behind yours. You can feel the hard plains of his abs through his crisp shirt as he molds your body to his.

A receptionist rushes over with the bottle of water and he cracks it open quickly before handing it to you.

“Let’s sit down for a second. Come on,” he whispers in your ear.

Your feet feel as heavy as bricks while he pulls you over to the seating area. Tying your hair up in a ponytail, you lean back into the plush couch with a sigh.

“Drink the water.” he commands, his voice is gruff but the tone is riddled with nervousness.

You sip the water slowly, the spots in your eyes beginning to diminish as he puts his hand on your knee.

“Look at me, just focus on my face,” he calls, tapping his index finger beneath your chin.

Slowly turning your head to him, you can see his eyebrows furrowing with nerves. He cards his fingers through his hair as his thumb rubs gentle strokes on your knee.

“Is it...morning sickness?” he sounds uncomfortable even saying it. You feel uncomfortable hearing it.

You shake your head to him and that seems to make him relax just a bit.

“I have an irrational fear of hospitals,” you reply as your heartbeat begins to slow down. He tilts his head curiously and he wonders to himself what you’ve been through to get a panic attack quite like this.

Was it something that’s happened to you in the past? You seem to be scared of almost anything.

Usually, Yoongi would be annoyed at the mention of anything irrational. But, he fights it for once. For once, maybe he should be honest too.

“I’m afraid of hospitals too,” he admits to you.

“Really?” you ask as you press your hand to your stomach, the feeling of nausea slowly settling away.

His eyes flicker to your hand and he swallows uncomfortably. He turns his head to the large painting on the wall, he traces the abstract lines and shapes on the canvas before nodding.

“Yeah. It always smells weird and the thought of getting even more sick makes me nervous,” he says.

“Me too.” you murmur hopelessly as you look down at his hand on your knee.

“But, this hospital is really good. My family owns it. It’s one of three that we own in Seoul. You’re safe here. I promise,” he swears as he turns his attention back to you.

It’s almost comforting to hear his words. Right now, in this moment, it’s almost difficult to remember how much of an asshole he is.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go up,” he says softly.

His eyes drift over others in the lobby. They’re all staring. His hand rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck and you follow his gaze.

He shouldn’t be down here with you like this. He’s married. It hits you all in one second.

“Let’s go.” you tell him as you stand up on shaky legs.

“No, Y/N. Wait. Sit down and relax. It’s okay.” he calls to you, but you’re already off to the elevators.

He watches as you slam the button for the elevator, his hands slide over the knees of his pants before he’s standing up to follow you.

Maybe you weren’t a leech. Maybe you were just kind.

You hold the door open for him and he brushes past people without an apology before stepping into the elevator.

“You have a fear of elevators too?” he quips but his joke is brisk and it makes you scowl.

“No.” you murmur as he pushes the fifth floor button.

The silence is uncomfortable as the doors slide shut, the saxophone elevator music would be comical if your crippling embarrassment wasn’t beginning to swallow you whole. Now that your senses were returning to you, you just seized up as soon as you stepped inside the hospital.

You almost fell on the fucking floor like a flopping fish! How embarrassing!

Yoongi can practically sense your nervousness. He can see it in the way your knees knock together, and certainly how your hand grips the railing of the elevator. Your knuckles are practically white as you stare at the floor.

He should find a way to make you feel better, he thinks anyway.

“I like your dress. Looks not so homeless,” he says and he closes his eyes at how he sounds.

Maybe Maya is right, he needs to think before he speaks.

“Oh. Nice. Thanks.” you mutter as you pull at the fabric of the dress.

So much for trying.

“No. I mean-”

“I wear deliciously brown burlap sacks. I got it.” you retort as the doors open. He sighs to himself slightly as he watches you leave him alone in the elevator.

You walk off without him and he’s only a few steps behind but he feels as if he’s losing his ground.

Not only did he almost beat up Park Jimin at the mention of you, but now he’s starting to feel sorry for the things he says? Just what the hell is going on?

But, he can see a different personality almost peeking out of you every time he confronts you. It’s almost nice to see you being different then just nervous and scared.

“Oh! Mr. Min! Right on time, you can follow me!” a nurse calls to him from the reception desk.

“This is the VIP wing, only my family is taken care of up here,” he announces to you. You feel his hand press gently to your lower back and you pull away uncomfortably as you follow the nurse.

His hand feels too comfortable on your back for your liking.

The VIP room is gigantic, so far beyond what you originally had thought just a little while ago when you were downstairs.

The table with stirrups looks intimidating and uncomfortable.

“Just take off your underwear and the doctor will be right in,” the nurse says, her hand slides over Yoongi’s shoulder and you find yourself grimacing at how comfortable he is with it.

It’s like he doesn’t even register that to normal people, that would be uncomfortable.

“Thanks Mira.” he says as he folds his arms.

You watch the door shut and you shake your head in disbelief as he casually sits down in the chair beside the examination table.

“You fuck her too?” you ask him as he pulls out his phone.

“Just once. She wasn't into what I'm into,” he replies calmly and you roll your eyes.

Looking around for somewhere shielded to take off your underwear, his eyebrow quips up.

“I have seen all of you before, y’know. You can just take off your panties and give them to me,” he gives you a big smile as he holds his hand out and you scowl at the notion.

“Asshole.” you whisper, earning a chuckle from him as you walk into the bathroom.

Taking off your underwear, you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was just an out of body experience at this point. You were so far beyond the point of anything making sense. Your life has quite literally changed in a matter of weeks and today you’d be moving into a completely different home. You’d be seeing your child that was a surprise. Everything was moving so fast and it’s so terrifying.

You put your underwear in your purse, one that Yoongi has actually bought you instead of having to borrow Leenas.

Yoongi hasn’t moved an inch as he looks up from his phone, “Your room is ready. The kid’s too. Looks good.” He says as you walk over to the table.

You can only wonder what it looks like, did he buy cheaper things because he feels like that’s all you deserve? Or did he buy expensive furniture to really sell just how much money he actually has?

“I didn’t buy the kid furniture though. Thought you might want to do that. Maya said women go through something called nesting? Sounds like a bird,” he says as he looks back down at his phone.

He sounds really fond of Maya. You wonder what she must be like for him, the king of assholes, to be fond of her.

“Sounds fun!” you reply earnestly as you hop up on the table.

“Fun?”

You hum in agreement as you pull the dress down lower to your knees. “I think picking out furniture and stuff is fun. Leena let me pick out all of the furniture for the penthouse apartment. I like doing that stuff.”

He nods, his lips puffing out like he’s almost impressed before the door opens.

The white lab coat the doctor wears is almost enough to send you into a spiral once more but before your breathing can even hitch you hear the father of your child. “Drink your water. Now.” he calls to you.

He doesn't know where it came from but all he knew was that the water helped before and you should feel better with it. He seemed to get protective of you in that mere second.

“Min Yoongi. A pleasure,” the doctor says as they shake hands.

You practically chug the water, the cooling liquid seems to bring you a sense of peace as he approaches you.

“Y/N, I’m assuming. It’s so nice to meet you,” you shake his hand and out of the corner of your eye you watch Yoongi stand tall before taking his place beside you.

“Hold my hand,” he instructs briskly and you grimace at the thought. He rolls his eyes as he grasps your wrist before placing your hand in his.

You notice just how sweaty his hand is… or is it your hand that’s sweating? There’s moisture, for sure.

“Are you ready to see the Kisung heir? This must be exciting!” the doctor says as he sits down on the rolling stool before you.

Swallowing thickly, you give a small nod. Now, the nerves are really getting to you. Yoongi squeezes your hand tighter before looking down at his phone like this isn’t important to him. Or as if he was trying to avoid it.

“Okay, how are you feeling, Y/N? Any nausea? Tiredness?” the doctor asks as he puts on gloves.

“I’ve been really tired lately. Not so much nausea,” the doctor nods as he sets up the ultrasound equipment.

“Any breast tenderness? Are you in pain?” the question peaks Yoongi’s curiosity and he looks up from his phone to look at you as you nod.

“Yeah, they’re really painful,” you reply softly, almost embarrassed at the questions.

He had no idea. You hadn’t said anything about pain.

“That’s normal. Abdominal pain too? Getting mildly bad cramps?” you nod again and the father of your child blanches.

Jesus, you don’t make it seem like you’re going through a rough time. You really may just be stronger than you look.

Maybe this is what Maya meant about you going through a difficult time.

“So, the things you want to look out for are lightheadedness, cramps, very little vaginal bleeding, breast changes, food aversions, mood swings, and increased vaginal discharge,” you nod studiously as he grasps what looks like a wand in hand.

“You got all that, dad?” Yoongi’s eyes widen and he points to himself in confusion.

“Who? Me?” he asks aloud and you hide your smirk behind your hand as the doctor nods.

“Yeah, you. You got her into this mess, right?” yhe doctor jokes as he rolls a condom onto the end of the wand.

Yoongi scoffs gently. “Well it takes two to tango.” he mumbles to himself uncomfortably.

Your giggle makes him instantly relax. This isn’t the first time this has happened and it’s beginning to really freak him the fuck out. Sometimes, the things you do calm him so easily, set him into such a state of peace. It’s terrifying.

“This may be uncomfortable for you. I’m going to insert this and we’ll be able to see your baby,” the doctor says to you.

With a nod, you look at the black screen of the ultrasound machine. Yoongi buries his face farther into his phone at the mention of seeing his kid.

But, he’s pulled out almost instantaneously as you squeak out uncomfortably as the wand invades you. Your hand grips tighter in his and his eyes are on you in a second.

“You’re alright. Don’t worry,” he doesn’t know where the kind words came from but he doesn’t take them back.

The screen begins to shift to dark greys and whites, earning Yoongi’s attention.

“We may be able to hear a heartbeat, we’ll find out.” the doctor says happily.

You wriggle uncomfortably as the wand continues to invade you. Squeezing your hand a few times to try and set you right, Yoongi stares at the screen with a raised eyebrow.

“There!” the doctor says loudly and you both jump with nervousness as you see the small blip on the screen.

It’s so small.

You feel your throat clenching uncomfortably and you close your eyes for a second to make sure this is real.

For Yoongi, he feels his heart begin to beat faster. He can practically hear it in his ears as he squeezes your hand tighter.

This was his kid. He fucking made this. He has to become a parent to this small little thing.

“Oh my God.” he mumbles to himself, but in the large silent room you can hear him so clearly.

“Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat,” the doctor says before pushing a button on the machine.

The sound is voraciously loud in your ears. The heartbeat is strong and unwavering. It makes you smile. Although this isn’t what you had planned, it feels good to see your child.

Yoongi lets go of your hand quickly, as if you had burnt him. He pockets his phone and his hands before looking down at the ground uncomfortably.

“What do you think, dad?” the doctor asks him happily.

What the fuck does he think? That this is terrifying. That he made a child he has to take care of. He thinks that he’s not ready, at all!

But, it’s his child. That heartbeat -- he made that. He created something so small and so perfect.

His eyes begin to burn uncomfortably, as if he’s about to cry and he makes his way back to the seat before plopping down and taking in a deep breath.

“I think it looks like some sort of weird worm,” he replies to the doctor.

Snorting gently, you tilt your head at the screen.

“Like a sesame gremlin,” you say.

Just your words make him chuckle and he looks down at his shoes before closing his eyes once more.

