#this is disappointment that we didn’t bother trying to be civil

[notbxnny]

Tom cannot stand the idea that he might like someone more than they like him. it is one of the very first things we hear about him. it quietly eats at him in a way he can’t quite shake. maybe its the midwestern upbringing that expects at least a veneer of civility, that makes him feel particularly spurned when people don’t bother to mask their resentment or disinterest. he spends almost every waking hour of his life being courteous and amicable to people he can’t stand and he never sees an ounce of it returned, especially concerning Shiv and Logan, with any of the Roy’s, any piece of himself offered up is crushed beneath their heel. they’re supposed to be family but he knows how little they think of him, he can feel it, he can taste it, everyone can, yet he has no choice but to try and find his way in with them, caught in an unending, desperate clamour for their favour.

Greg is used to the people in his life not reciprocating his good will. often throughout his life he was reshaped by the people around him, his sense of self never landing anywhere solid as he frequently conformed to blend in with whichever crowds didn’t mind him hanging around. he was his mothers only child and his grandfathers only grandchild, which, in spite of they both view him with a very lukewarm disappointment. its almost an impossibility to feel loved as a Roy, but there’s still this allusion to it which the Roy’s can’t help but chase, they can get close enough to it to feel its warmth but can never quite reach it; when you’re a Hirsch, there’s nothing to seek out in the first place, the distance is just too great. Greg’s cousins think he’s a joke and a pest at best, Greg doesn’t think they’re very good people, but securing his place in the family puts him in a position that pays handsomely so he gives it his all. He pries information out of eavesdropped conversations and misguided entrustment because power and leverage is the only language they speak, and he doesn’t get upset when they scorn him after he’s offered up all he has. When each of his weak attempts to play being an actual family—or find any personhood left in them he can connect to—are met with further ostracism, he just grits his teeth and clings even harder to the brittle strands that connect them.

long story short this is why the tom and greg dynamic is the most perfect when one of them is weirdly dependent and clingy and the other is very vaguely repulsed by this

[pyropsychiccollector]

Student Council Bios

A while ago, I did up some bios on Danganronpa's Student Council (well, the girls, anyway). Characters that we really didn't get to know, so none of this is really "canon". It's just backgrounds I've imagined to fill in gaps for these background characters. .... I did use certain characters from other series as a base for their personalities, at least for a couple of them, but I think it gives them flavor~ :3

Suzuko Kashiki

Suzuko Kashiki. The Ultimate Track and Field Star. This spirited, gifted young lady is not only an Olympics-worthy athlete, she managed to join the prestigious Hope’s Peak Student Council. Naturally, all events at this academy have to go through the Vice President and President of the Council, they get the “final” say… And yet Suzuko is charismatic enough and wise enough that Kotomi leaves most sports-related matters under her jurisdiction; Suzuko’s spirit for fair competition and taking students to new heights in athletics keeps things civilized, strangely enough. The athletes under Suzuko’s jurisdiction don’t want to disappoint her and get banned from events, so they keep it clean – Kotomi is only ever needed if… interlopers… try to rig the competitions, those are the only ones Suzuko isn’t fully prepared for because of their impish ingenuity and nefarious deeds. Suzuko is a model student, being gifted with both athletics and leadership abilities… But who is Suzuko? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

As far back as she can remember, Suzuko has always wanted to RUN. Her parents say that this has been the case ever since she began to walk as a toddler. And for all Suzuko cares about the authenticity of that, whether it’s just her parents being fond and boastful, as far as she’s concerned it’s the truth. It’s been a natural, raw instinct… That she feels the most alive when she’s charging ahead with full force.

It made her a rather hyperactive child. Yet Suzuko’s parents and teachers found ways to channel that endless energy. As long as Suzuko ate healthy, slept healthy, kept up her studies… They rewarded her with longer PE classes, and she could stay out longer than most kids in the neighborhood to run off that excess energy before bed. Her safety and health while she was out running was never in doubt – the golden rule was that if any incident ever happened, Suzuko would have to dial back her nightly runs. Suzuko got grumpy whenever that happened, so she became very careful and learned to avoid suspicious strangers that tried to halt her on her runs; and furthermore, she learned basic First-Aid fairly early on because of the few times she tripped and scraped her arms and legs. And because she got so much practice with her exercises, Suzuko developed a flawless racing record with schoolmates and neighborhood kids, even ones older than her.

… But alas, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Suzuko’s endless energy garnered her a reputation where many kids saw her as a spaz, someone that didn’t have brains to go with her athletic body. Suzuko tried to prove herself, that really, she did get good grades – however, kids simply assumed she was receiving help from one of the brainy kids. That she was a charity case. Though what was really fueling this negative mindset towards Suzuko was the fact that… Suzuko really was outrunning EVERYONE. And that stepped on more than a few toes, ‘cause kids hate losing… But Suzuko kept getting better at athletics, and kids in school and the neighborhood kept growing cold and distant as the gap grew exponentially. In short order, Suzuko became a pariah, her childhood became lonely.

And that’s when Suzuko began her “hobbies”. She learned to knit, learned what went into making dolls and pillows, personalizing mugs, just all these bizarre odds and ends that most kids wouldn’t even bother with unless it was an art project in school… Suzuko had the time to hone these skills because of her loneliness. And she learned these arts and crafts projects in attempts to win friends over, making dolls in their likeness, pillows stitched with their favorite designs, baking cookies in the shapes of her friends’ faces… Unfortunately for Suzuko, this didn’t go over well. Kids found that even weirder, obsessive, gave her an even wider berth and told transfer students to avoid her if they didn’t want to catch her ‘weirdo disease’.

Suzuko kept pressing on, though. Getting better and better in athletics, better and better in her… memorabilia creations… And one day, Suzuko was told her mother nearly made it into one of the Olympics before Suzuko was born – but an unfortunate accident caused her to miss out on the event, and Suzuko’s mother never quite got the opportunity to build back up to that level of skill. She tried and tried… But then she became pregnant with Suzuko, and she had to turn her back on those dreams.

Hence, with all her spare time, Suzuko developed a new goal: Train hard so she could get into the Olympics in any event, and earn a medal in her mother’s honor. Suzuko’s improvements skyrocketed with this new focus and dedication. And around the time she was ten years old, Suzuko managed to run a self-imposed 100 meter dash in 10.30 seconds. If she’d been recorded, that would’ve beaten out the world record for the 100 meter… But Suzuko didn’t stop trying. In the next few years, she built up to the 10 km run, aiming for the One Hour and the Half-Marathon next. And with her natural running abilities, she adapted to the races with the hurdles, steeplechase; and she branched out into the high jump, the pole vault, the long jump, the triple jump, shot put throws, discus throws, hammer throws, and javelin throws. From ages 11-13, Suzuko was watched with rapt interest as she cleared Olympic records with frightening ease, even without competing in the events herself. Kids that shunned her were now cheering her on, and scouts for the Olympics had their eyes on her when the TV news stations started broadcasting her school’s athletic events and she consistently got First Place in competitions. She was a bit young to join the Olympics, but in a few years…

Well. That’s why Hope’s Peak ended up scouting her. A superstar with such promise, a doubtless bright future, even if she had some peculiar… hobbies. She was also quickly scouted for the Student Council by Kotomi, who learned Suzuko wasn’t just a ‘meathead’, but had some excellent academic chops, and they could use someone passionate like Suzuko on the Council that would raise their athletics department to new heights.

Still, Suzuko’s hyper energy does unnerve many students still, and her place on the Student Council unintentionally puts a gap between her and schoolmates because of Hope’s Peak’s innate elitism. She’s still a somewhat lonely girl, but that’s fine~… A year after she joined the academy, a cute kouhai joined the school’s ranks, and she found a new focus for her… hobbies. One that quickly gained notoriety amongst the Student Council, because no one else out there was making Makoto Naegi merchandise. … Much less body pillows that were precisely Makoto’s size, and rumors about Suzuko working on an “anatomically correct” body pillow… *coughs* But that’s just baseless speculation~

Karen Kisaragi

Karen Kisaragi. The Ultimate Accountant. The undisputed wizard of the bankbooks. She can detect accounting fraud from a mile away, so do your best to keep your nose clean, especially of counterfeiting… or she’ll impound your ass. They say if you want a brutally honest and accurate assessment of your financial health and your financial goals, there is no one better to consult than Karen Kisaragi. And yet… as infamous as this young lady is, who is she? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Karen was born into an impoverished family – impoverished, because her mother was just a teenager when she gave birth to Karen, and her mother’s family disowned her for the “shame” of teenage pregnancy even though the whole ordeal was nonconsensual. Her father was thrown in prison for rape charges, and her mother filed a restraining order so that when he inevitably was released, he could never go anywhere near her or Karen. So Karen has never known her father, and has had no real desire to.

From an early age, Karen has learned the value of money. Her mother breaks her back to keep the two of them afloat, and unfortunately has some past connections to shady loan sharks that she only barely got off their back by paying them back in full. It wasn’t easy, and her mother’s “sketchy history” has made it difficult to find employment whenever she gets laid off. Because of these conditions, Karen has never “wanted”, let alone known, wealth. She’s contented herself with hand-me-downs and bargain rack clothes, simple meals, and relied on her schools’ generosity when it comes to books and study materials. Yet just because Karen has possessed no desire to be wealthy herself, she cares a great deal for her mother, and so from an early age she began studying financial tips, all the ins-and-outs of finances, really. Her mother was initially indignant at first to receive advice from her child when it came to matters of money… But soon enough, she discovered that whatever her daughter was picking up from their neighbors, or wherever she was gleaning this knowledge, it carried significant weight.

… The secret is that Karen discovered a retired accountant a few blocks from their home, and he noted how attentive and dutiful she was as a child. In exchange for small chores around his home, the retiree would pass down his knowledge, and that’s what Karen brought home to help her mother get better, financially. Within just a couple years, Karen and her mother had better meals, could afford better clothes, and could even afford a more average apartment. And still have money leftover for an emergency fund. By the time she was nine years old, Karen was offering consultations to their neighbors’ families for a little bit extra of an income, because despite her young age Karen was cheaper than professional firms, and yet she was becoming just as accurate as the big name firms.

It was never about getting a name for herself. Karen honestly just wanted to support her mother. … And yet, by the time she was ten, her mother wanted Karen’s reputation to sore higher than their humble neck of the woods. They didn’t have to rely on loan sharks to stay afloat, and finding jobs was no longer as challenging; Karen’s mother wanted her daughter to go as far with her accounting skills as she could, because she was quite gifted, and she kept adding more knowledge onto herself. For the next two years, Karen served as a private consultant in their city, and her name kept getting out there. … Until eventually Deloitte Tohmatsu Tax picked Karen up at the age of twelve, having over 100 years of experience and receiving a recommendation from one of their former employees, the retiree that initially started teaching Karen the ropes. They were not disappointed. With access to more resources and experience, Karen’s capabilities grew exponentially. Even without the benefit of a “full-time” position, Karen was paid quite handsomely, and her schoolmates knew not to mess with her because of her association with the taxing firm.

Yet this notoriety came with its ups and downs. She was never bullied, but Karen also didn’t get too many friends, and there was only so much she had to do with her and her mother doing pretty well for themselves. It was almost boring to keep up the accounting gig, that’s how good Karen was getting with money… But Karen kept at it, because it would support her endeavors for university. And while she effortlessly pursued her career, she picked up a hobby of… writing. Though this habit came about because of unfortunate circumstances. … Namely, encountering shameless couples in alleyways, fitting rooms, behind the bleachers… Yeeeah… Karen has had the misfortune of bumping into frankly borderline exhibitionists, and this served as “inspiration” for some… SPICY writing… Never publishing any of these works, Karen simply writes for herself, substituting herself for the women getting railed, and featuring a vague apparition of a man that she did not yet have a clear picture of. … Just that she knew what sexual positions SHE would want to try out when she got older. And yes, Karen really did encounter THAT many perverted couples from ages 13-15. Her powers of closet smut grew in parallel to her powers of money, and yet for all that she was horny, Karen never developed an obsession with boys, never had a crush no matter how handsome or charming her schoolmates were. In fact, the jocks and prettyboys annoyed her the most because of how full of themselves they usually were, and it’s not as if Karen was out-of-control with her lust. She just had plenty of early experiences with overhearing perverted couples going at it like rabbits. … Nothing major.

And besides, Karen remembered her own birth came about because of her mother’s misfortune with a sleaze in high school, so she was in no rush for romance, let alone becoming friends with people. If they didn’t want to get close with her, then she didn’t want to bother with them. Karen would just continue her work as the youngest accountant for Deloitte, and keep accumulating a wealthy storehouse of smut for her future “Prince Charming”, because she just couldn’t help herself~...

Eventually, Hope’s Peak scouted her as the Ultimate Accountant. And while Karen had no real desire to become the “best” in her field, she did want to keep herself sharp in case her mother ever fell on hard times again, or her mother’s past caught up with her. So Karen accepted the invitation, and almost immediately got invited to join the Student Council as the Treasurer because of her abilities. Though all of this attention was troublesome, Karen accepted it and had a grudging respect for the ambitious Kotomi. … Just as long as people left her alone when they didn’t need consultations. Her writing time is precious, after all~…

Aiko Umesawa

Aiko Umesawa. The Ultimate Costume Designer. This… work-shy young lass has a reputation in the entertainment industry for creating stylish and realistic outfits that even veteran designers would be hard-pressed to compete with. It’s almost a guarantee that if you hire this young woman for your movie or stage production, you’ll draw in audiences from all over the world due to how sleek your actors and actresses appear to be in advertisements. Even the harshest critics have few complaints about the meticulous care Aiko Umesawa applies to the costumes she creates; whether it’s stepping back in time to the Victorian period, or jumping to the far future, Aiko gives it her all down to the tiniest buttons and patterns embroidered on clothes, down to the very material themselves. Those who work with Aiko know that they have to give her a generous budget for costumes, because the expense WILL make or break their movie or play. Aiko even has a social media page, so if she’s discontent with a project for whatever reason, her fans WILL know, and there WILL be Hell to pay. Still, who is Aiko Umesawa? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Her parents were lovey-dovey saps, even if they were only movie production staff members. Their income was average, and their jobs always had them on the move, assisting with lighting production and stage design. For a brief window of time as a little girl, Aiko was enchanted, travelling with her folks from movie set to movie set, witnessing the ‘magic’ they created… And then she became desensitized because it was her everyday life. Aiko became home-schooled because of her parents’ jobs that had them on the go so often, barely had time to adjust to a neighborhood and make friends at all. They had to hire a tutor because of how in-depth their jobs were, and after a while Aiko stopped being diligent in her studies because of how boring and “troublesome” it all was. General knowledge and academics just never piqued Aiko’s interest; when would she even have to use 90% of this stuff…? It was all super lame and boring.