“So the baby’s heartbeat is really strong which is great! From the size, it’s about five weeks and three days old. Everything looks great, but you’ll be coming back once a month to make sure things aren’t changing or getting out of hand. We’ll take a blood test now to see how your levels are but other than that, things look really good over here. Congratulations.” 

That was the first time either of you have been congratulated on the news.

Yoongi can feel himself filling with something akin to pride.

It almost makes him respect you more. You’re carrying his child.

Looking over at you, he feels as if he’s never actually looked at you before. He’s always known how beautiful you are. But now something feels different. It feels explosive. Like something cosmic was coming into being.

“I’m going to give you some prenatal vitamins for you to take, no smoking, no drinking, no raw fish, no hot tubs or saunas, you should eat really well, drink a lot of water and make sure you just take it easy,” the doctor says as he pulls the wand from you.

You can feel a weight lifting off of you as you look at your child. You certainly aren’t ready. You would never begin to call yourself ready but just seeing the child within you makes you hopeful.

“That’s it?” Yoongi asks the doctor, ripping his gaze away from you.

“That’s it! We’ll take the blood in another room near the elevator before you leave. I’ll get Mira to take her blood,” the doctor takes off his gloves and throws them in the garbage before clapping his hands finitely.

He helps you down from the examination table and you excuse yourself to the restroom suddenly feeling the urge to pee.

While he waits, Yoongi can’t stop staring at the screen. While the heartbeat isn’t loud in his ears any longer, the image of his child is still staring him dead in the face.

“Do you print those pictures?” he asks softly, looking over at the closed bathroom door.

“I can if you want me to.” the doctor replies as he sanitizes the examination table.

Yoongi nods at the thought. “Yeah. Can you print two sets?”

Waiting for the elevator, you squeeze your arm tightly trying to stop the blood flow from when Mira took your blood. She was eyeing Yoongi the whole time like a five star meal and it only got more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked on.

“Here.” the CEO says as he hands you a white envelope.

You look down at the package before tilting your head as you both get on to the elevator.

“What is it?” you ask as you open it up.

“The kid’s pictures. Thought you would want some of our sesame gremlin.” his voice sounds distant but you begin to smile at the small black and white photos before you.

“Did you get some for yourself?” you ask happily as you put the pictures in your purse.

He hits the button for the ground floor before leaning back against the railing of the elevator as it descends.

“Why would I need pictures of a five week old kid?” he retorts.

You shrug with a smirk before looking down into your purse and staring at the pictures.

His hand brushes the pocket of his suit pants, feeling his wallet that secretly holds the picture of your child.

The drive to Yoongi’s mansion sends butterflies fluttering around in your gut. This is like going to a new school in the middle of the year and being awkward and uncomfortable. The silence in the Rolls Royce apart from the random gusts of wind that come through the window don’t help either.

Yoongi is completely comfortable, his legs are outstretched as he scrolls through his phone. You wonder if there’s ever a time where he doesn’t look like he stepped right out of Time magazine.

“Oh, here.” he says as he pulls out a credit card before handing it to you.

You hold the black card in your hand for a second, the weight is as light as paper but just the notion feels heavy.

You throw the card into your purse without a second thought and you miss how Yoongi smirks at your actions.

“You’ll also have a driver. I picked out Minho. But, if you don’t like him then I can get someone else.” his voice is flippant. He’s probably used to firing a bunch of people without wondering about their home life and how much they need their jobs.

The car pulls up to the gated community which Yoongi lives in. Now, you too.

“Welcome to my home. Well...our home.” He says as the car drives past a large fountain that is spurting water on all sides.

You take in a bunch of large mansions as the car drives down the large stretch of road that is lined by pretty cherry blossom trees. Everything about this is so picturesque. You can imagine just how gorgeous his house must be.

“Wow!” your voice is above a whisper as you look off into the distance. You can see a few people riding horses in the far off distance.

“Namjoon’s wife loves horses. She breeds them for contests.” Yoongi states as he follows your gaze.

Leena has told you so much about high profile life, but actually being here surrounded by what feels like billions of dollars is jarring. It’s almost difficult to put into words.

Every stone, every tree, even the flowers seem like they’re perfectly placed as you continue to drive.

“Don’t go into Sera’s wing please. I don’t want to hear her bitch,” he grumbles as he puts his fist beneath his chin.

You give a small nod to him understanding before looking ahead as his mansion comes into view.

“You got knocked up by the right person, huh?” he chuckles as your mouth opens slightly at the sight.

The face of the house is enough to make someone weep, it’s all marble with black quarts trimming and large perfectly clean windows. Each piece of marble is perfectly cut and precise. It’s almost too beautiful to look at.

“I had an architect from Greece come out and build my home. I used to live in it alone until y’know, the demon came.” he says as the car drives around the large marble fountain in front.

“Jeez.” you whisper as he gets out of the car first.

You follow behind him not knowing where to look and wanting to look at all of it. The house spreads out wide and surrounding it are gorgeously cut hedges and tall growing flowers that look perfectly taken care of.

“So. The first two wings on the bottom floor are the gallery. Don’t fucking touch anything. There’s millions of dollars in paintings and statues.” Yoongi says as he steps up the black quartz stairs.

There’s even a man at the front to open up the double doors for him. Which is ridiculously posh and so completely out of your element. Your eyes gaze upward taking the whole house in and you swallow at the sight.

“Little dove, I really don’t have all day. Get your pert ass inside.” Yoongi calls to you as he enters without you.

You follow behind him clumsily, thanking the doorman who gives you a smile in return.

Stepping into the entryway, you can all but marvel at how gorgeous everything is. You do not belong here.

“It’s like a museum,” you whisper and you jump at how loud your voice is in the quiet area.

“Whenever I go out of the country, I like to pick up art or a statue. They’re collectors pieces. Do not fucking touch anything.” he warns you. 

Nodding quickly, you look down the large stretch of the front wings before following him as he continues into the house.

You'll definitely have to look at all of the beautiful art later.

His hands clasp behind his back and you grip tighter onto your purse afraid to touch anything.

None of this looks real, it’s so grandiose and so amazing that it feels like you’ve stepped into a movie.

“Both of these staircases lead up to either wing. Our wing is the right one.”

Walking past the staircases, you spot a sitting room filled with luxurious black furniture and so many throw pillows you have no idea how anyone would sit on them. They seem like they’ve never been touched before. A bar lines the wall behind it and your eyes widen at how fancy it looks. Mirrors line the back of the bar and the dark oak trimming really brings the room together.

“We don’t sit down here in the sitting room. It’s more for show. Doesn’t mean you can’t, it’s your house now too. But, you have your own living room upstairs in your room.” Yoongi says and you turn to him slowly as he leans against a carved marble pillar.

“I have a living room in my bedroom?” you ask softly to which he grins.

“Yeah. Doesn’t everyone?” he quips with a chuckle.

You blanch at the thought before rolling your eyes as he winks at you.

“Come.” he commands as he pushes off the pillar.

“Holy shit.” you mumble as you walk further into the house.

The kitchen is fully open, with two marble islands and top of the range equipment that make you gasp. There’s a long bar lined with chairs that barricades the kitchen from you so you can eat and it makes you blink rapidly at the sight. You can see people working in it, keeping the place tidy and at the mere sight of Yoongi they bow deeply before returning back to work.

“We have a chef from five in the morning to twelve at night.” Yoongi tells you as he leans against the long bar.

The chandeliers that line the place are absolutely beautiful and yet again, you have no idea where to look.

“This is the dining room, where we don’t eat because it’s for parties and I don’t host parties. The leech does.” Yoongi says as he slides open two cherry wood doors beside the kitchen. The table is long and beautiful bouquets of flowers line the cherry wood top.

“Jesus Christ.” you whisper as you clutch the purse tighter to your body.

He closes up the doors before putting his hand on your lower back and pushing you past the kitchen.

“This door right here leads to the maid’s quarters. You don’t have any reason to go there.”

You nod to him as a maid opens up the door before bowing to you both and heading towards the kitchen.

“This is the library slash poker room. Thursday nights are for poker. It’s one of my hobbies.” he says as he grips the gold handles before shoving open the doors.

You’ve always loved reading, maybe in here you can find some good books and take them to your bedroom to read.

“Do you like reading?” he asks softly as you step inside.

“I love reading!” you reply as your fingers graze the marble bookshelves that line the walls from top to bottom.

You then realize how rude it was of you to just barge in and start touching stuff. “Sorry.” you murmur as Yoongi walks over to the bar caddy.

He pours himself a glass of whisky before shaking his head at you.

“This is your home now too. You don’t have to be scared, little dove.” he says above the lip of his glass before downing the contents in one burning go.

Your eyes spot a few books that look interesting and you make a mental note to check them out later when you’re settled in.

“Past this room is the game room. There’s a pool table and some old fashioned pinball machines. Stuff for decoration mostly.” 

It brings up a question that just bursts free from you.

“So you’re exorbitantly rich, you have all of these cool things inside of your home and you never use any of them?” you ask as he closes the library doors behind you.

“Well in order to be exorbitantly rich, you need to work hard. I don’t have time to just sit on my ass and play Pac Man all damn day, little dove.” he whispers in your ear. You blush at how insensitive it must have sounded.

“Through those glass doors is the indoor pool. It’s heated but not too hot for the baby,” he tells you as a maid opens the doors for you both.

He comes to realize that was the first time he hasn’t called your child ‘kid’ or ‘thing’ around you.

Maybe seeing the small sesame gremlin on the screen really did do something to him.

“Wow. This is amazing Yoongi. Your parents must be so proud of you.” you say as you walk along the heated floor of the pool. He chuckles to himself as you look at the marble recliners that are for relaxing on the side.

“Parents.” he snort at the notion.

He tilts his head cryptically as you look out the glass walls of the room. It’s almost as if you’re in a snow globe. Every wall is glass, there’s some stained glass pieces that fleck the floor with pretty colors as the sun comes out from behind a cloud.

“Shall we go up to our win-” his voice is cut off by screaming in the distance and you jump at the screeching noise.

“That’s the leech. She probably lost a follower on Instagram.” he says as his hand wraps around your arm before tugging you toward the noise.

While you haven’t been fully versed in just how evil Sera is, you’re positively nervous to see her. Leena told you to look her up on the Internet but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were too frightened for what you would find.

“Sir!” the voice is absolutely elated and so sweet sounding that it puts a small smile on your face.

Yoongi positively lights up as an older woman approaches the both of you from the maid’s quarters. Her hair is in a neat bun and her clothes are wrinkle free. She seems a bit older and has a tan to her skin as if she’s been out in the sun working.

“Y/N. This is Maya. Head maid.” you shake her hand happily as Yoongi begins to smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you! I've heard amazing things about you!” you say happily as she puts her hands on her hips.

“Well! Aren’t you just absolutely gorgeous! Welcome to the home Madam, I’m so happy to be of service to you!” Her words are so kind and she’s so sweet but it’s the intent of the words that make you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh, Maya. No. You can call me Y/N. You don’t have to treat me like Yo-”

“Nonsense! You’re a big part of the home just as much as the other two that live here! Don’t be silly!” you hum uncomfortably as Yoongi snorts.

“Please be as kind to Maya as you possibly can. She’s an angel.” 

This is the first time that you’ve heard him speak so kindly about someone. It’s heartwarming, if you’re being honest.

“Let me take your purse.” Maya says softly, noticing how you clutch onto it for comfort.

“Oh no. It’s okay.”

“Give her the purse, little dove.” Yoongi retorts before snapping his fingers as you pass the kitchen.

“Yes, Sir?” a woman in the kitchen asks as he stops short.

“What do you like? Strawberry? Lemon?” he asks as he leans into the long marble bar.

“Both.” you reply curiously.

“Strawberry lemon sparkling water. And a vintage whisky. Now.” he calls out before turning back to you and Maya.

“Show Maya the pictures.” he says as his whisky is handed to him.

He must love her a lot. His demeanor seems to change when she’s around like no other.

Digging into your purse, you pull out the black and white pictures of your baby before handing them to her.

“Oh my goodness! Look at this! How amazing! With such a handsome father and a beautiful mother, your baby is going to be absolutely breathtaking!” Maya says and her voice seems to choke up as she stares at the picture. She turns thoughtful as her thumb swipes slowly over the picture in hand.

“I raised Yoongi from when he was very little, y’know.” Maya says proudly as she hands you back the pictures.

That’s news to you.

“Okay, Maya.” Yoongi mumbles uncomfortably.

“You did a great job,” you compliment her and her smile is megawatt as she rubs your arm comfortingly with her hand.

Yoongi smirks above the rim of his glass before tilting his head. Maybe you two would get along, you’re kind enough and Maya certainly is. Maybe there won’t be so much toxicity around the mansion anymore.

“Do you like to cook?” you ask her gently as Yoongi pulls the seat out of the bar for you to sit.

“I love cooking! Although Frederic is in the kitchen seven days a week, I hardly get to use it.” Maya says as she fixes Yoongi’s tie. 

You watch how well she takes care of him, how she babies him and how he doesn’t move or feel uncomfortable at the notion. It’s like watching a rabid dog be kind only to his owner.

“Maybe soon, we can get in the kitchen together. I love cooking too. Give Frederic the night off.” you offer with a smile.

The smile lines by her eyes crease in delight at your suggestion. “That would be a lot of fun. I’d love that.”

“I would get a night off? That sounds amazing to me.” you hear a heavy French accent behind you and you turn to the chef as he hands you your water. He winks at you with a smile and you return it before sipping your water.

“Wow!” you whisper at the taste.

“Everything is better in the higher class.” Yoongi whispers.

“MAYA!” You hear scream throughout the mansion and you cringe at the sharp noise.

Jesus, she is loud.

Everyone in this house is so nice and kind. Even if you feel uncomfortable living here, the people may make up for it.

“Yes, Madam?” Maya calls sweetly as her thin frame peeks down from the second floor.

Even from far away Sera is blindingly beautiful. Her cheekbones are high and filled perfectly, her lips are the perfect pout and her eyes are big and doe-like. She’s absolutely stunning.

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to put a different fabric softener in the laundry? I don’t like my clothes smelling like a fucking flower field!” She barks out as she throws something off of the marble balcony onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, Madam. I must have forgotten. I won’t forget again.” Maya promises as she scurries over to the dropped shirt.

It’s almost a sin to watch the sweet woman fumble over herself to please her. While she may be beautiful, she’s a bitch. And, you’d hate to be confronted by her by any means.

“Bitch.” you and Yoongi mumble at the same time. He chuckles to himself as her gaze lands on you and you find yourself wanting to cower but the way Maya shifts nervously makes you angry. Really fucking angry.

“What the fuck is that? A new maid? Or a dig ditcher?” Sera barks out as she points her perfectly manicured finger at you.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “I’m Y/N. The mother of Yoongi’s child.” you call to her.

Her face begins to flush pink before she’s scoffing. “Should have picked someone prettier Yoongi, ugly women make ugly kids!” she calls down to him as she retreats back to her wing.

“Ugly personalities make ugly people.” you retort softly, bringing your glass of water to your lips.

The father of your child chuckles softly beside you and your heart warms at the noise.

“That’s the leech. I’m sure you’re thrilled to have met her.” you hum playfully in agreement before hopping off the bar stool.

The only thing in Yoongi’s mind is just how right this all feels. How perfect you are as a person, to each and every person you see. You’re strong willed and stronger than he previously thought but he likes it. And, he wants to see you come out of your shell here. He wants to see you thrive like a flower.

Maybe he should ease up on being so downright negative around you.

“Let’s do the rest of the tour and then you can relax. Alright?” he asks as he guides you to the staircase.

“Madam!” Maya calls to you and you don’t register the word for a second before turning to her with a smile.

“I’m really happy you’re here.” Maya says sweetly and you giggle as she bows to you.

“Me too, Maya. Thank you for being so welcoming!” you reply happily as you ascend the steps with the CEO.

“One half is mine, the other half is yours. My side is the right side and yours is, well obviously, the left.” Yoongi says as his hand drifts over the black quartz wall.

At the end of the long wing, you can spot rushing waterfalls that come out of the walls and into the floor, the sound is comforting as you get closer.

“So the third floor of the mansion is for my hobbies in particular and my home office. I rarely use my home office but it’s up there if you ever need me and I work from home.” Hobbies? What kind of hobbies does he have?

“Taehyung told me that you like painting? Apparently Leena talks a lot about you in her post coital glow-” you laugh at his words as he swings the first door open, “- So I got you some painting supplies and turned this room into a studio for you. It’s really bright so you can work well.”

It’s so thoughtful. The studio is beautiful, canvases of all sizes line the walls and the amount of paints and brushes are almost too good to be true.

“Thank you, Yoongi. That’s so kind of you.” you say as you step into the room.

Your fingers gently graze over the fluffy heads of the brushes before turning to him in the doorway and smiling.

“I do love to paint.” you say happily as he leans against the door jamb with folded arms.

“I just won’t paint anything orange.” he rolls his eyes with a snort at your comment before pushing off of the doorway and moving on to the next room.

“This is your closet. I had all of your clothes moved in here, even the ones you insisted on bringing here. I’m a giver.” 

You roll your eyes at how degrading he is and you don’t even open the doors to your closet as you walk past.

You don’t care about materialistic objects like clothes or bags. You think the mansion is gorgeous but it’s just all materialistic stuff! It shouldn’t mean that much to someone.

“This is the nursery. It’s pretty empty still. Maya thought it would be a good idea to put in the rocking chair she used with me so...that’s in there.” 

The admission makes your eyebrows raise. She must have taken care of him from when he was so small. Maybe Maya is like his mother, that’s why he loves her so much.

“Then this room is your room,” he continues on, not wanting to stand in the nursery for longer than two minutes. Just looking into the room reminds him of the pictures that sit heavily in his wallet.

When you open the doors to your room, the wind is almost knocked out of you. This is not a room. This is a fucking house. A small living room and a television situate themselves before your eyes and you walk around the thin marble wall that shields your bedroom from view.

You have a balcony, sitting chairs, a fucking vanity and the bed is so gigantic it can probably hold four people comfortably with room to spare.

Even the sight of the en suite bathroom is enough to knock you on your ass.

“Jesus Christ. This is... Wow.” you say breathlessly as you sit down on your bed.

“Now do the finer objects in life hold weight?” Yoongi jokes as he sits down in the armchair by the balcony.

“Not everything is about money, Yoongi.” you retort as your hand skims over the plush black comforter.

“No. Not everything. But, it’s still nice.” he says as he lifts his whisky glass to his lips.

“There’s a television in the bench at the end of the bed.” he whispers loudly across the room to you.

“A...television in a bench?” you mutter pulling your legs off of the bench and onto the bed.

“Mmmhmmm.” he drolls with a chuckle.

You’re so absolutely stunned at all of this. This is where you live now. This is your home.

He can tell just how starry eyed you are by all of this. It must be overwhelming to be thrust into such money from out of nowhere.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” he says as he slaps his knee. Your mouth opens and your hand raises to wave goodbye but he doesn’t look back at you.

You look around your room once more taking in all of the new gadgets and toys before throwing yourself back on your bed. Your hair fans out around your head as you stare up at the silver chandelier above you.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble before turning and pressing your face into a pillow.

Next Chapter --->

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[imagineabrighterworld]

{Four Hundred Thousand Yen} Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Tamaki had a lot of questions in life, but the list was reordered the moment he was chosen for the date auction of 3-A.

Why me?

Why was my name in the bid?

Why did no one look surprised?

Was this rigged?

His last question was answered fairly quickly, the class did in fact rig the polls. It was a tie between him and Mirio, but after some convincing from Mirio and Nejire, the class had filled the ballot box almost entirely with Tamaki’s name.

“Why would you do this to me?” He mumbles into his desk as he bowed his head to keep from seeing his traitorous best friend. Mirio was standing next to his desk with a huge smile on his face. Tamaki couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his friend’s voice.

“It’ll be fun! Don't sweat it, you're gonna be great!”

“I-I can't even- go on stage..” Tamaki lifts his head to show his lips were trembling as he was on the verge of a breakdown. The thought of being on stage for people to bid on- what if no one wanted him? What if it was just silence and he wasn't picked at all? How embarrassing would it be when he left the stage without a single bid? “What if no one picks me? I-I would be humiliated.”

Mirio pats him on the back. “Trust me, there are plenty of girls and guys waiting to bid on you, I did a poll!”

Tamaki’s face burns red. “You what?” He squeaks out.

“Well not an official poll, but I asked around the school and everyone was pretty excited to hear you might be in the auction.” Mirio rubs his chin. “I’d say you had a good seventy percent of the students I asked.”

The wheels in Tamaki’s mind stutter as he focuses on the thirty percent that must have said no. He groans and stands up from his seat. “I'm going to the workshop..”

“3-H?” Mirio asks.

“Yeah..” Tamaki slides out of the classroom with his head ducked low. His face was still a bright pink when he entered the third year’s workshop. It was enormous compared to the first year’s space. It had gear and tech that the first years were not yet trusted with.

He walks around the empty room, looking at the half built suits and the observation window that separated the testing room from the rest of the space. It was a special glass that was essentially bomb-proof, nothing could break the glass, which made it essential for testing costumes that needed to undergo massive damage.

“Tamaki!”

He turns around to find you dragging a massive robot by a thick metal chain. You were covered in scuff marks and grease, but you had a light in your eyes that made him smile. His thoughts were briefly distracted by the date auction and instead directed towards you. You were one of his friends since his second year when he needed an update in his costume. He still got shy around you, but talking with you became easier the more he visited you.

It was a small miracle that you didn't mind his silent days. You both would listen to your radio while you worked. You didn't push him, and it was greatly appreciated. Sometimes he needed a break and you were there to take it with him.

“Whatcha doing here Tama-chan?” You release your grip of the chain, unbothered by the loud boom as the heavy chain falls to the ground. It was startling sometimes to remember that your quirk was strength based. You lifted gear so easily, it looked weightless to him. “Got a problem on your mind? You look like a shrimp.” You brush your gloved hand over his flushed cheek.

Tamaki rubs his face while looking to the ground. “Iwasvotedinforthedatingauction..” He whispers quickly.

“What was that?” You tilt your head. “You lost me at I.”

He takes a deep breath and speaks a tad bit louder. “I.. Was voted in for the dating auction..”

“Oh. … Oh.”

You both stand in silence, listening to the ticking of the clock in the room.

You're the first to break the quiet. “Mirio was behind it wasn't he?”

“And Nejire.” He adds softly. His best friends other than you, both ratted him out. They knew he had trouble with the spotlight, with his.. His self image.. He couldn't do it. “I think I'm going to call in sick. Mirio is more popular than me anyway, he’ll definitely get bids.”

“I think you should do it.”

He startles. “What?”