… So at about seven or eight years old, Aiko began ditching her tutor to wander around the various movie sets her parents worked on – avoiding them because of how lovey-dovey and gross they got with each other. In doing so, Aiko stumbled upon the costume and makeup departments, and she became mesmerized by all the colors and styles and the different textures of the costumes under her fingertips. Honestly, it was just an instinct kind of thing at first, not really having an earnest desire to learn but just to bury herself in something until her tutor got sick of looking for her.

But eventually, she got too engrossed in studying costumes and designs. Eventually she wanted to try her own hand at it, and started making clothes that she could wear that she thought were awesome and cute. To her annoyance, other kids that had parents working on the movie sets soon discovered her hobby, and begged her to make costumes for them, giving her ideas of what they wanted to wear. Aiko wasn’t really motivated to give in to their whining and pleading, but if it got them off her back, well… Fine, whatever. But then the first kid offered to PAY Aiko for her services, and from that moment on she started charging all of her ‘clients’, because at least then she could get something out of this hobby of hers. She really, really didn’t care for the popularity or the attention, especially when Halloween came around… But she became rich off these pests, and her reputation began to precede her.

… Her parents didn’t like the fact she ditched the tutor that they paid good money for, however, and that resulted in Aiko getting sent to formal primary school, much to her dismay. Gone was her lifestyle of moving around with her parents, now she lived with a housesitter and attended school like most kids. And Aiko HAD to keep her grades up, or her parents would stop paying her allowance for her hobby of costume-making. Well, Aiko didn’t like it, but she put up with it because it was too much of a bother to run away and fend for herself. Her schoolmates helped her catch up academically, and in exchange they formed a fanclub dedicated to cosplay… And if you asked Aiko, she didn’t like this tradeoff. Aside from the money for soda and candy and costume-making, there was no upshot to any of this. She learned useless junk, and now she was around people often enough that she HAD to take showers and maintain her hygiene if she didn’t want people whining about useless stuff like how she stank. … Never mind the fact Aiko hated dealing with people in general because they were always more upbeat than her and thus zoomed about their lives while she took a far more sedate pace, and she wanted to be LEFT ALONE… But alas. Life loved kicking her in the balls.

Her skills kept growing, and eventually the “almighty highschoolers” took notice of her dorky junior high self, and commissioned her to make costumes for their stage productions. Don’t get her wrong, they paid more money than her bratty classmates… But it was still troublesome. And it didn’t stop at highschoolers – they had friends in university who were impressed by their stage productions, and thus Aiko ran into even bigger monies for working for university theater groups at the tender age of eleven. And finally from there, official studios took note of her work, and that’s when Aiko made ALL the monies, even without a full-time job because of “child labor laws” and all that. … Yeah, like Aiko cared about those crappy laws. If it got her out of school and away from her slobbery, squealing schoolmates, Aiko was all for dedicating everything to those studios. Threw herself into studying costume design with a passion in the hopes that she would at last achieve an easygoing life… That’s really all Aiko wanted. Screw ambition and insane wealth, as long as she had enough to get by comfortably.

By the time Hope’s Peak noticed Aiko and recruited her, she’d helped with dozens and dozens of official movie studios and their productions, already a big name in the Japanese movie industry. And she was beginning to tread into international waters, but again, never diving too deep because that would take too much work. Especially learning new languages… No, no, Aiko was good right here in Japan, and if she did work with international companies, she left it to the translators to bridge the gap between her and her clients. Aiko gleefully joined Hope’s Peak because she’d have fewer classmates, and they’d all be absorbed in their own worlds to bother HER too much. The ideal academic atmosphere for her.

… And then the Witc… *coughs* Kotomi took notice of Aiko’s humble self, and for whatever insane reasons she got dragged into the Student Council because they wanted somebody to manage their drama department. Jerk didn’t even pay Aiko for the additional headaches, Aiko was just supposed to juggle her Council duties on top of her duties as a designer. … Well, at least with the Council position, Aiko could boss people around easier. Especially when it came to getting alone time with her adorable luckster kouhai that every harlot seemed infatuated with… Seriously. The guy just wanted to chill. Didn’t these idiots understand?! Of course not. “Just chilling” is apparently a crime in this world… But that’s fine~… Makoto-kun likes hoodies, and she likes coming up with different anime hoodies, like her Pikachu-themed one, so maybe he’d appreciate her skillz~… At a discount, of course. Gotta have some pocket change for junk food, y’know?

Kiriko Nishizawa

Kiriko Nishizawa. The Ultimate Fashion Designer. Certainly the youngest in her industry, this young lass has taken the world of fashion by storm, her clothes easily bringing in the most sales for stores, both chains and family-owned. Her designs are trendy, and express a plethora of emotions that appeal to just about anyone. Clean and professional, casual attire that somehow evokes memories of home, clothes that you can take pride in, clothes that you can wear if you feel you need to drop into the background… Gangsta, Hippie, Parisian, Athleisure, Classic, Streetwear, Business Casual, Retro, Minimalist, Vintage, Grunge, Chic, Bohemian, Trendy, Preppy, Punk, Tomboy, Gothic, Western… The list of styles goes on and on, and Kiriko can be said to have come up with designs for each category at some point or another. She doesn’t specialize in any one area because it’s her desire to connect with her customers, all of them and not just some of them, and her wish that by sharing a passion for a brand like hers that people will eventually come together, little by little. Everyone may have different tastes, but that doesn’t mean they have to stay in separate cliques. But even with all of this said… Who is Kiriko Nishizawa? Where does she come from? And is her dream as simple as uniting people’s hearts through fashion…?

Kiriko’s father is Japanese, while her mother is French. Her father is a gravure photographer that travelled abroad to bring some foreign beauty back to his homeland, and he wound up falling in love with one of his models. It took some convincing, but when her mother was confirmed pregnant, she agreed to travel back to Japan and raise their child there… Learning to speak and write Japanese was an ordeal, but her husband learned French to the best of his ability, so it was an equivalent exchange. And… the dual cultures gave Kiriko an interesting childhood experience. Both Japanese and French are reserved in their own ways, but whereas the former is more formal and respectful, perhaps even conscientious of how much they reveal to others… The French, on the other hand, are very much about getting to know others and are very casual. Hence, Kiriko had an interesting time fitting in at school; early on she thought she was doing something wrong with how distant her ‘friends’ could be, but her parents assured her that wasn’t the case – she just needed to dial back the… affection.

So Kiriko did… to the best of her abilities. In the end, she was still a child, so it was hard leading a ‘double life’ where she could be looser and more affectionate at home, but not so much out and about. To take her mind off of the troubles of making friends, the young Kiriko soon turned her attention to what her beautiful mother did for a living. … Probably not the best idea for a seven-year-old, if only because her mother was usually a model for a lingerie company, which meant most photos she looked over were… skimpy. Still, Kiriko was a responsible girl and didn’t focus on underwear when her mother’s magazines featured clothes of all kinds. And because her mother had quite an extensive collection of modeling magazines – both of herself and older stuff to reference to keep herself fresh for the modeling agencies.

This started Kiriko down a path of researching fashion for herself, and because they were quite well off she used some of her allowance to start up a hobby of attempting to make clothes for herself since she knew her measurements. It didn’t work out too well in the beginning, because Kiriko didn’t realize: of course, she would grow. If she didn’t want to keep making clothes every time she hit a growth spurt, or even just grew a few inches, she should create a few different sizes in advance. Clothes had varieties of different materials, too, which made some styles more flexible and comfy than others. Fashion design was a science, and Kiriko was a pretty fast learner for a kid. By age nine, she was making cool clothes for both herself and her schoolmates, who quickly warmed up to her because it was hard enduring their school’s strict dress code. Somehow, Kiriko had found ways to bend the rules and create unique uniforms that wouldn’t land students in trouble with the faculty; they were professional uniforms and yet each outfit that Kiriko made, they served to make a statement of the student that begged for Kiriko’s services. That’s because Kiriko paid attention to her schoolmates and their hobbies, and when she hadn’t yet spent enough time with them she straight up asked if they had any preferences for their unique uniform. In this way, Kiriko drank in both knowledge of what her schoolmates appreciated, and also the various styles that were out there. She did have to ask for some payment for her clothes, if only because there was a cost in making them; but if it was any consolation, they were practically bargain rack rates for stuff that probably could’ve been sold in clothes outlets.

All of that time taking experience and requests from her peers, not to mention researching on her own, it’s no surprise that the faculty of her school as well as her schoolmates’ families began making requests as well. These requests opened up whole new worlds for Kiriko, because now she wasn’t just adhering to a strict dress code and making little changes that wouldn’t rock the boat. These requests were literally blank checks for her to take various styles and create something unique in them. And her clients appreciated her work so much, they often gave her generous tips for her work, and spread the word she was an up-and-coming clothes designer and was taking requests. Kiriko didn’t mind the attention, at least at first, because she could easily keep up with her schoolwork and still make time for her family, even with all the extra work.

… But the requests flooded and overwhelmed her, and before long she had to put a pause on taking new requests to get to the ones that she received weeks ago. This happened around the time she was eleven, and came to understand that being a one-woman army of a clothes designer was just not feasible. She needed new connections to keep up with her workload. Thankfully, her father and mother had connections to department stores and mall outlets, who were interested in supporting the young Kiriko’s fledgling successes. Once she had their support, suddenly Kiriko didn’t need to take requests for specific people anymore – the stores would create multiple sizes for clothes, both men and women. All Kiriko needed to do was hammer out designs, which in the end was the core part of her business, the soul if you will. Stores and outlets had a broader access to different materials, so Kiriko would just outline what they would need, sketch out what the finished products would look like, and carry on to the next project. Any product that was used with her designs, the stores and outlets would give her a cut of the profits; and in the end, almost every design she sent in was used and brought to life. This brought her wider and more critical acclaim from people all over Japan, and soon all over the world – though this happened between the ages of 12-15.

Kiriko never stopped wanting to connect with people. Her successes with fashion convinced her this was a legitimate way to find common ground with others, to learn about them and also to express herself. She’s always learning something new and trying out different styles, but also returning to previous styles because fashion bleeds together after a while – what works in one style can be applied to another if you take the right approach. And this interconnectedness with her fashion designs has earned widespread popularity; usually any complaints or criticisms are when the styles don’t specifically suit the customer… or when they complain for the sake of complaining. Kiriko never lets these haters get to her, and just keeps on trying, because there are people that appreciate her art. Lots of people.

That doesn’t stop Kiriko from pursuing completely satisfied reactions, though. Probably because of her lineage, she’s a young girl that’s very much… hungry for love. Her parents are often quite busy with their careers, and her own busybody self is weighed down by all the research and design-making she has to do. She’s starving for friends that do more than just check-ins with her, that wanna hang out and all that fun stuff. That’s kinda why she accepted the invitation to Hope’s Peak – it felt like there was a gap between her and her old schoolmates. Even though the loved her clothing line, they definitely felt in… awe of her and her drive. By joining Hope’s Peak, she hoped to encounter other spectacular individuals that were confident in themselves and didn’t view her as just a designer... Though to be fair, the school prioritizes that talent stuff, and in the beginning her prospects for friends were looking bleak because it was all about the “results”, showing that they deserved to be elite… But then Kiriko got recruited for the Student Council, and she found some friends. And a year later, that cutey luckster joined Hope’s Peak~… Makoto Naegi. He hadn’t even heard of her, but could respect her skills as a designer. As long as she had Makoto, and her friends on the Council… she could keep going.

Kotomi Ikuta

Kotomi Ikuta. The Ultimate Biologist. This ambitious, plucky young lass has been an honors student from a young age, excelling in all subjects but shining the most in the fields of science. Her dedication to studying, and to being a law-abiding citizen and student, are second-to-none. From junior high to high school, Kotomi has become a well-renowned researcher in genetics, neuroscience, developmental biology, biochemistry, biotechnology, molecular biology, microbiology, physiology, biophysics, computational biology, zoology, botany, aquatic biology, ecology, and evolutionary biology. Despite how much studying she had to do and the amount of work involved, Kotomi does not choose a specialization in the field of biology because she feels that would limit her perspective on humanity and the world, citing that it is her sacred duty as an Ikuta to both understand AND to use that knowledge to make advancements in medicine and improve the natural environment. Everyone who’s met her or read about her ongoing career in scientific journals knows that Kotomi is a passionate student of the sciences that has made a splash in the community, and will only continue to shine brighter as the years go by. But who is Kotomi Ikuta? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

Born into a distinguished family with a lengthy history of contributing to the sciences, Kotomi has felt the pressures of making a name for herself since she was a little girl. Granted, her parents were loving, and never explicitly ordered Kotomi to apply herself, academically… They only wanted her to be happy, and to pursue her own interests and path in life… But Kotomi was a girl deeply respectful of her family’s long and distinguished history, and as such she was so scared of tarnishing her family’s honor by doing anything short of “excellent”. What probably contributed to this attitude was her grandfather’s frequent visits – her grandfather, Eiichiro Ikuta, who won the Nobel Peace Prize around the time of World War II for his “great work he performed during the war on behalf of humanity”, because as a medic he did his best to help the Allies during the war, knowing that his homeland was wrong for allying with Italy and Germany, but also doing what he could to preserve their soldiers’ lives so that they could learn from this shameful part of their history. Eiichiro doted on his granddaughter, but he also had hopes she would continue the family legacy, and perhaps earn the Nobel Peace Prize herself, if not that then something equally as grand. Kotomi listened to his stories of World War 2 with rapt attention, and could feel the weight of her family’s history that went further back than him. Her parents tried reassuring her there was no obligations or “duty”, yet that’s what Kotomi picked up from her grandfather, that even without saying it their family consistently did well because they applied themselves and made contributions to the world. … So Kotomi would apply herself, too.