You smile down at him. With your work boots you were a good few inches taller than him. “You're really sweet Tama-chan, you're underestimating yourself again.” You tap him on the forehead. “Think of this as a mission. The goal is to get to the finish line. Don't think about how much you earn, think of getting to the end of the auction.”

“But I can't handle crowds-”

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Tamaki.”

He looks you in the eyes, his heartbeat racing as he sees your normally nonchalant expression turn serious.

“You're Suneater, an amazing hero that always gets the job done. This is just another job. And you're going to rock it.”

He gulps.

Just a job. Not a game, not an auction, just a job. Another mission that needed finishing.

He nods his head reluctantly. “Okay.”

“Good.” You pull him in for a side hug, completely forgetting you were covered in grease. “Now help me figure out what the hell I'm doing.”

-

The day of the auction was hectic. It was a festival, which meant that the class was divided into doing different jobs, a sixth went to preparing the auction with the other classes while the rest went on to handle food stands and games.

Mirio was in charge of the money earned during the bids while Nejire was the announcer.

Which left Tamaki alone behind the stage with the other “volunteers”. Some of the students actually did want to participate, but he could see from some of the faces that some where plucked forcefully by their classmates.

At least I’m not the only one. He thinks to himself.

He mourns quietly as the students file in line. The first to go were the first years, then the second, then the third years. Which meant he was the first of his year to go onstage.

So far the highest bid was for Todoroki of 1-A who got fifty-one thousand yen.

I'll be lucky if I get one hundred yen.

Tamaki fiddles with the cuffs of his suit. It was black with gold sun cufflinks. If it were a different occasion, he would have liked the suit. It was comfortable and completely black, allowing him to blend in rather than stand out. But in this situation he would have no choice but to stand out.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he hears his name called out.

“Next up, Tamaki Amajiki from Class 3-A!” Nejire cheers from beyond the stage.

With a small pat on his shoulder from the boy  behind him, Tamaki steps through the curtain and walks on stage.

Faces. So many faces.

The crowd was bigger than he thought, it was full of people-

“Remember, keep your head up, eyes to the sky, it'll be over before you know it. Trust me.”

Your words ring in his head as he walks down the catwalk, his eyes on a distant tree as he tries to keep from folding over in shame as numbers are called out.

Ten thousand yen. Thirteen thousand yen. Fifteen thousand yen. Thirty thousand yen.

He stops at the end of the stage and keeps his hands clenched at his sides. He felt like he was going to collapse-

“Two-hundred thousand yen!” A familiar voice chimes from the crowd of people.

Tamaki’s gaze snaps to Nejire who had floated off the stage and was staring at Mirio with a look of wonder. Who- What? What! Who would bid that much!

No it had to be a mistake!

“Four-hundred thousand yen!” It was the same person. “You're twisting my arm here Nejire!”

Tamaki scans the crowd for the voice.

No, it has to be a joke-!

You stand in the center of the crowd with one of the bidding panels in your hand. You were grinning widely. “Neji, I could go on forever, just give him to me.”

The crowd parts around you as they whisper the number incredulously.

Four-hundred thousand yen.

Tamaki didn't even expect to get a percent of that!

Nejire lands on the stage with a small thump. Her smile was nearly identical to yours. “Any other bidders? Going once. Going twice?” The crowd was talking but no new bid came up. “Tamaki Amajiki, sold for four-hundred thousand yen!”

-  

After the auction, Tamaki finds you with Mirio, a thick stack of yen in hand.

He runs to you. “Wait!”

You look back at him just as Mirio tucks the cash into the metal box full of bids. “Yeah?”

He stands across from you, frazzled and in desperate need of a good cry. He almost ran off stage just to keep from collapsing in fear.

“How could you- why did you-” He stumbles over his words. “Why did you bid on me? Why so much?”

You smile as you zip your wallet shut. “That’s easy Tama-chan. I knew you wouldn't feel comfortable going on a date with a stranger, so I paid an amount I knew no one would be able to beat.”

“But, it's your money..” He squeezes his hands into fists. “You can't just waste it on me, I’m not worth that much..”

You step away from Mirio and stand in front of Tamaki, fixing his crooked tie from running. “I'm an engineer. I know how much each part costs and the cost of the overall product. You're worth more than I could ever buy Tama-chan.” You press a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “And I couldn’t pass up the chance of getting dinner with you in that suit.”

Finally, Tamaki collapses in a fit of pink.

You look at Mirio.

He laughs. “He's all yours!”

His plan went just as expected.

[ming-yu-hao]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder | Chapter 4

Pairing: fratboy!mingyu x female reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Synopsis: When you transferred to a different university, you and Wonwoo promised that you would make long distance work. But distance proves to be more difficult than you both originally thought.

This Chapter’s Tags: cheating obviously, some angst and fluff, public teasing, unprotected sex (oops), light degradation/impact play/begging, use of restraints, brief face sitting, shit just goes down in general just wait

Warning: THIS SERIES IS ABOUT CHEATING. DO NOT READ IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

A/N: hey... how y’all doing... yeah I disappeared... but I’m back! The past two months were a mess but I’m ready to come back now and I’m v excited. Pls accept this chapter as a token of my forgiveness </3 Feedback is appreciated as always :) AND THANK U FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!!! :D

Chapters: Previous | Next | Masterlist

The ride home was quiet.

Jisoo had drank a little too much, and it was evident by the way she laid her head upon your shoulder and mumbled slurred gibberish against your skin.

You opted to ignore her drunken antics, and instead just wrapped your arm around her shoulder while training your eyes on the darkness outside the front window.

Only when Jisoo trudged over to her bed after taking off her makeup and changing her clothes did she seem to have sobered up. She sprawled across her mattress, her face pressed into the blankets, before she turned and gazed at you. You were laying on your own bed, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you stared up at the ceiling.

Finally, Jisoo spoke a coherent sentence.

"Where did you go?" She asked. "At the party," she added a moment later.

You hesitated for a second.

"Wonwoo called me so I went to the bathroom. And then we fought because he was pissed that I went to a party without telling him." You explained. It wasn't a lie; that was what happened, before Mingyu showed up of course.

Jisoo sat up quickly in her bed, crossing her legs like a child listening intently to a teacher. She placed a hand under her chin and narrowed her eyes at you.

"You fought..." She started but trailed off. "Is that why you went off with Mingyu?" She questioned.

You stopped toying with the fabric of your shirt, completely frozen in place at the accusation.

"What?" You responded, your mouth suddenly dry. You sat up in your own bed now, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Come on, I'm not stupid." Jisoo rolled her eyes. "I saw you and Mingyu going upstairs. And then a minute later some guy comes in screaming about how he found Mingyu and some girl fucking in the bathroom. It wasn't hard to put two and two together."

You were horrified. It felt as if a hard punch had been delivered to your gut and a million wasps stung your skin at once. You could barely catch your breath.

"Wha- Does everyone know?" You cried, not even attempting to cover up that you had sex with Mingyu; Jisoo had already figured it out, and there was no way you could ever convince her otherwise.

Jisoo shook her head. "No, I only knew cause I saw you with him. And I didn't say anything to anyone." She reassured you.

You didn't say anything else. Hell, you couldn't even think of anything to say. You threw yourself back against the bed, covering your face with your hands. Embarrassment ate away at you.

Jisoo watched you in your distressed state, and she almost felt inclined to apologize. She shook away the thought and asked: "What are you gonna do?"

You peeled your hands off your face and sighed. You felt like crying again. You hated it; you were so sick of crying.

"What am I supposed to do?" You responded. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."

Jisoo chewed on her bottom lip as she thought for a moment. "Well... do you still wanna be with Wonwoo?"

"Yes," you said quickly. "I still love him. And I miss him a lot. But I just... things have been really bad lately."

Jisoo finally laid back down, mimicking you by staring at the ceiling. "You're gonna have to talk things out with him then. Be honest. Stop seeing Mingyu." She sighed. "That's what I would do."

You knew that Jisoo was right. But the thought of cutting off Mingyu left a sour taste in your mouth. You liked him a lot, as a person, and it felt unfair to just ditch him after the times he was there to comfort you.

But this was all so much more unfair to Wonwoo.

"Are you sure... that you wanna stay with Wonwoo?" Jisoo added in response to your silence.

Were you sure?

You said that you loved him: You loved the Wonwoo that took you to the cafe near campus and bought you your favorite latte; the Wonwoo that spent hours in bed with you binge-watching dumb cartoons; the Wonwoo that stayed up late with you on weekends to help you study for your exams.

He was still that same person. Things were just different now that you were far apart and couldn't be in each other's presence anymore.

Right?

Would the Wonwoo from a year ago have ignored your texts and angrily hung up on you?

How could this all possibly be to blame on some distance?

Jisoo took your silence as an answer and cleared her throat to regain your attention. She shifted onto her side to look at you, and you turned your head to meet her eyes.

"Look, I don't think you're a bad person, okay? I think you just made some mistakes." She said. "I know you care a lot about him, but long distance doesn't work for everyone."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop them from watering.

"Just think about it, okay? I don't want you or other people getting hurt." Jisoo said. She rolled onto her other side, her back now facing you. "Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight," you finally responded. Your voice was hoarse and weak.

You swallowed, and then reached for your phone.

You: that guy from the bathroom told everyone about you Sent at 12:48 AM

To your surprise, Mingyu responded quickly.

Mingyu: oh I know Sent at 12:48 AM

Mingyu: don't worry I already put him in his place Sent at 12:48 AM

You giggled quietly to yourself as you typed a response.

You: should I be scared for him? Sent at 12:49 AM

Mingyu: nah he'll live Sent at 12:49 AM

Mingyu: goodnight Y/N Sent at 12:49 AM

Mingyu: sweet dreams :) Sent at 12:50 AM

Just as you finished typing a reply, quiet vibrating sounded from Jisoo's side of the room.

She stirred in her light state of sleep, feeling around her bed and eventually pulling her phone out from under her pillow. "Hello?" She said, hints of tiredness evident in her voice.

You wondered who could possibly be calling her right now. You guessed it was Seungcheol, but once Jisoo shot up in her bed alarmingly fast you began to doubt yourself.

"What?" She cried. "Is he okay?"

You sat up yourself now, watching her with concern as she turned on the light and began rummaging through her closet.

"I'm leaving right now. No, I'll be fine. I'll text you." She said as she pulled a backpack out and began wildly shoving items into it.

"What? Where are you going? What's going on?" You questioned once she hung up.

"My dad's in the hospital. Had a stroke or a heart attack or something, I don't know." Jisoo rambled without looking at you. She ran over to the bathroom with her bag in hand. "I'm going home for a few days." She explained from the other room.

When she walked back into the room, her backpack was slung over her shoulders and her eyes were shiny with tears.

"I hope he's okay. Please be safe." You responded, though it just made you feel useless.

"Thank you," she said, looking at you with saddened eyes before turning towards the door. "I'll see you soon." She called over her shoulder before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

Then you were left alone, with nothing but the dark room and the thoughts that weighed on your conscience.

You found it difficult to fall asleep that night.

When you walked into class on Tuesday, Mingyu looked different.

His hair was pushed back in his signature style and he wore his usual plain shirt and jeans, but something about him was changed. His chest seemed to be lifted with a newfound confidence.

He gave you a small smile when you approached him, and you swore you noticed his eyes graze over your figure, but you sat down without saying anything. You adjusted your skirt as you settled into your seat and pulled out your phone.

You anxiously checked your notifications, waiting for Wonwoo's name to appear, but there was still no answer.

You finally had sent him a text this morning saying that you needed to talk to him. You had spent the past few days thinking about what Jisoo said, and it was difficult to admit, but she was right.