Kotomi wasn’t sure what field of science she wanted to pursue, however. Her grandfather was a medic, her father was a chemist and her mother was a university professor of the natural sciences. Since she didn’t know where to start, Kotomi decided she would study everything she could until something stuck out to her. Studying became second nature to her with how hard she threw herself into it – her classmates were a bit overwhelmed by her overflowing passion for academic excellence. She WANTED those top marks to prove to herself and to her family that she was doing her part to bring honor to the Ikuta name; and she urged her classmates to be just as passionate, holding study groups to stimulate a studious spirit in all of them… Because really, even if their family didn’t have a history like hers, wouldn’t it be honorable if they were the first in their families to apply themselves? Kotomi was doing them a favor by being so pushy about the academics, but alas~… More often than not, they tended to steer clear of her because of her obsess… passion. Her passion. Yeah. There were a few diligent classmates, of course, but even they so often paled to her towering infernos of obsess… passion.

Her dedication ultimately paid off, even if both her classmates and teachers were overwhelmed by her youthful energy and vivacity. It took a bit of time for her to cue into it, but she was definitely attuned to biology. And by “bit of time”, that meant by eight years old she was reading texts several grades above her normal reading level. Or, well. What SHOULD have been her reading level. About the only reason she wasn’t skipping several grades ahead because of being a child prodigy was due to her parents wanting her to take time and smell the roses. To make friends her own age. To have fun and just be a kid. … Alas, Kotomi believed studying was fun, bringing honor to her family was the most fulfilling endeavor she could take up… She was already writing thesis papers by the time she was ten years old, and was well-versed in many fields of biology by the time she realized it was probably her calling.

But even if she was getting published in scientific journals for her notes on current scientific research and postulating her own theories, it was never enough. Consistently placing nationally on her school exams was never enough. She wanted to whip her student body into shape, so in junior high she began joining the Student Council and enacting reforms to cut down on bias and prejudice, and to enhance their learning environment. That was around the time she began garnering a reputation as “Miss Perfect” as the Council President – always placing nationally, writing thesis papers and journal articles, and now Student Council management on top of frequent hall monitor duty… People started to wonder if she ever slept, and they weren’t even bothering to whisper about that behind her back, they just straight up asked her… asked if she had a life, if she ever just “chilled”… And, well, Kotomi just began ignoring those rude types. Kept up her mission to stir up a spirit of academic excellence in even her most lazy peers.

Her schoolmates might’ve thought Kotomi was crazy, but by the time she reached high school Hope’s Peak sent her a letter almost immediately because of how well she was performing in both her career as a biologist and just her brilliant overall performance in academics. She’d been on their radar for a while, but recruitment didn’t start until high school, so… And, well, it was partially because of her that the academy decided to start up an elementary school division, to foster academic drive like she had. Kotomi was pleased to have her efforts recognized, and accepted the invitation to further her career and gain access to research Hope’s Peak possessed and hoped a change of environment would help her to find likeminded hard-workers like her.

… Alas, it wasn’t all that she hoped it would be. Ultimates were varied, and were very quirky. For the sake of bringing order, she formed the Student Council – although to her dismay, there seemed to be a time-honored tradition of an “Ultimate Student Council President”, so she could only ever reach the Vice President rank, but Kyosuke was content to grant her that rank with how much passion and heart she possessed. He would leave it to Kotomi to assist his successor to acclimatize to Hope’s Peak, and appreciated how tough she could be on her peers; there was nothing wrong about expecting great things from her schoolmates, and punishing mischief-makers. … That’s what they believed, anyway. Kotomi dragged Karen and Aiko onto the Student Council, and in the subsequent year brought on Kiriko, Suzuko, and Tsubasa. When Kiyotaka Ishimaru was recruited in her senior year, Kotomi prepared him to succeed her as the Vice President of the Council and continue assisting Soshun after she was gone.

It hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, but Kotomi will continue on as she is because she believes in humanity~… And she will reform those that don’t get with the program~… It’s not unlike how studying biology can progress the human race~! It just takes the right mindset. … And leadership.

Tsubasa Kamii

Tsubasa Kamii. The Ultimate Wedding Planner. This resourceful, adaptable young lady is your go-to for your ideal, perfect romantic getaway. Ever since she was a little girl she’s had this reputation of delivering highly professional and also small-time personal weddings that suit each couple she works with. Whether it’s something out in the countryside, or set in a higher, classier venue, or even something overseas… Tsubasa can help get it arranged for you, don’t go underestimating her just because she’s a child. There’s enough couples out there that can certify she’s the best in the business because she puts in the effort despite her workload. Frighteningly, she can juggle the planning of thirty different weddings at once, and still take on requests – all because of her golden rule: Contact her a year before your big day. It’ll take her that long to make the arrangements, but she WILL make it happen. All while still going to grade school. That said, who is Tsubasa Kamii? Where does she come from? What are her dreams and ambitions?

It may very well surprise you… But Tsubasa does not come from wealth. In fact, her parents are so painfully average, they work long hours at the office and are almost never home. Even while they’re home, her parents are too exhausted to shower Tsubasa with affection, let alone each other. She had a painfully dry, miserable beginning; Tsubasa made friends at school, but it was never quite the same for her. She yearned for a deeper bond with her family… And they just aren’t in a place financially where they can make that happen. They get by in life, and… that’s all they can do.

This doesn’t stop Tsubasa from craving love from her family. She knows it’s selfish, but her classmates and friends talk about their family lives all the time, and the more they talk the more Tsubasa wishes she had the colorful episodes they did… Even the hard times, where parents punished them for reckless stuff, or when the parents were unreasonably angry from a hard day at work. Her parents were just too dead inside to emote like that at home… and it frustrated Tsubasa. She was aimless for the first several years of her life.

But then one day when Tsubasa was eight years old, that all changed. A neighboring couple in her family’s apartment complex were talking about finally getting hitched, and Tsubasa overheard a few other neighbors gossiping about it. Apparently, the couple were as overworked as her parents, and they just didn’t have the time to arrange something fancy, so they seemed resigned to getting a civil wedding, aka just having a judge officiate their union. … Not even her parents had sunk that low – Tsubasa saw the few wedding pictures of her parents, it was a small ceremony but they’d at least done SOMETHING. She knew that if her neighbors went this route, their marriage probably wasn’t going to last. And… Tsubasa hated imagining a divorce between people that she vaguely knew, people she could empathize with because of her parents.

So Tsubasa buckled down and studied what she would need to do to make a ‘dream wedding happen’. … Definitely the hardest thing she had to study up on, ‘cause it was above her reading and comprehension level, and for a while it seemed hopeless… Until Tsubasa recalled she did have some neighbors that owed her some favors for doing chores for them a while back. It’s not like Tsubasa liked calling in favors like this, but that’s how she got in touch with professionals that could help her arrange something magnificent for her lovesick neighbors, even on a shoestring budget. She didn’t approach her neighbors first because Tsubasa knew that if she did, the neighbors would just pat her head and not take her seriously; she desired to help them, and needed to demonstrate how serious she was. So Tsubasa proved her resolve, to her neighbors’ shock. She even went around their back and chatted with their employers about giving the couple a few days off a year from then, just so they could celebrate their marriage properly… And it’s kinda hard to say ‘no’ to an eight-year-old that laid thick on the puppy dog eyes, so of course the employers caved, especially because these employees in particular seldom asked for days off. And, well… a wedding SHOULD be a big deal. That year went by in a flash, but Tsubasa managed to give those two a stellar wedding they would never forget; the one downside is that they didn’t have much money to pay her back for being so unabashedly sweet… And Tsubasa was fine with that. She argued that “love shouldn’t come with a price tag”.

… One problem, though. As indebted as the young couple was, they did have a bit of a selfish request, because there was a few friends that were in a similar boat of being unable to arrange a formal wedding just like them. Too busy with their lives. Tsubasa bemoaned her plight, because she’d used up all her favors with this first ‘request’. To her delight, however, the neighbors in her apartment complex were open to allowing Tsubasa to do more chores for them in exchange for calling on their connections again to help her out with subsequent jobs. That did mean she was indebted to her neighbors this time, but she could easily help them out during the planning phases for these new requests; Tsubasa merely needed to ensure she had at least a year to work with. To her further relief, her first clients’ friends had a bigger pockets to work with, and Tsubasa didn’t have to strain herself so much with all the chores. … Though she did anyway, and even helped out classmates and their families for more “favors”, just to build a stockpile of connections in the event she was called on for more jobs. What even further helped was that some of her new clients actually paid her for helping them have unforgettable weddings… And slowly but surely, Tsubasa was getting in a more advantageous position for helping these unfortunate couples that didn’t have the luxury of planning out what should’ve been their most precious day.

A couple years of doing business with friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends… Tsubasa developed quite a network of allies, and even now had a website where she could take requests even over a Zoom meeting with the newlyweds-to-be. Yes, by age eleven Tsubasa was tackling a dozen requests for the following year, and eventually they just kept rolling in – even people that Tsubasa had never heard of or seen before were calling on her. Tsubasa’s name was getting out into the world, and the more affluent clients she came into contact with, the more money and connections she acquired. Soon she didn’t have to do as many chores so much as do a few oddjobs for the professional companies she worked alongside. From 11-15 her reputation ballooned and skyrocketed. People weren’t looking at her as just a kid anymore, even her parents were impressed with the strides she was making, the income she was bringing in to make their lives easier and make them more of a family by cutting back on the work hours. Those four years were definitely the happiest in Tsubasa’s young life, even with how busy, busy, busy she was…

And then Hope’s Peak came calling. Tsubasa almost didn’t want to go because she finally had what she wanted… But her parents encouraged her to take the opportunity for what it was. Hope’s Peak would be the height of her accomplishments thus far, being the best academic institution in the world, and the school would give her access to so many resources and new clients that Tsubasa wouldn’t know what to do with… Just because she attended didn’t have to mean they’d stop being a family, Tsubasa would always have a home to return to. So Tsubasa reluctantly accepted the invitation, so long as their family stayed together.

Tsubasa never expected to get dragged into the Student Council, though… Her own career was becoming daunting enough, but now she had duties to her schoolmates, too, on top of keeping in touch with her parents… It made Tsubasa frazzled for a while, and she almost quit the Council because of how stressful Kotomi made it for all of them… But then she made friends with Kiriko and even Karen… and everything changed for Tsubasa at that point. Granted, all the wedding details and plans did make her attuned to the more… INTIMATE details of people, their anatomy, but Kiriko and Karen really brought out her shameless side that she didn’t know she had. … Honestly, Karen just automatically assumed with her voluptuous rack, Tsubasa was already one of THOSE types and was egging her on. Poor, poor Karen had no idea she was unchaining the beast and releasing her on Hope’s Peak. For a year, there was peace… But then Makoto-kouhai arrived, and well~… Tsubasa found her hubby. And she had no shame in getting him thinking about their future wedding, even if she ended up having to share the cutie. Honestly, though, that had Tsubasa even more thrilled and hot and bothered… ‘cause she never tackled a harem wedding before. It would be her masterpiece~! So many girls interested in the Egg~… Tsubasa could not wait to make the best wedding in existence~!

[tkworks80]

Chapter 2

6 MONTHS BEFORE CAPTIVITY

Y/N POV

You moved back to Japan after completing your education. You graduated as a Civil Engineer and quickly got hired by a prestigious firm and moved to a very good neighborhood. You started to make an awesome social life even making a couple of friends from work and trying to settle into your new home in a very nice neighborhood. At first, you were very nervous about returning to Japan by yourself because your parents decided to stay in America. When you use to live in Japan, you really didn’t make any friends except for Shoto. You weren’t really a social butterfly until your college years and even that was a major feet for you. During the years you lost touch with Shoto and his accomplishments. You thought that he was so busy with hero work he probably didn’t have time for a phone call and you really didn’t want to bother him either.

One night while pulling up to your driveway from a very busy day's work you heard a big crash and saw suspicious men run past your car. You stayed in your car purely out of fear and curiosity just to witness what was happening. Sidekicks were chasing the criminals after they robbed a high-end department store a couple of blocks away. Sitting there you saw a figure of a man walking towards the scene when your eyes went wide and your heart skipped a beat when you recognize the scar on his face. It was Shoto. He was in pursuit of the criminals. You got out of your car after they apprehended the criminals. Shoto was walking back from where he was running from and noticed someone he recognized immediately.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Shoto gasped.

“Oh my God...Shoto...it’s been a very long time how are you?” you smiled

He walked up to you and greeted you. He was very surprised to see you in person.  

“When did you move back to Japan?” Shoto asked.

“A couple of months ago...I missed it here” you answered.

“Well...we have to catch up sometime...would you be available next week for let’s say...lunch?” Shoto asked, looking at his schedule through his phone.

“I think so...here is my card...call me” you happily handed him a business card.

He politely took it and smiled. You guys both said goodbye so you could safely go inside your home. As you walked into your house Shouta was looking at your business card.  Civil Engineer huh he thought walking back to his agency. Walking through your door you took off your shoes and jacket and slipped on some house shoes. Throwing your car keys in the usual place you turned on the kitchen and the living room lights. Exhausted you plop on the sofa resting a bit before taking a hot shower to wash the work away.  

Shoto you thought and got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. After taking a shower and getting ready for bed you heard your phone ring. Walk to your phone and it was an unknown number so you answered it.  

“Hello?” you answered

“Y/n?” Shoto responded

“Oh hey Shoto,” you said cheerfully

“I know it’s kind of late...about lunch next week there is a cafe near my agency” he suggested

“Sure but, it has to be Sunday...I have to work and I have a small get together with friends Saturday” you explained

“Sure, about 1 pm?” he asked

“Yeah see you then I gotta get going” you answered  

You hung up and went straight to bed. Getting in your bed you felt so comfortable that your sleep started to overpower you and you fell asleep. Shoto was at your doorstep.

LUNCH DATE

It was raining out when Shouta arrived at the restaurant. The restaurant was a small but quaint place where they made good soba noodles, his favorite meal. He arrived about 15 minutes early to get a good table.  

Shoto’s POV

He couldn’t believe y/n moved back to Japan and didn’t have the consideration to try to reach out to him. He was disappointed in her. He thought that since was on the news and social media she would be able to keep in touch. He still looked stoic but, in his mind, he was in tears. 

Why didn’t they ever stay in touch?  He loved y/n but she only saw him as a long-time friend. Lost in his thoughts he didn't notice y/n pulling up to the restaurant considering his table was by the window. She got out of the car, opened the umbrella, and ran to the restaurant entrance.

Y/n walked in the entrance and closed the umbrella.

“Welcome!” the hostess greeted her and y/n smiled.

Y/N POV

She spotted Shoto and recognized his stoic face. You started to walk up to his table.  

“It’s raining cats and dogs here, that’s the one thing I didn’t in Japan” she smiled and greeted Shoto’s train of thought. Shoto looked up and smiled. He gestured to you to sit down and you obliged. A waiter came to the table and asked if they could start you guys up with some drinks. Shoto ordered tea and hot chocolate for you.

As the hot drinks were placed on the table. Shoto asked for time to look at the menu and the waiter left.

“So...how’s life treating you?” Shoto asked.

“Well, I graduated as a Civil Engineer, decided to come back to Japan, and make a life here, my parents are still alive and kicking, still living in America...how about you?” you answered.

“I graduated from UA being one of the Top 3, created my very own agency cause I refused to join in my dad’s agency, he retired, and now I am a Top 2 hero” he explained.

“Wow! Shoto that’s awesome...I wished we kept in touch but, you know how that goes we were too busy making our path” you smiled.

“So y/n...that place I saw you when chasing those scumbags...it’s where you live? If so, it’s a very nice neighborhood” Shoto complimented.

“Yeah, it is...so...Shoto are you married now?...children?” you asked inquisitively.

Taken aback by that question he knew that y/n is Americanized to ask that very forward question but, yet still kept his composure.

“No...I’m single, never been married” Shoto lied to your face.

“Huh...I thought you would’ve been considering your ranking Top 2 hero...well, as for me I have never been married. I’m so busy with my career that I haven’t given a second thought about it” you explained.

“But, you thought it before” he exclaimed while smiling

Even though he smiled at you in his mind there was a celebration, party streamers and all. While y/n was ordering her food his mind was racing but, yet he still kept composed.

He knew he was in a discreet engagement with Momo. and knew they were going to get married in 11 months.  Shit, shit, shit, shit he thought. He knew had to have you.

“And what can we serve you today sir,” the waiter asked Shoto

“I’ll just have some soba please” Shoto looked up at the waiter.

When the waiter served them. They were eating and laughing about the good ole days. Reminiscing about when they were in grade school.

“Shoto, remember when we were walking back from school and we saw a little girl getting bullied? We scared the bullies away” y/n asked.

“How could I forget? The little girl had a snack quirk and practically drowned us in candy...hahaha” Shoto laughed.

“I think we got tired of snacks for a whole year hahaha I think our moms were shocked to see us eat all our vegetables that year...hahaha” you laughed out.

“I know hahaha” Shouta answered

The laughter died down and the real question came.

“Why did you have to move to America?” Shoto asked

“Because I had to go wherever my parents went my dad got transferred to America for work” y/n answered

“It’s getting late, Shoto, and I still have to do a couple of errands so...I have to get going,” y/n said while standing up.

“How about dinner?” Shoto asked.

“I don’t know if I have time this week or next. I have a very big project at work...call me or text” y/n answered while walking out of the restaurant.

3:00 pm Shoto: Hey, did you get any details about y/n? Did you run a thorough background check on her?

3:05 pm Unknown: Yeah, I was about to email you the details.

3:06 pm Shoto: Good.

Shoto saw you getting in your car. He pulled out his cellphone and started to text a number.

He stood up and paid the bill. Y/n will be his all in a matter of time...he is a very patient man

[should-be-sleeping]

It's a weird choice for them to make considering they were given the benefit of the doubt when they made an antisemitic joke, to not approach you with similar benefit of doubt solely because... you've been on TV? They dislike Wesley Crusher? Idk, man, but it's a bad look.

"Hey man, it's the OP, I see you enjoy my content, can you reblog from source rather than repost screen caps? It's the cool thing to do." I guess just doesn't get the lols. Unfortunate. Let's be real. It was a shitpost, not a work of art. I've never seen Wil not give credit where due when simply asked, even on posts he didn't even make.

My content gets reposted all the time. On sites I've never even been to. Would I rather it not? Sure. Am I going to poll the public about the level of cruelty I should inflict on another human person, inadvertently (or otherwise) insuring a bunch of other people who follow me are also cruel out of some weird parasocial loyalty? No. That's weird. In the bad way.

tl;dr: he's right, this is disappointing.

I wasn't even aware of that drama that sprung up, and looking into it, I'm also going "why are they accusing you of stealing the post?" You didn't do the screen cap as far as I can tell, plus you didn't erase any usernames like some sites that actually steal posts to get ad traffic do. Hopefully it all just blows over quickly? Good luck!

People who know nothing about me have been attacking me for my entire life, starting with the man who was my father. This is nothing new to me. It's not the first or last time I will be brigaded by an armada of white knights who I want to believe are well-intentioned, even if their actions aren't the greatest in the moment.

Within 24 hours, nobody will remember any of this, including the wonderful post that hopefully made lots of people laugh the way it made me laugh. Which is a bummer, because that's a great post.

On a personal note, I doubt very much that anyone cares, but imagine what a bummer it is to find something you like, share the thing you like, and then the person who made that thing decides it wasn't shared in the appropriate way ("stolen"? Really? I'm an artist, too. I know what stealing is and this isn't it) ) so they send wave after wave of random angry children at you to disrupt your day as much as possible. And when you make the effort to reach out to them, they choose to be a dick about it.

Okay. That's a choice.

I mean, you want the 85 cents of ad revenue I guess someone says I cost you? Okay, fine. How do you want me to get that to you? Bitcoin okay? Question: Are you raging against Witches Vs. Patriarchy for posting it? How about all the other places and people who saw this, thought it was great, and just shared it the way people do online? Did you put them on blast, too? What is it about me that made me worth the effort?

It's all a giant bummer, and what a shame that this whole thing started with something wonderfully entertaining and clever that I shared specifically to make people happy the way it made me happy. And now it's just this ... this fucking thing where I'm the asshole.

Sure, Jan.

[janghoefett]

Country Roads - Din Djarin x F!Reader Road Trip AU

Rating: Explicit (18+, no minors) Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: Alcohol, a drunk creeper, uncomfortable family dynamics/relationships, light smut.

Summary: The happy couple embarks on a road trip to introduce Din to her family and takes a pit stop at a dive bar. 

A/N: Don’t know if this will be continued or not, but if so, I’m hoping to just take it day by day on this little road trip adventure! This is my first time writing an AU that’s more than just a tiny drabble and I'm still trying to get used to it lmao.

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

The land was flat, the valley was glowing summer hues of green and gold, and you couldn’t fight the smile that was tugging on your lips upon seeing the miles and miles of open land. You had finally made your way out of the city and into the middle of nowhere — Din was blasting music from the aux cord and singing along softly, his body free of tension and his hair lit golden by the setting sun as he drives into the unknown.

Bringing your boyfriend a thousand miles cross country to meet with your crazy family felt as if someone had peered into your soul to learn what your worst nightmare was, and then immediately manifested it into reality.

Din, however, was all for it — he truly wanted to drive you up there himself and introduce himself as yours, and that made it all the more terrifying. “I have a terrible aunt who’s going to eat you alive,” you warned him as he pecked at your lips earlier this morning.

"I can handle any terrible aunt you throw at me, pretty girl,” he countered, his words full of conviction and pure of heart. 

And that was exactly why it scared you. You look at Din and you know you couldn’t bear to lose him. You didn’t want his love to run dry because of all the baggage you carried with you.

“We’re going to have a week together. You and me. All alone on the open road,” Din breathed against your lips. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

You smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah, it does.”

------

It was getting dark. Civilization was going to be far and few between for the next hundred miles or so, and you can see the faint lights from a little town coming up on the right.

“Ready for a break?” Din asks.

“Yes, please.”

Din takes the exit. You weren’t even sure if this place was big enough to have a name — there’s a gas station, a diner, and a bar with flashing neon lights reading Murray’s Cocktails, but as you pull up by the diner you can see through the blinds that the chairs are already stacked on the tables. 

“Shit, it’s only eight and they’re already closed,” you remark with slight worry.

“Well…” Din sighs, pulling to the side and putting the car in park. “I can always take my girl out for a drink.”

Murray’s was like any other dive bar in the country, defined by its raunchy posters, dim lights, loud music, and the constant clatter of the pool table. It was the kind of place where social decorum was left at the door, and upon entering you were going to be appraised by those who were looking for company.

Din keeps a hold of your hand, and the heads of lonely men that had raised as you walked through the door are lowered in disappointment. You grab your drinks quickly — Din had ordered a coke while you got your usual — and you find an unoccupied nook in the corner where you cannot be bothered.

“Taste good?” he asks as you take your first sip.

“Really good, actually,” you reply.

For a moment you feel like you did when you first started seeing each other, your stomach still full of butterflies as you look up into his handsome face, wondering how you found each other and what you did to deserve him. Your hand rests against his chest, tracing the buttons of his flannel, and Din leans in to plant a quick kiss to your lips.

“Hey, I, uh…” he starts. “I want to make sure I didn’t drag you out here against your will.”

You pull back to search his face, laughing softly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t have to see your family. I know I talked you into it, but if it bothers you that much—”

“Din,” you say firmly.

Your heart rate picks up when you realize that Din had blamed himself for your own hang ups, that he probably assumed you didn’t want to introduce him to your family, and worst of all, that he would accept that.

“I want to go on this trip with you. I want… I want everyone to see what a good man you are and I want them to love you because I love you,” you admit. “But it scares me so much and I don’t know why. You’re like… you’re the one good thing to happen to me and I don’t want anything to change.”

“No, sweetheart,” his ragged voice breaks. Din takes your face in his hands and his brown eyes glisten with the pressure building behind his eyes. Fuck — had anyone looked at him as sweetly as the way you were looking at him now? “It’s not going to change,” he swears. “I promise.”

He closes the gap between you and molds his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, uncaring that you were in public, and you wrap your arms around his tired shoulders. Even in this dark, musty bar, you breathe him in and you’re safe.

“I’m sorry, I was just in my head,” you whisper.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coos, running a hand up your back. “I’ve got you.”

You get caught in the moment. You keep yourself there in the shelter of his chest but as you hang on to Din, your eyes lock onto a man standing in the opposite corner. 

He was staring at you. It wasn’t just a moment to be dismissed, or a misunderstanding when your eyes happen to meet — he just doesn’t look away from you. To be fair, the way you had just been kissing Din was probably too obscene for the public eye, but still you feel violated by the man’s insistence...

Din notices the way your eyes keep flickering over his shoulder and looks around to the room to see what you were looking at. “What is it?” he asks.

“That guy keeps looking at me.”

Din turns subtly this time and locks eyes onto the man in question, who proceeds to take a sip of his drink. “Come here,” Din mumbles, turning you to trade places so that your back now faces the man and he can keep eyes on him. “How’s that?”

“Better,” you smile.

You each take a few well-deserved swigs of your drinks, washing away the ache of a long day. “Tell me about your family,” Din says. “What’s worrying you?”

“Well, my one cousin — who is married, by the way — is probably going to try to fuck you.”

“Why?” he chuckles.

“I don’t know, it’s some weird competitive defect she’s had since we were kids. She wants to prove she can have everything I have. And you’re hot.”

Din looks down at his drink and you swear you can see his cheeks flash red through his crooked smile. “Alright, and what else?”

“I don’t know, my uncles are a mixed bag. They’ll probably like you though. You’ll be getting the third degree by everyone, but they’ll all like you,” you muse. “I’m sorry, I think I made it all worse in my mind. They’re fucked up, but I don’t know what family isn’t.”

Din nods quietly. You reach out for his hand, suddenly reminded that the subject of family might be painful for him, and run your thumb over his knuckles. “I’m so excited to be on this trip with you,” you smile. “It means a lot that you wanted to take me.”

“I’m excited too, baby,” he smile warmly, pulling you in for another quick kiss.

You talk some more over your drinks, flirting and exchanging fleeting touches. There was an unspoken tension building between you, that sort of primal intuition that was in preparation for the night ahead. “Ready to get out of here, pretty?” Din says in your ear.

“Mmhm,” you hum.

Din wraps a protective arm around your shoulder, and as you make your way toward the exit, the drunk decides to make his move.

“How about you come over here and give me some of that sweet loving, baby?” he slurs as his hand reaches out for you.

Din intercepts his wrist before he can touch you, keeping his grip tight and yanking the man’s arm back. “What did you say?” he grits.

“Nothing, I’m sorry!”

The security guard who let you inside comes between them in an attempt to deescalate the situation. He breaks Din’s hand away and holds both of them steady. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“He’s been bothering her all night,” Din explains, nodding to you. “We were just leaving.”

The guard nods and grabs the man under the arm to escort him outside. “Alright, come on, buddy. You’ve had enough…”

The bar erupts in brief applause and a middle-aged woman heads towards you with a slight jog. “I’m so sorry about that, you guys!” she exclaims.

“It’s not your fault, really it’s okay,” you laugh.

“Well look, I don’t like anybody to leave my bar with a sour taste in their mouth. Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you another round of drinks on the house?” she asks.

“That’s very nice, but we just want to get back on the road,” Din explains, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in silent reminder of the evening’s impending activities.

“Actually...” you interject. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”

“Oh, absolutely!” she beams.

You look up into Din’s wide brown eyes with a coy grin. He quickly fumbles for his phone in his back pocket and pulls up the camera, before handing it over to the woman.