Now it was just a waiting game until Wonwoo was ready to talk.

A notification caused your phone to buzz, and you perked up as you thought it might be Wonwoo, but instead it was a text from Mingyu.

You glanced over at him with your brows furrowed, and he just stared ahead, biting his lip to suppress a smirk. You opened the message.

Mingyu: you look good Sent at 10:05 AM

Your skin flushed at the compliment, and you quickly typed a reply.

You: you couldn't have said that to me in person? Sent at 10:06 AM

His own phone vibrated against the desk with your response. He picked it up nonchalantly, huffing out a quiet laugh.

Mingyu: well the reason I didn't say it out loud Sent at 10:06 AM

Mingyu: is cause I also wanted to say that I keep thinking about last weekend Sent at 10:06 AM

Mingyu: when your thighs were shaking Sent at 10:06 AM

Mingyu: seeing you in that skirt reminded me of it Sent at 10:07 AM

You impulsively pressed your thighs together, your eyes widening and your lips flattening into a line as each message showed up on your screen.

You: you really think this is the time and place to be saying that? Sent at 10:07 AM

You: calm down you're acting like a douchey frat boy Sent at 10:07 AM

You smiled to yourself at your teasing reply, and you heard Mingyu quietly chuckle.

Mingyu: wowwwww Sent at 10:07 AM

Mingyu: don't act like you don't like it Sent at 10:08 AM

Mingyu: I see you rubbing your thighs together over there Sent at 10:08 AM

You felt your face burn up as you realized he could see the effect he had on you. You didn't respond, letting him continue on.

Mingyu: I know you're a bad girl Y/N Sent at 10:08 AM

Mingyu: you liked it when I spanked you Sent at 10:08 AM

Mingyu: bet you'd like it if I touched you here right now Sent at 10:09 AM

You clicked your phone off quickly, setting it down against the desk. Your face was red, and you cleared your throat, trying to focus as the professor finally entered the room.

You kept your gaze locked on the front of the room, but you could still see Mingyu shifting closer to you out of the corner of your eye.

Just as the professor began talking, fingers brushed against your thigh and began toying with the hem of your skirt. You swallowed thickly, cursing yourself for the growing arousal between your legs.

Mingyu turned his head slightly towards you. "Don't react," he whispered. He turned his attention back to the front of the room, but his hand remained on your thigh, now softly squeezing the flesh between his fingers.

You inhaled a shaky breath, nervously glancing around the room. Luckily, you and Mingyu sat at the edge of the back row; the only other people in your row sat further down and to the left of Mingyu. His body and the desk most likely concealed everything that he was doing to you, but you were still fearful of getting caught.

His hand trailed upwards, slipping underneath your skirt. His fingers pressed into your inner thigh and you bit your lip. He stared forward, his face blank, as if nothing was happening.

His hand brushed against your core, and you inhaled sharply. The corner of his lip quirked up at the sound. Then he pressed his fingers against your clit through the fabric of your underwear.

Your thighs squeezed shut around his hand instinctively, and Mingyu tsked quietly before pushing your legs apart again. He began rubbing slow circles through the fabric, your arousal soaking through. Your stomach was twisting into a tighter knot with each moment that passed.

Then Mingyu suddenly slipped his fingers beneath your underwear, pressing into your bare folds. You gasped quietly and quickly grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Stop," you muttered, your voice full of alarm. Mingyu pulled his hand away, and you clenched as you were left with nothing, but you let out a relieved sigh. You were panting quietly, and he glanced at you with worry in his eyes as he wiped his hand on his pants.

You pulled out your phone and quickly texted him.

You: we can't do that here Sent at 10:14 AM

Mingyu: I'm sorry Sent at 10:14 AM

You glanced at him, and he looked back at you. You nodded as if to say "it's okay" and chewed on your bottom lip as you contemplated sending your next message.

You: come over tonight Sent at 10:15 AM

Mingyu's tongue darted out to lick his lips and he turned his head towards you. His lips were upturned into a smirk as he gave you an affirming nod.

Time seemed to crawl during the rest of your classes for the day; you were anticipating Wonwoo's response and running over in your mind what you were planning on doing with Mingyu later.

As evening approached, a large hole formed in the pit in your stomach. Wonwoo still had yet to respond, which left a bitter taste in your mouth; you guessed he still wasn't done giving you the silent treatment.

You almost texted Mingyu a few times to tell him not to come over, but each time, you thought about his hand slipping beneath your skirt in class and erased your message.

You were only okay with this because Jisoo was still gone, but also, the thought of inviting a guy over to have sex while your roommate was visiting her dad in the hospital made you feel guilty. And gross. When did you become so desperate for some dick?

It was around 10 PM now, and you were pacing around your room while waiting for Mingyu to show up. You had changed out of your skirt, now wearing shorts and a crewneck instead.

A knock at the door startled you, and then your stomach dropped. You were really doing this again. You twisted the knob with hands that trembled softly and opened the door.

Mingyu stood on the other side, and you quickly observed his appearance as he stepped into the room. He also had changed his clothes from earlier. Now he was wearing sweatpants and a zip-up over a t-shirt that hugged his chest nicely. His hair was a bit messier, too.

"Hi," you exhaled.

Mingyu stood tall over you, making you feel small and nervous. You fidgeted with your hands as you stared up at him.

"Hey," he replied, licking his lips as he scanned your face.

You hesitated. "Um... do you wanna watch a movie or something?" Internally, you cursed yourself for being so stiff and awkward. But Mingyu's lips turned up into a small smirk and he agreed.

A moment later, his body laid next to yours on the bed while you picked out some random movie on Netflix. Once it started, the rapid beating of your heart didn't allow you to pay attention to the laptop screen; it was so intense you were afraid that Mingyu could feel it.

You were also hyperaware of the sensation of his body lying next to yours. The warmth of his body radiated onto you and the soft fabric of his clothing felt like a blanket against your bare skin.

"Are you even paying attention?" He asked suddenly, causing you jump slightly.

You cleared your throat. "Y-yeah."

"You seem so tense," he teased. He placed his hand on your thigh and lightly squeezed. You inhaled shakily, keeping your eyes on the screen. "Is something on your mind?"

"No," you gulped.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N." He said with a hushed voice into your ear. "I know what you invited me here for."

His face was so close that his nose was brushing against the side of your face while he spoke. Your stomach was in a tight knot now, and somehow your heart was beating even faster than before.

"You were so wet when I was touching you today." He continued to tease, lightly biting your ear. The hand that rested on your thigh moved up, his fingers brushing against your clit. "I knew you'd like that. You're dirty, aren't you?"

He pressed his fingers to your clit through your shorts as he asked the question. You whined softly, your hips jerking up at the stimulation. Finally, you turned your head towards him, pressing your lips to his in a rough kiss.

Mingyu bit at your bottom lip while he kissed you, and then pulled away after a moment to glance at the laptop that was still playing the movie. "You're not watching this, right?" He joked before shutting it and placing it on the floor.

He hovered over you now, his body caged between your legs, and went back to kissing you, this time with his tongue slipping past your lips. You moaned against his mouth softly as he pressed his warm body against yours.

He pulled away for a moment, making eye contact with you as he asked: "You sure you wanna do this?" He ran his hand down your side reassuringly as he awaited your reply. "We don't have to." He added before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

The sudden shift in his demeanor left you stunned for a moment; you quickly nodded before you could hesitate. "Yes, Mingyu." The hands that rested on the back of his neck pulled him closer to you, connecting your lips once again.

His hands began to tug the bottom of your shirt up, and the feeling of his fingers brushing against your stomach left small goosebumps across your skin.

Soon, clothes were discarded about the room, leaving you in only your bra and underwear and Mingyu in his sweats. His bare chest pressed against yours as he sucked and nibbled on the skin of your neck. You let out a soft moan, not even caring about the bruises that would later appear.

Mingyu lifted his face from your neck suddenly, mumbling against your cheek with a small smile on his face: "Can I try something with you?"

You stared at him, eyes wide with curiosity, and he grinned. His eyes seemed to flash with something that resembled insecurity before he finally admitted: "I wanna tie your hands."

You felt a gush of arousal between your legs at the thought—the thought of being teased with the inability to touch his skin. You nodded in approval. The corner of his lip twitched up at your receptiveness, and he glanced over his shoulder before grabbing one of your belts off the floor.

He secured it around your wrists before pushing them above your head, and just as he was about to continue leaving kisses across your body, you spoke. "Mingyu?"

His eyes widened as they rapidly scanned your face for signs of discomfort. "Do you not like it? Should I take it off?"

You snickered at how worried he was before asking: "Can you make it tighter?"

Relief flooded over Mingyu, and then he chuckled softly in disbelief. "Anything for you, sweets," he joked while adjusting the restraints around your wrists. You laughed, and the previous anxiety left your body.

Your wrists were bound tighter now, giving Mingyu full control, and his hands squeezed your waist as he placed a kiss on your chest. "I can't believe you," he said. "Acting so innocent when you're really a little whore for me."

His vulgar words shocked you, but you couldn't deny the other effects they had. You whined quietly, desperately raising your hips to meet his. Mingyu pushed your hips back down against the bed, and then one of his hands reached up to grope your chest.

He left wet kisses and bites across your body as he made his way from your neck to your hips, discarding the last of your clothing and leaving you bare beneath him. His jaw dropped a bit as he pulled your underwear down your legs, revealing the arousal that had built up. "So fucking wet," he observed in awe.

He began to kiss and suck on the skin of your inner thighs, avoiding the place where you needed him most. You wanted to reach down and tug at his hair, but the belt around your wrists prevented the action.

You groaned as you tried pushing your body closer to Mingyu's. "Please, Gyu." You begged. Mingyu glanced up at you from between your thighs with a smirk plastered on his face once he saw how desperate you looked.

"Is this what you want?" He asked as he dragged his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. He rubbed your clit in tight circles and your legs twitched in response.

"More," you said in between moans. You were already sweating and red in the face out of desperation; you could feel your hair sticking to your forehead.

Mingyu stopped his movements, but his hand remained pressed to your clit, and it throbbed beneath his touch. "What else do you want?" He teased. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but you could clearly imagine the cocky, satisfied expression on his face right now. "Tell me," he pleaded.

He suddenly resumed his ministrations, this time at a faster pace, which made your stomach twist. You cried out, unable to form any words. "Come on, Y/N. Use your words."

He brought his hand down to your pussy in a rough slap. The sensation caused your entire body to jolt and you let out a whimper in surprise. Mingyu buried his face in your neck before whispering into your ear: "Beg for it."

Finally, you caved, and you arched your back as you moaned, "Please, Gyu. Please fuck me."

A devilish yet satisfied grin settled across his face as he pulled away from you. "Good girl." He quickly said as his hands found their way to the waistband of his sweatpants. You glanced down, seeing the way his cock strained against the fabric. You wanted to reach out and feel him, but all you could do was lie there helplessly as he undressed himself. He lowered his pants further down his hips until he suddenly stopped.

"Do you have condoms?" He questioned, his lips pursing in thought.

You shook your head. "No. Why would I have them?" Realization slowly began to dawn on you. "You didn't for-"

"Fuck," Mingyu groaned while running his palms over his face. "I forgot."

Disappointment settled over you, but the lust you were feeling for him remained. You ran over various thoughts in your mind as you observed his conflicted expression.