It was almost embarrassing how few pictures you had together. Most were blurry selfies at awkward angles, and if they weren’t, they were stiff and unflattering and almost always taken against your will. But to have a proper photo together during this time in your lives, far from anyone you know and high on your happiness would be irreplaceable.

Din wraps his arm around your waist and you do the same, leaning your head into his shoulder and coming into his chest with a soft smile.

“1, 2, 3!” the woman says, followed by a bright snap.

You can see the dark spot of the camera flash when you blink, but the quick glance you took of the finished photograph makes you grab Din’s sleeve with excitement.

You and Din thank the woman with enthusiasm and shuffle outside back to the car, sharing a sultry kiss across the center console. “Get that Holiday Inn on the phone,” he rasps, his voice low with desire.

You dig your phone out of your bag and search for the number as if your life depends on it before raising the phone to our ear. “Hi, I was wondering if you have any rooms left for tonight? Oh, there’s only a room with two beds left…” you echo, glancing towards Din who raises an intrigued eyebrow. “For how much? We’ll take it.”

Din turns the key in the ignition and starts driving. You finish leaving your details and hang up, reaching into your bag for a little lip balm and applying it in the dim mirror.

“So, we’re sleeping like the Ricardos tonight?” Din jokes in regards to the double beds.

“Is there a problem with that, Mr. Djarin?” you giggle.

Din chuckles lightly and grabs your hand. “Not at all...” he smiles, before noting, “Only that it’s a lot easier to fuck you in one bed.”

You bite your lip and shift in your seat, and your thumb grazes over his skin. “Then we’ll just have to pick one,” you whisper.

Din guides you through the sliding doors of the lobby with your overnight bag slung over his shoulder, and he proceeds to check in. Your eyes recoil from the bright fluorescent lights, itching to get to the privacy of your own room, when Din turns around and twirls the room cards between his fingers.

The brown room is dim. There are two beds, as promised, with standard white sheets and ample pillows. From nearby rooms, it feels as if you can hear everything, from loud TV to kids playing to a couple having an argument.

Din guides you to the bed closest to the door. You fall back and grasp at him as he comes over you, anxious to feel him and to remind him how much you need him. “Walls are thin,” he reminds you, grazing his tongue along your pulse point. “Gotta stay quiet for me, pretty.”

Your legs spread to accommodate the dip of his hips. His large hand wanders under your sundress to palm you over your damp panties, and you arch into his touch with a whimper.

“This wet already?” he asks with a hoarse voice.

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Been thinking about this.”

“Poor thing... if you told me, I would have already fucked you in the backseat...”

Using his hands to keep your legs parted, Din lowers himself between your legs and wastes no time giving you what you want. He uses his mouth and fingers for a moment to prepare you, and then — he takes you.

It was always that first stretch. The one that allows you to feel him, the one that somehow makes every time feel like the first. Your eyes stay locked and your mouth falls agape as he rocks his hips into yours, your hearts intwining through nature’s oldest dance.

-------

You’re the first to fall asleep.

The AC by the window is blasting a cold air, and Din’s body provides the perfect heat to warm your bones as the silky sheets slide over you with little relief. Your head rests on his shoulder and you wrap yourself around him through your sleep, lulled by the familiar sensation of his body hair scratching against your smooth skin.

Din reaches for his phone and pulls up the picture you took that night. His eyes first are drawn to you, beautiful as always and your smile as warm as sunshine. Your skin is glowing and your eyes are full of life and of happiness. Instinctively, his hand comes up to play with your hair as you sleep as he shifts the image to himself.

Shit, did he always have those dimples when he smiled? He couldn’t quite remember. His eyes are soft and his hands are protective around you. Your expressions almost mirror each other — it’s that vulnerable, sort of timid smile.

Din texts the photo to you just so that you’d have it, staring at the little picture in the thread for a moment before adding:

Love you always.

He locks the screen and tosses it aside before wrapping his arms around you and shifting himself to bring you into his chest. Even at a Holiday Inn in the middle of nowhere, you're home in each others’ arms... and Din was certain he’d never love anything the way he loves you.

[goingmorry]

Hello! Can you write monster trio reaction to someone flirting with their crush? Please ☀💛

[One Piece Headcanons] Monster Trio -> when someone flirts with their crush

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji Tags: female reader, jealous boys Author's Note: Thank you for the request! I love me some jealous boys. There's something about it that just hits right with me. 💖

MONKEY D. LUFFY

One clueless boi.

Figures out that he has a crush on you when he explains how he feels about you to Usopp.

Doesn't quite know how to express his feelings for you in a way that you'll understand.

Interrupts the other person from flirting with you.

"Hey, I found you!"

Barging in from god knows where, Luffy interrupts the man's playful antics by sandwiching himself in the tight space between you and the stranger.

Caught off-guard, the flirtatious man begins to shove the pirate captain away from his face, resulting in Luffy's muscular torso squeezing against your much softer one. The feel of his solid body against yours is enough to cause you to blush, prompting you to create some distance by pushing him away to the side.

"Listen, pal—" the man begins, about to give the straw hat pirate a piece of his mind for violating your personal space, but not before getting rudely interrupted again.

"Who's this guy?"

"An acquaintance," you pipe up instantly in response to your captain's inquiry, omitting the piece of information where this stranger spent the last twenty minutes hitting on you.

Apologizing for your captain's childish behavior, you give him a brief rundown of who precisely the straw hat-wearing pirate is.

"I'll call him porcupine from now on," Luffy says, pleased with the nickname given to the man sitting across from you, "Since he has spiky brown hair that reminds me of a porcupine!"

"I appreciate you taking the time to ask me out," you address the stranger, grabbing hold of Luffy's stretchy arm in the process, "But I don't think this is gonna work."

Pleased with the way events were unfolding, Luffy flashes you a toothy grin to which you cock an eyebrow in response.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," he says, puckering his lips to the side. A telltale sign of an obvious lie.

You can't help but feel ridiculous for having a crush on the most insufferable pirate captain in all of existence, hoping that he, too, feels the same way as you do.

RORONOA ZORO

Only recently comes to terms with his feelings for you.

Hasn't figured out how he'll confess.

After all, romantic love is uncharted territory for him.

Won't really do anything unless he feels that you're in danger.

Pretends to be preoccupied with something else; ends up eavesdropping on your conversation with the flirtatious individual.

Inwardly though, he's more bothered than he lets on.

"Hey, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me? I'd love to show you around town," the man says to you earnestly.

The sound of steel clashing against metal echoes loudly enough to startle people, their heads swiveling toward the origin of the noise.

In the corner of the room, the one-eyed swordsman sits upright, body tense in concentration while meticulously polishing Wado Ichimonji, one of his three signature blades.

Zoro ignores the curious looks thrown his way, focused instead on your interaction with the man in front of you.

The stranger's proposal was genuine enough. Objectively, he was undoubtedly an attractive man. Friendly and polite too from your conversations with him throughout the night.

He just... wasn't your type.

You were more interested in rougher-looking men. Someone who was strong but would never abuse their strength to harm the weak. Someone who was stoic but also had a heart of gold. Someone like—

Zoro glances in your direction, seeing the hesitation on your face in accepting the man's offer.

"Sorry, I don't think I can make it. I promised to do something with a friend," you explain, settling with a half-assed excuse for fear of confrontation.

It wasn't exactly a lie, not really. You did have plans to retrieve some supplies with a certain green-haired swordsman, though they weren't until much later in the day. But this man didn't need to know that.

Zoro wouldn't mind if you used him as an excuse.

The Pirate Hunter's shoulders relax considerably at your statement, switching his attention from you back to his current task.

Face expressing his disappointment at your rejection, the man's posture visibly deflates. "Maybe the next day then?" he adds as an afterthought.

Biting your lip guiltily, you shake your head, stray hair falling across your forehead. "Sorry, I can't. Our crew is leaving tomorrow night."

"Damn," the man says, scratching the back of his head in awkwardness before adopting a fake smile — one you choose to let slide. "I'm gonna miss you. After all, it's not every day that I get to meet such a fine young lady with the guts to traverse the terrors of the Grand Line. You take care of yourself, all right?"

"You flatter me," you giggle, cheeks tinged pink at the man's sincere compliment, "And likewise."

At the sound of your unrestrained laughter, Zoro pauses, deeply craving for the moment that he, too, becomes the recipient of your happiness.

SANJI

The person who flirts with you, his precious lady, better prepare for some ass-whooping.

Technically, Sanji can't call you his — not yet — though he has been thinking of the perfect way to confess to you.

Still, even though you're not officially together, he'll never not be feral when you're involved.

Deliberating for a few seconds before gesturing toward you, the stranger places his order with the barkeep and says, "And anything the pretty lady desires."

Pointer finger circling the rim of your shot glass in consideration, you smile at the stranger in gratitude. "In that case, I'll take another round then."

Exchanging a round of pleasantries and small talk, you and the stranger become reasonably familiar with one another.

Familiar enough to know that this man would rather whisk you away to a more private setting than converse with you under the public's watchful eye.

"I know of a better way we can spend the night together," he murmurs suggestively, low enough for you to hear despite the idle chatter in the background.

"Do you now?"

You weren't returning his flirtatious words, but you weren't exactly declining them either until you spot a tuft of blond hair in the corner of your vision, striding toward you with purpose.

When Sanji arrives, he's gushing praise and amorous advances, all for you. Ignored and uncomfortable with watching another man proclaim his underlying love and devotion to you, your newfound drinking buddy clears his throat to get your attention, earning a scornful glare from the cook.

"Who's this shitty and rude bastard?"

Unsurprising to you, Sanji doesn't even try to act civil. Your drinking buddy, however, is astonished by the cook's open hostility, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Sanji doesn't buy the man's innocent charade, one eye squinting in distrust as he presses on, "I asked you a question."

Leaving out his invitation to you for more lewd nightly activities, your drinking buddy settles for a half-truth, "Just a guy she met at the bar."

Amused with the blond's jealous streak, you decide to cut in before things escalate beyond your control, "Any particular reason you're here, Sanji?"

At the sweet lull of your voice calling his name, the cook resumes his lovestruck behavior with a hint of seriousness when he whispers the sobering news to you, "Marines were recently spotted in town. We're leaving, my dear."

Seizing the opportunity, Sanji offers his hand, palm up, for you to take, and the significance of his action is not lost to you.

You recall his strict policy for only using his hands for cooking — how, as a child, Sanji found solace from abuse by preparing meals for his sickly mother, sparking his lifelong interest in the culinary arts.

Touched, you place your hand in his, a picture-perfect rendition of a prince charming whisking away his lovely bride-to-be. You tell him exactly that, and he graces you with an amused chuckle and a soft smile.

If only people knew the real reason you and him were fleeing the scene.

"Let me be your Mr. Prince then."

Your delicate hand dwarfs in comparison to his larger one, but that doesn't stop you from interlocking your fingers together like two intimate lovers.

Neither one of you says anything else, coming to the same silent conclusion that your growing feelings for each other would have to be addressed sometime soon.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 5, 488

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

here is chapter 12!!! hope you guys enjoy it hehe.

You got a new doormat, Jungkook realises.

He preferred the old one, purely because he remembered the two of you coming across the crocheted piece at a flea market sold by a lovely grandmother that was all smiles and kindness when she spoke to the two of you.

It allowed Jungkook to be a part of your home, the first step into the place that inflates his chest with pride knowing that such a small memory that the two of you shared could act as a conversation starter for people who came over; because truly, the doormat was beautiful.

It’s a plain one now. Far more boring than the array of colours that use to litter the floor, a simple circular mat in a plain shade of beige. Jungkook doesn’t want to know why you’ve opted to change it after a year, right when things have gone sour.

The mat isn’t the only thing that’s different. Even the way Jungkook lingers by your porch at almost midnight with his fist raised and flopping back to his side is different too. Usually, he’d drop you a text, pick at the key in the crevice of a corner you hid it at, or just knock on the door with obnoxious intent until you’re scowling while you greet him at the door.

This time Jungkook has his chest caved in, a heavy feeling in his stomach when he attempts to mull over the apology that rests in his throat. It’s long overdue, a proper one at least. Nothing like the one he gave you at your apartment a month or so back. That was him being selfish.

The words ‘can we talk’ never meant anything good, because if it was light-hearted and civil you’d let him know through a text. Especially when you made it clear that you needed, and purposefully took, time away from him. It felt shitty, having your friends distance themselves away from you because of your own mistakes.

But Jungkook couldn’t resent you, or Jimin, or Taehyung—or even Namjoon who opts for curt nods instead of the usual pat on the back. Because he knew that what he did was awful and that you and everyone had the right to be disappointed in him.

Maybe that was why he was so terrified because had anyone else said or done the same things he did to you—Jungkook would make sure that person would never see the light of day. So he’s terrified, even if he knows you won’t hold him against it—but he’s so scared that you’ve realised how flawed and disgusting Jungkook is and that you’d leave him.

He’s stalling. Prolonging his potential demise when he stands rooted into place with his leather jacket draping his shoulders feeling heavier than usual.

When Jungkook got the text, he was at the gym; blowing off steam. He saw it an hour late, and when he realised it was from you—his heart sped up while his stomach dropped, especially noticing the time it was sent.

He knew he had to act quickly; what if you were asleep? What if he knocked and you realised that you didn’t want to see him anymore?

But Jungkook realises that not talking to you, or not seeing you—is far worse than any of the scenarios he could conjure.

So he takes a deep breath, steadies his fist and knocks.

In a bated breath, he waits; and he’s nearly sweating even under the cool ventilation of the hallway of your apartment. He hears shuffling inside your house, and he feels his heart thump against his chest when he feels rather than anything else, your presence behind the door.

He wonders if you’re hesitating like he was, but he can’t think for too long because the door opens and he sees you.

You’re in your pyjamas, an endearing two-piece set he remembers Taehyung gifting you for your birthday last year. It suits you, highlights your personality because the colour is a calming turquoise, dark enough to feel cosy and bright enough to resemble your character.

Jungkook can only blink at you because it feels like ages since it was just the two of you, and he can’t bring himself to say anything, or even to greet you.

Your hand rests on your door, while you offer him a meek smile.

“I told you the door was open.” You say softly, stepping aside so he can enter.