Mingyu's arms dropped to his sides. "It's okay," he reassured. "We can do something else." He looked up at you, his previous lust-filled expression returning as he caressed your thighs. "Have you ever sat on anyone's face before?" He suggested.

The thought enticed you—the image of Mingyu between your thighs always made your stomach twist—but ultimately you knew you needed to feel him inside you.

"Just fuck me anyways." You blurted out. Mingyu's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"What?" He cried.

"I'm on the pill," you quickly explained. "You can just... pull out or whatever." Heat rushed to your cheeks; you had become so desperate for him.

You weren't sure what you were doing. Deep down, you knew it was a terrible idea, but you were being controlled by lust—the same lust and desire that made you tell him you wanted to kiss him a few nights ago.

Mingyu's lips were still parted in shock as he scanned your face. "Really?" He didn't see a single hint of hesitation on your visage.

"If that's what you want..." he trailed off. You saw a look of desire return to his eyes as he observed your bare body. Finally, he pushed his pants down his hips and leaned over you again.

His forearms rested on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him as he slipped his tongue into your mouth once again.

He reached down and grabbed hold of his hardened cock, guiding it through the folds of your pussy. Your jaw hung open and a deep moan escaped your throat at the pleasure. "You're gonna be the death of me, I swear." Mingyu mumbled into your ear in response to your moans.

He coated himself in your arousal as he continued to rub his cock against you, his tip nudging your clit and teasing you with the smallest bit of relief. He buried his face in your neck as he finally pushed himself into you.

A loud moan fell from his lips at the feeling. This was so much different from last time. It felt warm and soft and bare. Every sensation felt amplified; the stimulation was so intense.

"Holy shit," you gasped. You felt it too.

Mingyu's hips stuttered as he bottomed out inside you. "You feel so fucking good," he groaned. His words mixed with his hot breath against your throat made your entire body burn up. Mingyu slowly pulled himself out of you, and your back arched as his cock rubbed against your walls before he pushed into you again roughly.

Your chest rose and fell quickly with each short breath you took while Mingyu set his pace of his hips slapping against yours. Your back was still arched, and your hips lifted up uncontrollably to meet his.

"F-fuck," you whined. Your arms tried to spread apart, but they were restricted by the belt again. There was a dull ache in your wrists, but it only added to the pleasurable mix of sensations you were feeling right now.

His hands were squeezing your waist tight, to the point where you thought there might be marks there later. He thrusted into you quickly, desperately trying to reach his high. You opened your eyes to watch his euphoric expression: his head was tilted back, his lips parted, and eyes fluttered shut.

He let out a particularly loud moan and his eyes met yours. A small smile found its way to his lips before his eyes grazed down until they reached your chest. He watched the way your breasts bounced with each movement, and the sight nearly made his eyes roll back into his head.

"You gonna come?" He choked out as he saw the pleasure on your face. You moaned in response, unable to speak. He leaned over you and wrapped his hand around your throat. He stopped for a moment, before roughly pushing into you, his hips slapping against yours.

Finally, he brought his hand down to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he continued to thrust into you. The knot in your stomach burned and tightened. You clenched around him, which caused him to choke out a moan.

The pressure in your stomach reached its breaking point. Your body was washed over with a feeling of euphoria as your thighs shook uncontrollably. You could barely hear yourself when you let out a loud cry.

Your moans, the euphoric look on your face, and the feeling of you clenching around him all led to the snap of pleasure in Mingyu's core. He gasped as he struggled to pull himself out of you. "Fuck, I'm coming."

Hot ropes of cum painted across your stomach. Mingyu's chest rose and fell with his pants and moans as he watched the substance cover your body.

"Fuck," he whispered in awe once his orgasm faded away and he admired the mess he left on you.

Just as you were trying to catch your breath and relax your arms, they were stopped by the belt again. "Are you gonna take this off me now?" You asked.

Mingyu chuckled. "I guess so." He finally undid the loop and threw the belt to the floor. You sighed in relief. Mingyu quickly noticed the red marks on your wrists and caressed the irritated skin. "Oh, no. You could've told me it was hurting you." He frowned.

"No, it's fine. I-I liked it." You admitted sheepishly. Luckily, your cheeks were still red from before, so it hid the embarrassed flush of your skin. It was true, though. You never did these types of things before, and you certainly never thought pleasure and pain could go together, but you now that you had experienced it, you were enjoying it all too much.

Mingyu shook his head in disbelief, a smile spreading across his lips as he stared at you. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his softly.

After a moment, Mingyu pushed you back slightly. "You, uh, probably don't wanna get that on your bed." He pointed to the cum on your stomach. You glanced down. You had almost forgotten it was there.

"Yeah, you're probably right." You laughed. Mingyu reached over for a tissue to wipe it off. The two of you cleaned up, and soon you were lying next to him on the bed again, with him back in his sweats and you with an oversized shirt on.

You faced each other, but your head was curled up against his chest, listening to the quiet sound of his heart beating beneath his ribs.

"You don't seem sad this time." He said. His chest vibrated beneath you as he spoke. You pulled away to look at him with your brows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. All the other times we've done this you just seem sad after. But this time you don't." He noted.

You shrugged. "You seem different too. More cocky, I guess."

Mingyu pushed you playfully. "Shut up," he snickered.

"No, seriously!" You exclaimed with a laugh. "You were so awkward like a week ago and then today you pulled that stupid stunt in class!" You playfully smacked him back in the chest.

"Okay, yeah. You're right." Mingyu smiled, and then he sighed. "I guess I'm just... getting used to this."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, both thinking of the same thing.

Mingyu rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Which I really shouldn't be," he continued. You chewed on your lip as you pondered what to say.

"I'm breaking up with him."

Saying it out loud made realization hit you like a ton of bricks. But you weren't upset anymore. You would miss all those trips to the coffee shop and weekends in bed from over the past two years, but they had already come to an end the moment you packed up and moved away. At this point, he had become someone you used to know—someone you were holding on to when maybe you should have let go a long time ago.

Mingyu was quiet for a moment. "Wow," he finally spoke. "That's probably for the best. You didn't seem happy."

"Yeah..." you trailed off. An awkward silence started to settle, so you cleared your throat and quickly changed subjects. "So, I haven't heard much about this frat you're in."

Mingyu chuckled softly, turning towards you again. "What do you wanna know?" His hands idly reached for yours, fidgeting with and rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You thought for a second. "Hmm, I guess... who are the other guys besides you, Cheol, Seungkwan, Seokmin, and bathroom guy?"

Mingyu let out a loud laugh. "Oh, God. Bathroom guy is Soonyoung. I swear, he's the smartest yet stupidest person you'll ever meet." He paused, his face contorted in thought. "Then there's Josh..."

You slowly stirred awake, scrunching your face once you realized the light was still on and about to blind you the second you opened your eyes. You peeked open an eye, glancing around your room for the clock. It was almost 4 AM. You sighed, groggily trying to sit up and recollect what you were doing before you fell asleep, but an arm was weighing you down.

You glanced over your shoulder, and were taken back in surprise for a second when you saw Mingyu lying next to you. The two of you must have dozed off at some point without realizing, and now he was pressed up against you from behind with his arm draped over your waist. He was sleeping deeply, with his lips slightly parted and cheeks puffed out.

You peeled his arm off you slowly, careful not to wake him as you slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. You observed yourself in the fluorescent lighting. Thankfully, your hair wasn't too messy, but your makeup was still on and smudged around your eyes. Something about it almost made you feel hungover.

You spent a few minutes cleaning yourself up before staring at your reflection. If it wasn't already awkward enough that you and Mingyu accidentally fell asleep together, now he would see you bare-faced and groggy with sleep when he woke up. Sure, you two had sex a couple times, but somehow sleeping together was a thousand times more intimate.

You tiptoed out of the bathroom, slowly shutting the door so it didn't make any noise. You lay back down in bed stiffly, pressing yourself right against the edge to avoid Mingyu's grasp.

Just as you finished turning off the light and settling back into bed, Mingyu's arm reached forward and rested across your waist again.

"What time is it?" He muttered, his voice raspy with sleep. You jumped at the sudden noise.

"Oh, um, it's 4:02." You answered.

Mingyu pushed himself up onto his forearm and rubbed his eyes. "Like, in the morning?" He asked. You told him yes and his eyes widened. "Woah, sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He yawned.

He fully sat up now, running his hands through his messy hair. He turned to you, just barely able to see you in the dark. "I can go, if you want."

Oh, God. Even though this situation was an awkward mess, there was no way you could make him go home now.

"I'm not kicking you out in the middle of the night. What kind of terrible person do you think I am?" You responded, to which Mingyu laughed under his breath. "It's only a few more hours."

"Okay," Mingyu said as he lay on his back again. He rolled onto his side, his back towards you. You sat in silence before Mingyu added, "Thanks for not kicking me out."

You chuckled quietly, allowing your eyes to flutter shut and waiting for sleep to overtake you again.

The next time you woke up, sunlight shone in your eyes. With your eyes squinted shut, you rolled over, expecting to bump into Mingyu, but were greeted with empty sheets instead.

Your eyes shot open as you felt around the bed and realized that Mingyu was nowhere to be found. You couldn't help feeling disappointed. Even though you were dreading having to face him in the morning, the fact that he left without saying a word stung.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open. "Oh, you're awake," a low voice called. Mingyu stood in the doorway, still shirtless and his hair a little tousled.

You smiled. "I thought you left."

"Nope, still here," he replied. He sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at you. His dark eyes looked like they held a certain warmth in them. "I've never seen someone look so nice after waking up," he said.

Your face burned up instantly. "Stop," you cried sheepishly, burying your face in your hands. You didn't even want to imagine what you looked like right now.

Mingyu grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from your face. "No, really!" He exclaimed while you wrestled back with him. "Your hair isn't even messy and your skin looks so clear," he said in between laughs.

"What are you trying to do, Mingyu?" You cried.

"Just take the compliment and say thanks!" He responded.

You stopped fighting back, letting him hold your wrists while you stared at him with a pout. "Fine," you grumbled. "Thank you."

A satisfied grin settled across his lips, and suddenly you noticed how close he was to you. "You're welcome," he said, his face only a few inches from yours.

You watched as his eyes dragged down to your lips and your breath nearly caught in your throat. He inched forward until his lips met yours. The kiss was soft and slow, until he pushed you back against the bed and pinned your wrists by the side of your head. He slipped his tongue past your lips and you moaned quietly against his mouth.

"You know what I said last night about you sitting on my face?" Mingyu pulled away to say, staring down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You felt arousal growing between your legs as you nodded rapidly. Mingyu let go of your wrists to lie on his back instead. Your hands trembled a bit as you reached to pull your underwear down your thighs.

"Your phone keeps going off," Mingyu said.

"Huh?" You didn't even hear it because you were too focused on the knot you felt in your stomach. You recollected yourself and shook your head. "Just ignore it. It's probably Jisoo or something."

"Hurry up," he teased, lightly smacking your thigh. You were straddling his waist.

"I am! I'm just nervous." You replied, trying to ignore the heat that was rushing to your cheeks. "I don't wanna accidentally kill you."

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Oh, shush. I wouldn't wanna die any other way." You hovered above his face, hesitating each time you tried to lower yourself. Finally, Mingyu grabbed onto your thighs and pulled you down. You instantly moaned at the feeling of his warm tongue flicking against your clit.

"H-holy shit," you moaned breathlessly. He held onto your thighs tightly, not allowing you to move. Your legs began to twitch at the stimulation and your hips rocked involuntarily.