Jungkook swallows, snapping out of it before he nods his head slowly. He walks into your apartment tentatively, and it feels so wrong. The awkwardness, the tense postures and the uneasiness that permeates the air. Things used to be so easy with the two of you, conversations flew and the two of you just … clicked.

“It didn’t feel right.” He settles for that as an answer, and he notes that you don’t deny it.

“You can leave your jacket on the coat hanger.” You tell him, and he has to push aside the way his heart drops at the distance you keep; prevalent in your voice.

He wants this to be over, the tiptoeing and the way that your walls are always up when he’s around. He just wants to apologise and hug you, hoping that you could forget what happened even if that kills him on the inside. He just wants to be around you, even if he can’t be with you.

But Jungkook pushes aside his desires; the culprit behind the entire mishap in the first place—and slips off his jacket, leaving it on the coat hanger as you mentioned. His t-shirt chafes, and he’s sweating for sure now. But he pretends like he isn’t a step away from a nervous meltdown.

“Have a seat,” You say, patting the spot across you on the couch.

It’s a distance away, and he assumes you do that on purpose. The last few times the two of you were close on a couch … well, things happened and now the two of you were the way you are.

Jungkook sits, resting his palms on his thighs stiffly like he was sitting for an interview. Your eyes drift to his hands, narrowing ever so slightly before you’re returning your gaze onto him.

“What happened to your cheek?”

Jungkook stutters for a second, brain pausing to process your question until his hand reaches up to touch said cheek. He remembers clearly now, and he almost forgets the reminder Jimin left him.

Your brows are furrowed, and he sees you shifting in your seat. Usually, you’d already have walked up to him and helped him with an injury; the past memories of him injuring himself during practices while you were always there to mend him up like you’ve always done resurface. His heart clenches.

“Practice,” Jungkook says quickly, and you raise an eyebrow. Your mouth opens, possibly to counter it, but it closes immediately after.

Jungkook releases the breath he was holding, relieved. He didn’t know what Jimin said to you after, or before it happened. But he knew that you definitely weren’t aware of the conversation Jimin had with him.

“You don’t have to be so stiff, Jungkook.” You frown, “It’s just me.”

Your voice interrupts his thoughts as he snaps his head to stare at you. You’ve managed to rest yourself on your couch, hands tucked under your thighs in an endearing habit you’ve always had.

It’s because it’s you, he’s nervous; Jungkook thinks.

Instead, he says—“Okay.”

He relaxes his posture to appease you, settling into the couch until he sees you giving yourself a soft enough nod of approval.

The atmosphere is almost reflective, the two of you clearly have things to say and to address, but he doesn’t know whether or not to start; to say something when he was the one that was invited over. Clearly, you had a plan—that was only ever why you did the things you did. You were meticulous with routine and order, and any disruption to that would mess with your agenda and you hated that.

The two of you sit in silence, unsure of what to say. Jungkook nibbles on his lips as a nervous habit, bouncing his thigh up and down while he waits for you to break the silence, to say something.

But at the same time, he’s afraid he won’t be able to accept what you tell him.

Jungkook is about to break first, but then you speak, so softly that he strains his ears to catch your voice.

“You hurt me.”

Your voice is weak and timid, and Jungkook’s eyes widen when you opt to start the conversation with that.

It feels like a blow to the chest, seeing you look down at your hands while you furrow your brows, unsure of yourself. Jungkook wants to reach out to you, to apologise, to hold you, to comfort you. But your words are a reminder that he can’t.

“I’m—”

“—sorry. Yeah, I know.” You say blankly, finally looking up at him with a vacant expression. It’s almost terrifying how … detached you made yourself seem to the conversation. And it sets bubbling anxiety in Jungkook’s stomach when he spots your expression.

He purses his lips, remaining quiet while he waits for you to continue.

“I didn’t come over so you’d apologise to me, Jungkook.” You whisper, looking at him with a more serious expression.

He blinks at you, taking in the way you just look … tired. Bothered. Frustrated. All three.

“I …” The words die on his lips, especially when you opt to look away, down on your thighs while you nibble on your lips.

“What you said to me that day was horrible.” You tell him, eyebrows furrowed. And he can tell that you’re trying your best to sound stern. Confrontation has never been your forte, he knew that; and you knew that. But the fact you acknowledged his words only makes him feel infinitely worse. “I never knew you would ever say something like that.” You end in a whisper.

Jungkook can only sit in silence, and it’s crazy how he can feel like an outsider in his own home when you mull over your next set of words.

“I want you to be honest with me, Jungkook.” You say softly, eyes peering up to stare into his.

His breath hitches, especially when he notices the determined expression that lingers when you continue to look at him.

He swallows, even if his heart is terrified that the truth will chase you away, “Yeah. Always.”

You blink, searching his face for any lies, he supposes. If you found one or saw the hesitation, you don’t comment on it. But Jungkook is still scared to have his cards on the table. He doesn’t know how you’d react, how you’d feel when you found out the truth.

A part of him wants to just apologise and move on, keeping you close enough for him to be selfish but a good distance away so he wouldn’t hurt you like that ever again.

But he doesn’t say anything, not yet.

“Why?” You ask in a hoarse whisper, “Why did you kiss me that night at your place?”

Jungkook freezes.

He remembered that night when his heart decided for him that it was enough. Having you right next to him but not with him. He remembers the way you looked so at home on his couch, in his shirt after you spilt hot chocolate on the both of you. The way you timidly asked for a blanket to share, and especially the way your cheeks flushed when he drew closer.

Jungkook feels vulnerable like you’re picking apart every single thought that lays in his mind. He hates it, that you can make him feel this way. You don’t push him, though; to answer. You’re patient when you look at him, eyes gentle.

“I—” He chokes, eyes darting everywhere but your own, “I just wondered what it felt like to kiss you.”

You frown, clearly displeased with his pathetic answer.

But you don’t call him out for it, “Okay …” You mumble, “Then why did you touch me after?”

The words leave your lips so easily, even if Jungkook winces. He’s seen you almost naked enough times, even if you’ve never gone further than him touching you intimately—it’s more than you’ve ever experienced and it should’ve made you flustered, not him. But Jungkook realises that you probably ran over the questions you asked about a hundred times before you laid it all out here for him to see.

Jungkook huffs, ears turning red.

“The mood just felt right.” He clips.

You glare at him when he offers another pathetic response.

“Jungkook.” You call out to him. He can’t bring himself to look at you, “You said to be honest with me.” Your voice is soft and gentle when you remind him.

Jungkook feels himself crumble on the inside, his face morphing into a pained expression when he rubs his hands all over his face.

If you’re aware of his internal meltdown, you don’t comment on it.

“I did a lot of thinking on my own.” You say, “But I don’t think that would’ve gotten me anywhere because all I do is overthink every possible situation.” You laugh softly, fiddling with your thumbs.

Jungkook furrows his brows at the sudden shift of the direction of the conversation.

“I spoke to Namjoon and Jennie.”

He freezes.

His heart drops because he almost forgets about Namjoon. He almost forgets the way he cradled your face so gently when your lips touched. He remembers how he felt, the way his heart dropped to his stomach when he saw his captain and you locking lips while you melted into his touch. He wondered if Namjoon tasted your hesitancy on your lips, not because it was him but because you were always calculated with anything that you did. A charm that drew Jungkook in, and apparently Namjoon as well.

But even if his heart aches, he hears the name of another person; and somehow this only makes his face pale further.

“You spoke to Jennie?” He sounds surprised, and he thinks he has the right to be. Especially when you once referred to her with so much vehemence he’s never seen in you.

“Coincidentally.” You nod. “She offered me a few perspectives I never knew of until we spoke.” You fiddle with your thumbs before offering a small smile to him, “She’s a really nice person.”

Jungkook doesn’t know how to react, especially when you’re telling him that you and Jennie somehow spoke to each other and that you found her words … nice? It almost felt like the world was pulling a joke on Jungkook, and he was ultimately just confused.

“I … okay?” Jungkook tilts his head to the side with a furrow of his brows.

You sigh, “I don’t think I told you this the first time you apologised but …” You take a deep breath; a beat of silence passes when you look at him earnestly, “I forgive you.”

Jungkook’s breath that he was holding, releases in relief as his shoulders slump. A selfish part of him knew that you’d forgive him, only because you were incapable of seeing the bad in others. You were kind, understanding and empathetic. You always gave people chances when they didn’t deserve it and Jungkook was no different. But hearing you say it, after months of ruminating over it in his bed before he sleeps, Jungkook feels a lot better, albeit the ache in this chest.

“Not because you apologised to me but because my heart deserves to heal.” You inform him.

Jungkook purses his lips as he nods in understanding.

“I know that an apology will never take back what I said to you but … I really am sorry. I don’t know what took over me that day and I just—” his eyes flutter shut when he recalls the broken expression on your face, “—I regret it so much. I never wanted to hurt you.” He ends softly.

Jungkook shifts on his seat, reaching forward so that he could grab your hand. You jump at the sudden touch, but you relax when you realise it’s just him. Your skin is soft, and maybe it’s because he nearly forgot how it felt to have you close. He’s selfish, he’s always wanted you but he never knew how to ask.

“I guess.” You say softly, shrugging your shoulders. The response is there, though he doesn’t know what to make out of it. “But you said it for a reason, Jungkook. I just … I just want to know why.”

His hand freezes on top of yours, especially when you return the hold and unconsciously fiddle with his knuckles like you used to, tracing over the tattoos he has.

“I’m an asshole. That’s why.” He sighs, leaning his head forward as he misses your frown.

“I don’t think you are,” You say gently, squeezing his hand. And he hates that you’re still so kind to him. “I think you’re confused. But you also know why you did what you did. You just won’t tell me.”

Your accusation causes Jungkook to shoot his head up as he stares at you with wide eyes. You don’t waver, especially when your smile is still sincere and small as you offer him an encouraging look that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“I really don’t have an excuse,” Jungkook frowns.

“I’m not looking for an excuse, Jungkook. I’m looking for a reason.” You remind him gently.

He purses his lips, eyes darting away until he feels your body shift and a warm touch cradle his jaw. His body freezes when he feels your gentle hand to cup his jaw and nudge it until he’s looking at you again. This time, your eyes are still calm and soft when you look at him, and your smile is still the same. Jungkook hears the thud of his heart in his ears, especially when you’re so close.

"No more games." You trace your hands gently across his jaw, and he looks so much younger. You suppose it's the lights of the room, two lights turned on with the rest off. Just the way he liked it—just as you remembered.

Jungkook states at the shelf in front of him when his jaw clenches. He can feel the conflict behind his gaze. It isn't frustration that peaks through, instead; it looks a lot like fear.

He finally breaks with a sigh, "No games." He affirms, hands tightening by his sides.

The position is getting uncomfortable but the ache in his chest has been present for months, so he thinks a few more minutes here with the promise of an answer would be nothing. But he was equally as terrified as he thought you were.

Jungkook briefly thinks of Namjoon when you wait patiently, deep in thought. Because Namjoon was nothing like him. He'd give you an answer by now. Unravelling the tangled yarn in his mind just so you could catch a piece of his thoughts.

No. Jungkook was a thinker that often never spoke. His ideas and visions trapped in the confinement of his brain and left for others to hypothesise. But you were patient, somehow your most redeeming and costly quality. It's funny—because he’s always said that you were exactly what he needed.

"Jungkook?" You whisper.

Jungkook hums, eyes slightly twitching when the tip of his ears turn red. It's difficult for him too. But he’s waited for far too long.

"You promised." You remind him gently.

Jungkook takes the leap when he realises that you weren't backing down.

"God." He huffs, falling back onto his couch while you observe him with sad eyes. He felt so ... scared. "I'm so in love with you that I can't even think straight when you're around me.”

Your hand freezes, and he doesn’t even feel terrified when it drops from his face. He can only stare at the ceiling after his words leave his lips. It’s out there. The selfish part of him won and he can’t ever take it back. He can’t find the courage to look at you, not when the silence is so loud and his heart rings behind his ears.

So he continues.

“I just wanted you.” He croaks. “It’s always been you and you looked so … at home when I kissed you the first time. I was selfish. I thought—” His eyes shut, as he takes a deep breath, “—I thought I could at least pretend that you were mine when I touched you. Like you were meant for me and no one else.”

He can’t stop, his heart pouring out everything he’s felt.

“And fuck. Every time you’d say we had to stop what was happening I felt like I was losing you. I just … I just wanted to be someone to you that wasn’t your best friend. Or some younger guy that you knew while growing up. I wanted you to see me as a man. Like someone, you could rely on or be with. Because that’s who you are to me. Someone I can rely on, someone I want to be with.”

He hears your breath hitch.

“Jungkook …” You murmur, “Then why … why did you kiss Jennie? Why were you with her if you already had me?” Your voice is sad, soft and meek when you ask the question Jungkook selfishly wants to avoid.

He sits up abruptly, nearly knocking your forehead with his when he grabs your shoulders as your eyes widen. His eyes are desperate when they peer into your own.

“You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. The words I said. The thing with Jennie.” He groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder as you hesitantly reach a hand to cradle the back of his head ever so gently. He automatically relaxes your touch enough to calm him. But he’s still frustrated, scared, and he doesn’t know what to make of your reaction; or lack thereof.

“Jungkook.” You call his name softly, reaching to hold his shoulders while you look for his eyes.

“Yeah?” He says emotionlessly, almost defeated when he peers at you.

You nibble on your lips, thinking over your words before you squeeze his shoulders.

“Why … why didn’t you say anything?” You ask softly, and if he wasn’t crazy—he swore he heard some sadness behind your voice.

He scoffs, and the reaction has your eyes widening.

“And then what? You don’t feel the same and I would’ve just … ruined everything. I know I did when I kissed you but at least I could pretend like it was … casual. Like it meant nothing to me but a fun time.” You wince at his words, and he sees it. He frowns when he realises the words he threw at you a while back the first time he’s seen you break. “It wasn’t. I just … I couldn’t handle you rejecting me. It … it’d hurt too much.”

It was a selfish part on his end, and only after the silence that passed does he look up to see your eyes already trained firmly on him—a wave of sadness that washes over your features.

“You should’ve spoken to me, Jungkook.” You whisper, hands reaching out to hold his cheeks. Jungkook almost huffs but you beat him to the indirection. “I wanted you too.”

Jungkook’s body stills, eyes widening when he peers into your eyes. You smile sadly at him, and he feels everything come crashing down all at once.

The months that the two of you went without talking to each other, the kisses you’ve shared, the way you feel under his arms, the way your back arches, the giggles you’d share with him. All of it becomes more than just a memory now, but it’s still painful. The way his silence caused all of the problems he thought he couldn’t solve.

It feels … sad.

“What?” He chokes.

You nod your head, holding his cheeks gently.

“I wanted you. But you didn’t choose me. You chose … yourself.” You say softly.

Jungkook frowns, “I just—I thought … how?”

You offer him a sad chuckle, “Jungkook, I don’t think you get it. I love you, I really do. The signs were there. You’re the only person I’d ever want this way. You’re the person I think about on a daily basis and I find myself looking for you even when you're not there. Even when you said the things you did, or whenever I saw you with Jennie. I still wanted you. And that’s why I needed time away.” You inform him seriously.

“So we could have—?”

“I don’t know if you really love me, Jungkook.” You say sadly, eyes darting away that makes him want to comfort you. “Maybe I’m familiar to you but I can’t believe you when you say you love me if you had Jennie and me under your hold when everything happened.” You say with a serious gaze.

“I …”

“I want to move on.” You confess, and he feels his heart drop. “… from this. I don’t know if I’ll stop loving you but that isn’t my goal. I want to be able to understand my sexuality because I was guilty when it first happened and then … you said the things you did—”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, cradling your cheeks in his head when he rests his forehead against your own. You’re so close, and your lips are only inches apart but it doesn’t seem right to close the distance. Not when the two of you were so confused.

“—I know. But it doesn’t matter. You allowed me to realise that I had some growing to do myself.” You smile, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

And Jungkook feels so much … younger. Like you were taking care of him when he found out his first rejection from a state team application when he was moping by himself. You drove all the way to see him, to comfort him and hold him close when you didn’t have to. Your touch has always been the same, but it’s Jungkook who was selfish.

You loved him.

It feels … surreal. That the two of you felt the same but because of fear, or whatever that stopped the both of you, he ended up hurting you and pushing you away. Jungkook feels his heart ache, the frustration that seeps through his bone is too much to handle.

“I—where does this leave us?” He wants to be with you. He does. But somehow, the timing doesn’t seem right.

His thoughts are only confirmed when you tell him, “I can’t be with you. It’s unfair to you and to me. I have things I need to sort out first and so do you. But I want you in my life, and that’s selfish for me to ask when I feel the way I do, but you were my best friend before anything else. I loved the boy who was my friend before I loved the man who I hoped to be my partner one day. “

"I want to be with you.” Jungkook declares, eyes firm.

You laugh, eyes still sullen, “You don’t know that Jungkook … you hurt me. You really did. Your words … I don’t resent you for it but I can’t forget it, not just yet. You did allow me to realise that maybe I should put myself out there more. Make new friends. You could be thinking that you do for … closure or whatever, but I don’t deserve that.” You inform him seriously.

“You’re not boring—or whatever the fuck I said. I was insecure and I took it out on you. You’re … you’re you and that’s more than enough.” He says softly.

“I may not be.” You shrug with a small smile, "But there’s still a semblance of truth to it that I can see, menace and vehemence aside. Objectively speaking, I’m quiet. I’m shy. You didn’t say that but you definitely implied it.”

Jungkook sighs, and you say it with no malice. Just stating an observation, and he’s still baffled at how … calm you were, especially when you were in his arms and he was in yours. It feels … better, but not enough.

“I want to be alone but together, just as friends. Until the both of us sort out … whatever that’s happening. I want to move on from this, to go back to how we were.”

Jungkook stays silent, as you smile up at him. He thinks you look so pretty. And there’s dread in his stomach when he thinks of how he fucked it all up, how things could’ve been so much easier if he’d just pushed aside his ego and his pride.

But you’re kind as always when you rub at his cheek.

“But thank you, regardless. Even if it hurt me, and even if you regret it—it allowed me to understand what I needed to do. It brought people like Yena and Namjoon into my life, and I’m so grateful for them.” You smile, and for the first time that night; it’s a sincere one. He sees the way your eyes glisten ever so slightly when you speak about them.

The mention of Namjoon’s name only sends a pang through his heart when he recalls the kiss. But he knows it’s unwarranted, especially when you had to deal with Jennie, which was exponentially worse.

“Do you … do you want to be with Namjoon?” Jungkook asks carefully.

You ponder for a moment, and it hurts Jungkook to think that you were considering his words. But he remains silent, because at least right now—he had you in his arms even if you weren’t his to hold.

“I can’t.” The choice of your words doesn’t get dismissed by him. He realises that you never denied it, but said you couldn’t be with him. Jungkook purses his lips, “It’s unfair to him. I shouldn’t have kissed him either but I did. The same way you should’ve either kissed Jennie or kissed me, not the both of us. But if you really do love me the way you say you do. I want this to happen not because I’m familiar but because you actually want this.”

“You’re more than just a familiar girl to me, _____.” He says softly, holding your cheeks.

You shrug with a small smile.

“Am I?” You sigh, holding his wrist while you stare at him. It feels right when you hold him. “I think we need time. I need time, and so do you.”

Jungkook wants to protest, to say that the two of you have waited so long and feel the same. But he knows it’s not that easy. Not when he’s still had bridges to reconcile and build back. He remembers Jimin, he remembers Taehyung, and he even remembers Namjoon.

Love is not all there is, and sometimes it’s not enough; not now at least.

So Jungkook keeps the words to himself, just once more until he can see a smile that isn’t rooted in hesitancy in your eyes.

But he allows himself to ask, “Can I … can I kiss you?”

He’s pushing his luck. But you’re blinking down at him, and somehow along the way you’ve made it onto his lap. It’s not sexual, nothing about it is. Jungkook just wants to hold you and feel you close.

You hesitate, and he sees you nibbling on your lips as you think. But after a few moments, you sigh, nodding your head so softly.

Jungkook allows himself to indulge at this moment, selfishly and wholly. He holds your face in his hand like it’s the last time he could ever feel it this way, and before he brings himself closer—his eyes trace over your features as they map them out in his mind to revisit a place he would call home.

And you’re stunning. Like you’ve always been. The dark circles under your eyes, the few moles on your face, the slope of your nose, the bumps on your cheek, the slightly chapped skin of your lips. He takes it all in because it’s you.

Then, as your breath hitches while his lips flirt with yours; he returns home.

Your lips are as soft and welcoming as he remembers, and he immediately melts into your hold. Your hands are pressed on his chest, and there’s no rush this time. It’s different. A kiss that leads nowhere but here.

Jungkook kisses you so gently that you feel yourself want, but you needed to think. You still needed time.

When the two of you disconnect, he’s surprised to find himself being the first person pulling away.

You smile.

“Will we be okay?” He murmurs, breath fanning over your lips and it’s a familiar question.

This time, you allow yourself to hope.

“Yeah,” You exhale, “I think we will be.”

[enamoured-x]

Sweet Release

Angel Reyes x Reader

Summary: When Angel doesn’t make time for you, you make a hard choice. 

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Angst

Word count: 3k

Excerpt: “You couldn’t fake reaching literal heaven every time Angel sank inside you. But he didn’t deserve to hear that right now.”

*gif is mine!

a/n: so this came out of nowhere but i’m excited about it and there will be a part 2!!! i fucking missed writing for angel, so much so i may or many not open my requests back up again! keep an eye out for part 2 though!

Part 1

To say you were miserable was a gross understatement. And you couldn't even be mad about it because this was your doing. You were the reason you were wallowing everyday. You were the reason you had to take care of your own needs with a vibe that was nowhere near what you wanted. You were the maker of your own misery. But then again, were you really? Angel fucking Reyes should be the one to blame. When you first started dating Angel, everything was perfect, isn’t it always though? You were happier than you had ever been and honestly, you two were jumping each other's bones whenever you could. Up until a few months ago that was. 

Suddenly Angel just couldn’t make time anymore, always busy with the club. You knew with being secretary came a lot more responsibilities, and you were extremely proud of him and happy that he was able to move up in the club. What you weren’t happy about was the canceled dates. Hell, sometimes he wouldn’t even come over to spend the night, opting to stay at the club house in his dorm because he was taking care of shit as he liked to put it. You had grown exhausted waiting for him at restaurants and then looking stupid as you had to tell the waiters your date wasn’t showing up. You were exhausted of the food you put an effort into making going to waste because he wouldn’t show and when he did even the leftovers went untouched because he already ate. You were exhausted from the effort and time you put into stopping by the clubhouse, figuring if he couldn’t come to you that you’d go to him. But even those occasions were met with his quick words of I can’t hang out right now, club shit. So eventually you just had enough. He wasn’t putting in any effort and you deserved more than that. Deserved more than a few measly texts a day that didn’t even contain a simple I love you. And you told him as much when you went to the clubhouse for the sole purpose of getting your key back to your apartment and to tell him you were through. Lord knows if you tried to schedule a time to talk it would’ve inevitably gotten canceled. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Looking for Angel?” Ez had asked you as you pulled into the junkyard and exited your car. He was wiping grime off his hands with a cloth, looking like he was fixing up the bikes. 

“Yup. I’ll spoil the surprise for you now but I’m here to dump your brother.” You were annoyed to say the least, at your wits end with the older Reyes. You were also honestly a little mad at yourself for not doing this sooner. Could’ve saved you from looking pathetic out in public a few times. 

Ez’s eyes widened and he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Jesus, What happened?” He asked, taking on a sympathetic tone. You loved Ezekiel like your own brother. He was always looking out for you and had become a great friend since you started dating Angel. Which is why you could only hope you two could remain friends even after this. 

“I got tired of showing up for someone who isn’t willing to do the same.” You shrugged and then walked toward the house. Once inside you spotted Angel immediately, sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand as he talked with Coco and Gilly. So this was what he was doing instead of making time for you. They looked over at your presence and Angel stood up, a smile on his face. 

“Hey, querida. What are you doing here?” He said, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to your temple. Honestly, it was more affection than you had gotten all month. You didn’t make any move to lean into him. 

“We need to talk.” Is all you said before Coco and Gilly awkwardly shared a look. 

“I’m a little busy, mam–”

“Yeah, life as secretario looks so fucking busy.” You snapped and he backed away to look at you. His face contorted in confusion and anger. 

“The fuck?” And that was Coco and Gilly’s cue to go outside, leaving just you and Angel. 

“I need my key back to my apartment.” You stated, getting right into it. Trying to mask what you were really feeling. This was already hurting like a bitch despite the trajectory of your relationship recently. You loved Angel, you really did. But you loved yourself enough to know that you didn’t deserve putting in your all in this relationship as he gave you nothing in return. 

“Come again?” He set his bottle down and gave you all his attention. That was a first. 

“My key. Give it back. I’m done with this.” You motioned between you two. You were being a little more petty than you wanted to be. Originally you had planned to just have a civil conversation about leaving him but he couldn’t even extend that courtesy with his shit poor excuses so why should you? Besides, there was nothing civil about you and Ange Reyes.

“Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?” He was angry, now getting the gist of what you were doing. 

“You heard me. We’re done. Give me my key back.” Angel shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. 

“Fuck no. I’m not giving you shit back, we’re not done. The fuck are you talking about? Where’s this shit coming from?” Of course it was just like Angel to try and control the situation, act like he was in charge. 

“You’re really asking me why?” You honestly don’t know how he could see this as a blindside. Honestly, he should be surprised you didn’t dump his ass sooner. 

“Mami, stop playing fucking games.” He stepped closer, eye simmering with rage. How ironic. 

“Angel, when was the last time we fucked?” You asked, trying to figure out how to gauge this conversation. Some part of you did want to just dump him and then leave, offering no explanation because the angry part of you felt like he didn’t deserve one. But maybe by explaining it you were doing a solid for the next girl that would come after you. Your heart restricted at the thought. Your stomach filling with lead. You pushed that away, now was not the time to sit in your grief, right now you were controlled by your anger and your disappointment. 

“Wha–I don’t know…” He trailed off thinking. Probably confused by your question and what it had to do with you leaving him. 

“Exactly. Angel, you’ve barely touched me this past month and I don’t have enough fingers to count how many times I’ve been stood up by you these past few weeks alone. You’re never around, Angel.” You pointed out. You felt your nose start to burn and you mentally cursed yourself for wanting to cry. You were supposed to put on this facade, you were supposed to act like you weren’t deeply devastated at the fact that you had to do this in the first place. But you were, sitting in your anger was only going to get you so far until that simmered out and the pain creeped in. 

“I told you I–”

“Your busy, yeah, I got that.” You quipped. He tried to grab your hand but you pulled it away and he scoffed. 

“You serious right now? I miss a few dates and you want to leave me? Nah, that’s not how this works. You talk to me about it.” 

“Talk? Are you fucking serious? When could I have talked to you, hmm? I’ve made plans with you three times this week alone and you flaked on all of them, it's not even fucking Friday. So when could I have talked to you? You don’t fucking care.” 

He stepped up to you and pointed at you, “do not say I don’t fucking care.” He was pissed, just now realizing the gravity of the situation. Just now realizing you weren’t fucking around. You were glad for it, maybe he’d take it seriously now. 

“You don’t. If you cared I wouldn’t be up late at night wondering if you’re okay because you didn’t bother to shoot me a text. If you cared I wouldn’t look like an idiot to half the fucking waiters in this town because you didn’t bother to show up. If you cared, Angel, I wouldn’t have to touch myself at night because my own man can’t bother to please me.” You knew you were getting through to him during your spiel but his stare turned murderous when you questioned his abilities to please you. Of course that was what got his attention. 

“The fuck you just say to me?” He towered over you now but you weren’t going to let him intimidate you. You were in charge of this situation, not him. 

“Which part needs repeating? When I said you keep standing me up or the part where I said you don’t please me in bed?” You fired back. Gone was the grief again, your rage taking its turn to control you once again. Your emotions were all over the place but so were you and Angel. 