Mingyu pulled away, and you thought for a second that he was trying to tease you before he groaned: "Oh, my god. Who keeps calling you?" He shoved his hand under your pillow and pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as he read.

"Who's Wonwoo?"

Your heart dropped right into the pit of your stomach. It felt like someone had punched you in the gut and you were unable to catch your breath.

"Are you kidding?" You cried. Mingyu had never seen your eyes so wide before. He turned the phone around to show you. Sure enough, Wonwoo's name was on the screen.

"Is that your boyfrie-" he started, but you interrupted by jerking the phone out of his hand.

"Don't say anything," you ordered. You hit answer and brought the phone up to your ear with a shaky hand.

"Hey," you said, trying to conceal the quiver in your voice.

"Hey," Wonwoo replied. Hearing his voice again made your throat tighten.

"I'm on campus. Can we please talk?"

[ashesandhalefire]

progress report: i am missing you to death

alex, michael, and a lot of unsaid things.

-

inspired by an entirely out of context teaser shot of alex and a desperate need for interaction that has yet to be satisfied by season 3 canon.

-

Deep Sky provides the coordinates and the time, so Alex shows up and waits.

While he stands in the cool night air, he scans the flat terrain that stretches out to one side and the gully where the highway sits. Other than the whizzing traffic, oblivious to his insignificance, everything is quiet.

After about twenty minutes of the vibrating stillness, Michael slinks out of the shadows with his hat tucked low over his face and leans against the back of the car beside Alex’s SUV.

Blood rushing in his ears, Alex does a second quick sweep of the lot’s perimeter. Nothing obvious has changed in the shadows since he crept through the bushes to check potential sight lines, but Alex isn’t stupid. He was in over his head when Project Shepherd turned out to be just his father’s backroom hobby. Deep Sky outclasses his expertise in a way he isn’t ready to reckon with. They could be anywhere—somewhere in the lot, somewhere down the road, somewhere miles away—and Michael has sauntered directly into their crosshairs.

He left about five feet between them when he stopped to hook one ankle over the other and stare out at the traffic, and the distance is enough for deniability. Alex tightens his hands into anxious fists and forces a long, deep breath through his nose.

“Hey,” Michael says with a casual nod of his head. They stand listening to the roar of tires chewing their ways along the desert highway, and Alex waits for a sign. He checks Michael’s chest for the red point of a laser sight just in case. Nothing happens. They stand a little longer, and then Michael leans over and asks, “You got a light?”

“No. You got a cigarette?”

The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches. It stirs up a fondness that Alex has carefully and surgically distanced himself from for the last few months, and he glances around the parking lot again. Being in love with Michael is too easy. He falls into it without needing to think about it or to try, and the laziness of trusting things to fate is probably why they’ve never gotten it right. He should probably consider himself lucky. Sinking back into those feelings now, fruitlessly, after so much time has passed, will make him sloppy in a way he can’t afford.

“You shouldn’t be here. They could see you.”

Michael tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugs, easy and unbothered. Or, almost unbothered. The muscles in his jaw are tight and tense. “You don’t even know what they do or if they’re looking for me. I haven’t exactly been hiding for the last year.”

“That doesn’t mean you should paint a bullseye on your chest.”

“But you should?”

Michael spits barbs like an old man working his way through seeded melon, careless and precise in equal measure. He always finds soft flesh.

“This isn’t a game,” Alex grits out, face growing hot with frustration. He watches a tractor trailer speed by on the road below and shoot a piece of trash out from beneath its tires.

“So tell me what it is, then,” Michael says, mouth turning down and voice suddenly going sharp as a knife’s edge, “because I didn’t really wait around to hear the rest of the story after Valenti said you were joining a cult.”

Alex looks over, and Michael’s brow is pinched to match the irritated wrinkle of his nose. Anger and tension leak off him like heat shimmers off the pavement at midday. He holds his casual posture, ankles crossed and hands tucked, but his eyes are furious.

“It’s complicated.”

Michael scoffs. “You know what, I shouldn’t bother. I should just drag your ass home, no questions.”

And now Alex’s temper flares: “Try it.”

“You think I wouldn’t? To save you?” He laughs meanly. “I’d have you over my shoulder so fucking fast—”

“I don’t need to be saved.”

“Obviously, you do.” Michael pushes off the car. The brim of his hat catches the light from the lamppost and casts half his face in shadows. “We have enough problems on our hands right now. We don’t need to poke the bear.”

“This bear poked first,” Alex says, equally furious. He checks behind Michael before hissing through his teeth, “They kidnapped Mimi. They drugged Jenna Cameron. Turnabout is fair play.”

“This isn’t turnabout! This isn’t even revenge. You’re joining their club. You are flinging yourself into a pit, Alex. A big, dark, deep pit, and when you get far enough in, none of us are going to be able to get you out. We’re gonna lose you. For good. And for no fucking reason.”

“Not for no reason,” Alex says. A tingle of shame trickles up the back of his neck. He knows he’s unprepared, going in without an exit strategy. But he can’t sit on his hands and do nothing. It makes him nervous and paranoid to be idle. “They know things.”

“Who gives a shit? Who gives one fucking iota of a shit about what they know?”

Alex frowns. “You have always wanted to know more—”

“Not like this! Not at the risk of—” Michael puts a fist to his forehead. Then he pulls off his hat and takes another step closer. His voice is softer when he speaks. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this, huh? This isn’t just your dad anymore. This is bigger than that.”

“I know.”

“They are gonna swallow you whole, and what’s the point if you’re just gone?”

Alex draws another long inhale through his nose. The weight of the thick, ugly ring on his finger feels like an anchor dragging him down. The memories of Caulfield crumbling to pieces in a cloud of fire are heavier. “If there’s even a chance that they know something, what choice do I have? I’m not getting caught off guard again. I owe you that much.”

“Bullshit,” Michael says with a jerk of his chin. “Doing it is one thing, but don’t pretend you’re doing it for me.” A pair of low-riding sports cars scream down the highway behind him, bobbing and weaving through the minimal traffic with their engines blaring. One falters behind a gas tanker and then chases its companion off towards the horizon with an roar. “If you had any interest in doing something for me, you would stay.”

Cold uncertainty creeps into Alex’s chest, and no number of layers can keep it out. He wants to ask: would I be welcome? Because he hasn’t felt like he would be in a long time. He had showed up, again and again. Sometimes, he had been wanted, and sometimes, he hadn’t been. The haze of open mic night had cleared for an instant, and the future had been visible, tangible, workable, and then, just as quickly, had vanished into the air. He had been left with Isobel’s obvious, humiliating pity, her mouth turned down as she stood to listen through the last note. That door had been closed. And yet, he wants to ask: would I be welcome? Dignity be damned.

“Are— are you asking me to stay?”

There must be something in his voice when he says it, no matter how hard he tries to control the pathetic wavering and the sunken surprise on his face, that means something to Michael. His whole body eases forward as if carried by an invisible current before he catches himself and says, “I’m done asking people for more than they’re willing to give me.”

“But you would ask? If you thought—?” Alex pushes. “You would want to ask?”

The corners of Michael’s mouth turn down and his gaze narrows almost imperceptibly, but Alex is watching for it. The more Michael closes off, the more Alex feels himself splitting open. Something bright and electric stirs in his chest.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t,” he says, waiting for the moment when Michael’s eyes widen, just slightly, just enough to understand. It comes, exactly as expected, and Michael sways closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d ask. I’m not about to beg, but I’d ask.”

He’s gotten Michael to beg before, but never for something as serious as love. On his back or on his knees or in the bed of his truck, Alex has heard him plead and bargain for things he wants in the neediest, most desperate whispers, but that had been all carnal, base pleasure, and he had known Alex wouldn’t tell him no. Here, he’s talking about a different type of submission, the kind that humiliates someone like Michael, someone who has never been given enough. Michael won’t beg, and Alex needs to be asked, and a lot of time has been wasted between them thinking that one is the same as the other.

He can’t say he’ll stay. He’s too far in to back out. And, even if he could do it, staying doesn’t mean riding off into the sunset. It means more of the same: the secrets, the conspiracies, the mysteries, the agonies, the scraping open of old wounds in last-ditch efforts to heal them. But it also means Michael, so everything else is white noise.

Michael sees it all play out on his face. He sets his hat on the roof of Alex’s car and then turns to lean against the hatchback. He sighs, and Alex can tell that more weight than usual is resting on his shoulders. It’s not just Max dragging him under. His whole body sags with it, and the sharp focus that’s been in his eyes begins to recede as he drifts away towards the call of whatever nightmare is lurking at the back of his mind.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex says because he lacks for anything else to say, and Michael  stares at his boots with a sad smile. His throat bobs as he swallows down whatever it is that’s too hard to talk about with so little time left to say it, and then he turns to look at Alex.

“Your dad was a piece of shit,” he says, like this is some sort of revelation, “and you’re you.”

The words, said like an accusation, should probably turn his stomach, but they’re also said with a reverence that pushes Alex’s heart up into his throat. Whatever is happening has rocked Michael to his core far beyond how Alex knows to help.

“Less of a piece of shit, I hope.”

Michael stares at him, flexing his hand, and then says, with a nod, “Significantly, yeah.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for.” Alex laughs, and then he tips his head back to look at the starless sky. “I’ll take being afraid of being like him over being proud of being like him any day. At least it means I’m going in the right direction.”

Jesse haunts Alex differently than he haunts Michael. To Michael, Jesse is another human face that did something terrible to him, just more proof that looking for another planet to run to is a good idea. Jesse is a more specific phantom for Alex, much harder to let blur into the background of the general awfulness of life. There are reminders of his father all around town: placards, photographs, the sign for the street they lived on, a six-foot statue in town square. Those can be faced much more easily than the hints of his father that Alex finds in the mirror: the deep-set wrinkles in his brows, the cut of his mouth when he frowns, the tone of his voice when he yells, the shape of his thumb. To be a little less like him every day is an exhausting but necessary struggle.

Michael smiles, and Alex, mystified, thinks maybe he managed to help after all.

“Your plan wasn’t really to drag me home over your shoulder, was it?” he asks to distract from how Michael carefully swipes a finger at the corner of one eye.

Michael huffs, and the car jostles. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just wasn’t about to let you go without—” He licks his lips and says, “I wasn’t about to let you just go.”

Alex scuffs his shoe against the loose gravel. “Couldn’t get Kyle’s hubcaps off this time?”

Guilt settles over him after he says it. Guilt and something else, something like the relief of setting down a heavy burden that’s been carried too long.

“I thought you were making a mistake back then, too.” Michael takes the comment in stride, accepts it, and reaches out to touch the ring on Alex’s hand. He pinches it carefully, Alex’s fingers curled into the heat of his palm, and rolls his thumb until the ring twists to expose the thinner underside of the band. He strokes, skin then metal then skin, over and over. “Flinging yourself into some dark pit that you’d never come out of again.”

Alex wants to tell him that this is different. He can’t.

“Do me a favor, okay?”

Hand slipping up over Alex’s wrist and into the soft corner of his elbow, Michael crosses the final inches of space between them and pulls Alex close. In the dim light of the parking lot, they might be mistaken for the sort of strangers who meet in shadowy corners for quick exchanges of misery with rough words and rougher touch. But then Michael, trembling, touches the lapel of Alex’s jacket and presses a long kiss to his cheek.

He keeps his mouth there, breath hot and soft, and, before he gathers himself enough to continue, Alex says, “I’ll come back.”

Michael laughs, but it sounds like a gasp for air. “Not even gonna let me ask?”

Alex hums. “I’ll come back.”

“Yeah, you’ll come back,” Michael warns, “or I’ll come get you. And it won’t be fucking subtle.”

It sends a shiver down his spine to think of Michael storming a place as infinitely large as Deep Sky feels. If it comes to that, he’d be better off left behind. But as the thought comes, Michael’s grip shifts and the tentative press of their sides becomes a full-bodied hug that envelopes him like a warm breeze. His nose turns into the side of Michael’s neck: rain, crisp and fresh; gasoline, but faint; smoke, from his fire pit.

“I’m not really going anywhere. It’ll be fine.”

Michael squeezes, and Alex squeezes back. Everything else he wants to say is too big for this moment. And, selfishly, he wants to know that Michael will wait to hear it. He scolds himself for the thought, because they’ve each done their share of waiting miserably at the wayside, but then he lets it stand. Michael squeezes again, fingertips digging into separate points as he clings.

Alex cups a hand to the back of his head and touches his curls. He thinks about what it would mean to kiss Michael now, to kiss someone that he loves, who loves him, and imagines a tower of precariously stacked dominoes. Michael laughs wetly, and Alex lets go first, fingers lingering reluctantly.

[cas-kingdom]

Bad Blood

A/N: Set towards the end of season 3. 

Title: Bad Blood

Summary: After Peter discovers Neal stole the ship’s treasure, you’re worried he’ll be mad at you for keeping the secret.

Words: 2310

The problem with loving your brother so much you couldn’t possibly do something to put him in jail, despite your personal opinions, is that it puts you in an awkward position.

You had never had that problem. From the age of three, you’d gone everywhere with Neal. You’d grown up among thieves and criminals, and that’d been all you’d known. Until Neal was caught, and you’d lived a more subdued life for four years, learning things and picking up what it meant to have a normal life. You’d grown your own opinions, stemming from the simplest of things, and slowly come to realise that there was a life outside your brother’s antics.

Maybe that was why Neal hadn’t told you about the treasure. Perhaps he’d thought you might tell Peter. He should have known, though, that you’d never do that. So, more plausibly, maybe he’d simply wanted to keep you safe. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to put you in that kind of position – stuck between him and Peter. He’d been doing that a lot in the year and a bit he’d been out of jail; keeping secrets, only letting you in on what he thought you needed to know. It was a swerve in your relationship, and it was constantly hitting obstacles.

Peter had taken you aside a while after the fire and asked you if Neal had stolen the treasure. You could still remember the flurry of emotions that had hit you then.

“I need to know,” Peter said. His voice was gentle. He was leaning on his forearms, staring at you from his place behind his desk. His eyebrows were raised, and you would have squirmed uncomfortably if you knew what he was talking about.

You sputtered for a moment, glancing down at the floor, before shaking your head and looking back up at him. “Neal?” you asked. “You- you think Neal stole the treasure?” Peter lifted his chin and leaned back against his seat. “I thought it was all lost in the fire.”

Peter sighed. “We did, too,” he said. “But… we found something that leads us to think otherwise.”

Your frown deepened. You turned your head, just about seeing Neal immersed in conversation with Jones. He glanced up for a moment, your eyes meeting, and he gave you a questioning look. You bit the inside of your cheek and turned back around to look at Peter, who was watching you intently.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you said honestly.

Peter nodded. “If you did…” He tilted his head a little. “Would you tell me?”

It wasn’t an interrogative look that he was giving you. He loved you. Every moment he was with you was spent treating you as his own. But that love included protecting you, even from your brother, and he wanted – needed – to be sure that you weren’t withholding anything from him that could put you behind bars, because he knew he’d rather be behind them himself than let you go.

You bit your lip, absently fidgeting with your fingers. You glanced up and shrugged.

Peter nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said. He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected that response. He drew in a deep breath and stood up, rounding the desk. He leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “As long as you’re safe, kid. That’s all I ask. Don’t get yourself caught in something I can’t get you out of. And… try get that in your brother’s head, too. You know where I am if you need me.”

Really, it should’ve been obvious to you that Neal had stolen it. You hadn’t wanted it to be – it was for that reason you’d never told Neal that Peter had even asked you about it – but you knew the man better than you knew anyone and anything. If the opportunity was presented, he would grab it up.

You’d cried after overhearing Neal and Mozzie discussing the treasure. They’d been quiet, whispering among themselves, and Neal should have known really that you wouldn’t have been asleep. He’d heard you sob, your pillow over your head, and got up from his chair so fast he’d knocked it over. Eyes wide, heart pumping, mind whirring, he’d slid into the bed beside you. You’d pushed him away, but he’d stayed, he always stayed, and he’d slept with you until morning, your back to him, his hand on your shoulder. You hadn’t talked about it the next day, and you’d been blunt with him since. You figured he’d worried you would tell.

“You have the treasure!”

You could hear Peter’s words. You’d been sat at the table when he’d come in, telling them Elizabeth had been taken, and you’d decided then and there that if Neal didn’t tell him, you would. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to, but the look Peter had given you after that had seared into your brain, and you hadn’t been yourself since. So, the moment Neal had been cleared – officially, anyway – you’d ached to speak to the agent.

“Peter, can we talk?”

It was a Sunday, and you, Mozzie and Neal were at Peter and Elizabeth’s for lunch. There was a sense of normality around Sunday lunch at the Burkes’. A familiarity that you had been terrified you’d lost for a moment back then.

Elizabeth and Neal were sitting outside, the both of them laughing about something or other, and Mozzie was sleeping on the deck chair he’d brought from June’s – nobody was sure why and nobody had bothered to ask. He was Mozzie, after all. You had been putting the plates away, Satchmo your shadow, and Peter had followed close behind, that smile on his face which told you he was happy. You didn’t really want that smile to disappear, and you knew he probably didn’t have anything to talk to you about, you were just being paranoid, but it would make you feel better, and you were too selfish to let that pass.

Peter glanced over his shoulder as you leaned against the kitchen counter. He nodded. “Sure,” he said, shutting the dishwasher. He turned around and crossed his arms, a look of slight intrigue crossing his face. “What is it?”

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders a little. You saw Satchmo nudge your hand with his wet nose and felt all the better for it. “I don’t…” you started, before feeling the lump in your throat stop your words. Peter, ever the concerned stand-in parent, moved forward immediately, his eyebrows furrowing together, those frown lines creasing his forehead. He stopped beside you, not wanting to invade your privacy yet needing to be there for you all the same, despite his not knowing what it was you wished to say.

He was a patient man, and so he merely stood beside you for a moment, waiting for you to speak up again. The open door was letting in the fresh breeze, the sound of Elizabeth and Neal’s laughter wafting in through it. It was the perfect day.

“I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us,” you said eventually, in a voice softer than Peter ever believed he’d heard.

He took a little while to mull your words over, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor. He shook his head as though preparing his words. “There isn’t any,” he said after a small moment, tilting his head to look down at you. When you didn’t reply, your hand on top of Satchmo’s head, he darkened his frown. “Hey,” he said, almost as softly as you. He pushed himself from the counter to move partly in front of you, taking your hands into his and waiting for you to meet his gaze. “What makes you think that?”

You swallowed again, foolishly feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. “I knew about the treasure.”

Peter made a face of realisation immediately. He squeezed your hands. “You knew about it after I asked about it,” he reassured you, shaking you a little, “you’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Well, I should’ve told you anyway,” you said, sniffling. “I should’ve told you the moment I found out. That’s withholding evidence… or something.”

Peter huffed a short laugh, releasing your hands only to pull you against his chest in a strong hug. “Your mind’s been working on this one for a while, huh?” he said gently, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You rested against him, eyes staring blankly ahead, lips trembling as you tried to hold the tears back. You felt Peter rest his chin on the top of your head. “I’m telling you, kid,” he said, “there’s nothing bad between us. You didn’t know about the treasure when I asked, and you said you didn’t know whether or not you’d tell me if the odd chance you found out later came up. I accepted that. That’s all that matters.” He turned his head a little, looking into the garden. As he’d expected really, Neal was craning his neck, eyes concerned even from this far away. He rose a dark brow, a silent question passing between them, and Peter nodded his head once, causing the younger man to reluctantly turn back to his conversation with Elizabeth.

Peter imagined it was difficult for both you and Neal to have someone like him in your lives. It’d always been you for a long, long while, and allowing someone in, opening up to that person like you had, was something he felt almost honoured for. Holding you in his arms like this, feeling your hands grip his shirt and your head all but bury in his chest, simply because you were worried he was upset with you, made him feel something indescribable. It was a good feeling, though. The feeling he felt when Neal did as he was told without argument, and called him his friend, and just came into work that morning because he’d decided it wasn’t the day to cut his anklet and run.

Things had changed for the Caffreys. He hadn’t known you at all before a year and a bit ago, but even he could tell that. You were letting people in. Trusting people besides yourselves and each other.

He pat you on the back and pulled away from you a little, gently putting a finger under your chin. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep Neal safe,” he assured you. “I know it was difficult enough to keep it a secret after you found out.”

You nodded, sniffling a little. Of course it’d been difficult. It’d been the reason you’d cried yourself to sleep that night. You hadn’t wanted the task of having to make a decision, and you were only grateful – and relieved, more than anything – that you hadn’t had to.

“I think...” You glanced down for a second, glassy eyes meeting the soft brown ones of Satchmo. “I think I would’ve told you eventually.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was surprised at that revelation. He lifted his chin a little, dropping his finger from yours. "Really?"

"Somebody would have found out in the end,” you told him. “Better it be you. You’re the only person who cares about Neal enough to fight for him.”

Peter regarded you carefully, watching as you shuffled your feet and chewed anxiously at the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t really thought about it in that way before, but now you’d mentioned it, he could see it.

It was true, what you’d said. Mozzie and Neal’s treasure-hiding hadn’t been the smartest. There’d been enough leads to have found it eventually, and definitely enough to drive whoever was following those leads to them. Those people would not have been so lenient. They wouldn’t have understood Neal’s (partly) turned over leaf. They wouldn’t have understood his kindness, and his compassion, and his general humanity. And they definitely wouldn’t have understood his need to stay in front of the bars if only to keep Y/N happy.

Peter understood it all and more. If you had told him about the treasure before he – and Keller – had found out about it himself, he doubtlessly, with a small amount of consideration and hesitation, would have decided on some way or another to give Neal the lowest possible amount of punishment he could receive for a crime such as this. He wouldn’t have thrown the guy in jail and left you without your brother for another few years of your life, and New York without Neal.

He loved you both too much to do that to either of you, or to him.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, a little distant in his tone. He looked back out at the garden, Neal’s grin threatening to split his face as he laughed along with Elizabeth. Though Peter could still see his aching need to get up and ask what he and you were talking about. That was Neal Caffrey. The first responder to all his little sister’s life choices. All except some, Peter decided, and he didn’t half mind that.

He turned back to you and gave you a smile, letting it widen as you responded with your own, half genuine one. “You’re a good girl, sweetheart,” he said quietly, “and you help me keep that man within his limitations better than anyone. Make sure you talk to him. I’m getting a little tired seeing those puppy dog eyes every day.” Your chest heaved with a breath of amusement at that, and he counted it as a victory as he pulled you towards him once more. “The only way there could be any bad blood between us is if you killed Satchmo. Or Elizabeth. Or me. Now, go out and ask the beauty, the criminal, and the winter sunbather if they want cheesecake or profiteroles for dessert.”