“Careful, mami.” He said, voice low and threatening. You snorted.

“Why? Afraid your club will hear how you don’t know how to please a woman.” Next thing you know you were being shoved against the wall. Breath knocked out of you at the quick and forceful action. His hand latched onto your throat now. Your center throbbed, like a call to tell you that you needed this. You definitely didn’t want to but your fingers only did so much. 

It was all shit, Angel did know how to please you, that is when he could be bothered. But you knew how to press his buttons just right, how to make him angry like no one else could. And you wanted him upset, you wanted him angry because he had hurt you. 

“You know that’s not true. Had you screaming last time.” He said in your ear as he trailed his hands down your waist and to your ass. Pulling you closer to him to grind himself against you. You swallowed hard. You had missed his touch, had missed him being this close. Your senses were going haywire, not knowing which way was up or down, not knowing what the fuck you were here to do in the first place. All you could feel was him, all you could smell was him. All you wanted was him. But you knew right now you were thinking with your pussy and just because you wanted him still did not mean you didn’t want to break up with him. But your vibrator and fingers were doing a shit job at giving you what you needed, and well, if this was the end, you needed the release only Angel could provide you with. Despite you telling him only moments ago that he offered nothing in bed. 

“Maybe I was faking it.” You weren’t. You couldn’t fake reaching literal heaven every time Angel sank inside you. But he didn’t deserve to hear that right now. He squeezed your throat, bringing you a sense of euphoria. 

“Faking it? Yeah, let’s see you fake this, mami.” He unbuttoned your jeans and slid his hand inside your panties. You cursed yourself for being so wet already. 

“You wet because you’re faking it?” He asked, lips right at your ear. His warm breath sent shivers down your spine and caused your core to clench around nothing. He felt it though. He laughed under his breath and you wanted to slap him for being so cocky after everything. But it wouldn’t matter once this was over. You’d let him have his fun now. Let him think he was in control one last time. 

“I don’t think so. You’re always wet for me, always so damn needy. Always so fucking ready to take me.” He turned you around and pushed you against the wall, pulling at your hips for your ass to grind against his crotch. His dick was already hard and straining in his pants. You let out a moan. You didn’t care that you were out in the open, didn’t care that his words pissed you off mostly because they were true. Didn’t care that this was going to be the last time. No, all you cared about in this moment was getting Angel inside you and coming around his cock. 

“Then fuck me, Angel. Prove you can actually please me.” You spurred him on. Needing your release already. Craving it. 

“My fucking pleasure.” He said, obviously not in the mood to drag this on any longer. He made quick work of yanking your jeans and panties down and you heard him fumbling with his own pants. You felt the tip of his cock slide against your slit, getting himself slicked for you with your juices. You moaned as the head nudged against your clit. Your body was on fire. The white hot need inside you, pooling in your stomach, was screaming for a release. And you were about to get one. 

“Fuck me already. Or did you forget how to do it?” You wanted it rough and hard, wanted him to leave bruises on your hips and feel you ache of him days later. You wanted something to remember him by. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Was all he said before slamming into you, filling you up. You screamed at the force and at how long it had been since he was last inside you. The stretch hurt so good and you pushed against the wall to meet his brutal thrusts. He wrapped a hand around your throat again as he dug his fingers into your hips, forcing you on his length over and over. 

“So fucking tight. This what you wanted, mami? So fucking desperate for my cock?” You whined at his words because they were true. But you didn’t want to admit it. 

“I want it harder actually.” You were hanging on by a thread here. All that pent up frustration from spoiled orgasms from your fingers to hating Angel for leaving you high and dry. It was all coming together to create a thunderous symphony of emotions, one that was about to hit its crescendo. 

Angel didn’t disappoint as he pounded you from behind, trying to reach his release as desperately as you were trying to reach yours. The hand that was on your throat immediately made way to your clit.

“Fuck, Angel.” You cried out as he rubbed the numb, never relenting in his pace. Tears were forming in your eyes. From the stimulation or from the breakup that was still going to happen, you didn’t know. All you knew right now was Angel. 

“Fuck, yeah. Gonna come, mami? Gonna come on my dick?” You grabbed his arm to roll your hips both on his fingers and back onto his cock. Pleasure was hitting you from all angles and you were about to break. You clenched down on him, wanting him to reach his release too. Wanting to feel him fill you up. 

“Oh fuck!” He yelled out as you clenched around him. He bit your shoulder to control himself and you groaned at the sting that accompanied his bite. It was all too much and not enough. Which was sign enough that you were right on the precipice. 

“Gonna come.” You barely got the words out, mind too wrapped up in literally everything else. Everywhere Angel was touching. 

“Do it. Let me hear you.” He rubbed just right on the bundle of nerves as his cock pistoned inside you and you were done for. You dived right off that cliff. Your back arched as you screamed his name. Your vision went black for a moment as you fucking drowned in your high. Angel diving right in after you as you felt him spill inside you and curse your name. You finally came back to the present, catching your breath as the aftershocks of your orgasm started to fade in waves. You suddenly became aware of the situation again. Became aware of why you were here. As mind blowing as that climax was, it didn’t change anything. You turned around as you lifted your pants back up, Angel doing the same. Once he finished buttoning them you pulled him in for a kiss. Putting everything you had into it, what was left of your energy. He kissed you back with the same intensity and you cursed him because this was all you had been asking for. For him to love you, for him to give you something. But he didn’t and this was not going to change anything. 

As his tongue slipped into your mouth, you slid your hand into his back pocket and pulled out his keys and pulled away from him. He was confused until you backed up from him and started to unhook your key from his key ring. 

“What the fuck….” Of course he was confused, of course he thought sex was going to fix this. You pushed the keys against his chest and he held your hand against his chest, realizing what was happening, what was still happening.

“No…” He shook his head, realization dawning on him that the sex was one last sweet release before you left. A goodbye. Not a makeup. 

“Don’t do this shit. Don’t do this to me, baby.” He shook his head, eyes glossy. Words breaking. Your heart cracked, gone was the intense high he just gave you and instead there you were, right back in the low of it all. 

“You did this to yourself, Angel. Goodbye.” You swallowed hard and tugged your hand out of his grasp, he let out a breath. You turned around and walked out the door with your head high. Walked out leaving him behind to deal with what just happened. Walked out and into the shit storm that was going to be the next few weeks of getting over one Angel Reyes. 

[toastedside]

Banana Toast

Damian Wayne x Batmom! Reader

I was reading Super Sons the other day and this particular fic come into my mind right after. Just imagining the talk that come after sneaking out the night fighting Kid Amazo.

You watched Damian stepped out of the car with perpetual scowl on his face. He still wears his full armour Robin suit, with domino mask and all. You and Alfred had just picked him up from the Kent an hour ago after he snuck out for the night, roped Jon into an impromptu dangerous mission.

You suppressed a shiver. You didn’t want to imagine the worst, you had it all before. You were grateful that neither Jon nor Damian had suffered any lethal injuries. Few cuts here and there and probably a bruised shoulder, but nothing lethal.

Lois was livid when three of you had caught them climb up the window towards Jon’s room. You had been too, more so when you found out they were chasing after an Amazo wannabe and provoking Lex Luthor. Lois took all the shouting and scolding role that morning while you went full on injuries inspection and Alfred full on disappointed frown.

This is a mission where any one of them should have called their fathers. Jon argued that he tried to do so, but Damian was against the idea. It did not surprise you a little bit. If anything, you had always known the boy practically bleed for validation.

“In this kind of moment is the moment I truly believe that he is Master Bruce’s son,” Alfred’s voice came from behind. You whipped your head and smiled. “The utter stubbornness they both possess is astounding.”

“And their knack to make me worry is more or less the same.”

You found Damian fresh out of shower almost half an hour later, rummaged through the kitchen cabinet looking for some food. You silently watched him from behind, reading all of his body language from here. You knew he wasn’t exactly sorry about what he did, nor he feels the need to, but he was pretty pissed and awful with the consequence he brought after.

Or the reaction he received from others, for the lack thereof.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to give me lectures too?” Damian asked without bother to turned around.

“Would you like some banana toast for breakfast?” You simply smiled as you went through the kitchen cabinet to grab some wheat bread.

“Banana toast?”

“Basically, it’s a toast with peanut butter and banana, add chocolate if you feel fancy,” you explained. “It’s a comfort food I invented during my college days. I eat it whenever I feel down or upset. You want some?”

Damian thought for a while. “Yes, please. That sounds good.”

You spent few minutes in silence as you put your comfort food on work. Damian sat behind on the chair watching you solemnly, probably went through hundreds of probable scenarios from this. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he had always on high alert for a thirteen-year-old.

It gave you some time to think too. A part of you wanted nothing more but to yell to get the point across, but you also recognized that he had taken some blows from Lois before. Yelling to get the point across would be a contra productive thing to do where it would’ve done nothing but push him away further.

You were disappointed, nonetheless. A little betrayed at the fact that he had to snuck out and breach an agreement. And Damian didn’t try to look at you in the eyes, not even when you slid the warm toast towards him. Shame, probably, or guilt, you didn’t know.

“Damian, you do realize that you broke off an agreement with me and your father, right?” You started. Your voice was soft and calm, you tried your best to remain civil.

“I know,” his voice was firm. As if he had prepared for this inevitable conversation.

“May I know why?”

“Father hadn’t let me to go out for patrol with him!” Damian’s voice was thick with disappointment, a dash of anger, but surprisingly he didn’t raise his voice. “I just want to do good out there. I saved a family from their own demise tonight; you can’t blame me for that!”

“You do know exactly why your father didn’t let you go out for patrol with him. You’ve been ditching schools and is five assignments behind.”

“I don’t need school! It’s stupid! I already know the whole thing; I can easily have master degree by age seven!”

“I don’t doubt that a little bit. You’re indeed very smart. You can easily outsmart me and your father, even,” you nodded in acknowledgement. “But we need you to understand that school is not only for your academic learning, there are a lot of things to learn outside just knowing. Including gaining soft skills and build connections too. Befriend with someone your age.”

“I don’t do friends! Besides, isn’t that what superhero groups are? Isn’t me in Teen Titan enough?”

“Emphasize on the ‘someone your age’ a little bit more, darling. Most of the Titans are older than you. You don’t exactly call Starfire someone your age now, do you?” You smiled. “And you do friends. Jon is the living proof.”

Damian scowls a little bit. “We’re not friends.”

“That’s what your father says about Superman at first. Look at them now, attached by the hip if you ask me.”

Damian smiled slightly at that. Or anything that resemble a smile. He quietly munched on his banana toast, silently marveling at the taste and let the information sink in.

“We also need you to understand that your action last night, while outstanding in the field, still have consequences.”

“Am I grounded?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t I already grounded for ditching school?”

“Doesn’t mean you’ll get out of this clean,” you said. Damian groaned. “No patrol for next two weeks, and you’re going to school. Catch up with your assignments.”

“Two weeks?” Damian screeched in protest. “That’s too long! What if–”

“Unless you are needed in the field out of immediate emergency, you are not allowed for patrol otherwise. I know you’re Robin, but you are also my and your father’s son. You live under our roof, and you go with the rules too. We’ve talked about this hundred times already and you were agreeing,” you pointed out. “I trust you, Damian. Your father trust you. And it would mean a lot for us if you able to maintain that. One of the ways is by not sneaking out in the night and fighting bunch of robots with your friend.”

“Right,” Damian muttered slowly, defeated. “I am sorry, Mom.”

“Apology accepted, darling. Now go finish your breakfast and catch some sleep. You can join me in the clinic this afternoon if you want to, you can bring Jon over if his parents allow him to.”

“Can I meet Peanut the clinic dog, then?”

“You can try to train her some tricks you taught Titus if you want to.”

Damian’s spirit seemed to be lifted up by the promise. He eagerly finished his breakfast and went straight to his room, this time to catch some sleep hopefully. You let out a relieved sigh, the conversation went better than you had anticipated. By the look Alfred sent you when you brought the empty plates over, you thought he was agreeing too.

Well, raising bunch of vigilante kids definitely never cross your mind, or even a life you expected to have. But looking back, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[staysuki]

[teaser] THE BREAKROOM FILES

set before y/n joined JYPublishers, this 3-part short anthology follows our ragtag group of employees and the shenanigans that happen during their lunch breaks.

word count: 1.2k

-> DIRECTORY

#1 | PRANKS

“haha, really funny, guys,” chan walks inside the breakroom, carrying his folders with him. however, he shows his co-workers that when he tries to open the folders, it’s glued together.

“come on, who did this,” chan laughs as he asks around, his eyes still smiling but one could tell that he’s steadily growing irate.

“wait, what if it’s just shy and if everyone looks away, it’ll open,” yeji says softly, almost like a whisper, but her face is dead serious. still, it was enough for everybody else to hear—but they’re all used to her oddity and don't even give it a second thought anymore.

on the other hand, seungmin is visibly trying to suppress his laughter, alongside yeonjun. but their shoulders are slightly shaking.

right away, hyunjin glares at them, realizing that they’re the perpetrators.

because of course they are.

it’s always them.

“it’s funny hahaha, you got me. but come on, i have a meeting at three so i need the files..” chan’s voice grows weary by the second, pleading for help.

so, lino speaks up, “it’s okay chan, let’s just try prying it open, i’m sure nobody’s gonna bother admitting to the prank,” the gentleman takes chan’s folders and tries to open it.

“careful careful, those are important—” chan panics a bit, but the warning was too late, because lino forgot his own strength and accidentally ripped the papers.

“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—” lino immediately apologizes in a panic, but chan’s smile has already dropped.

still, he tries to be civil with the nice man, “no it’s okay, mr. lee, it’s not your fault.”

however, chan can no longer control his anger, “it’s all because of these goddamn mOTHERFUCKING PRANKSTERS,” his voice rises.

but he immediately picked himself back up, “my apologies, i didn’t mean to raise my voice. i think i’m gonna go take a breather,” he excuses himself, accidentally breaking the door in his rage.

“you guys should really stop doing that,” lino looks at seungmin and yeonjun with a disappointed sigh.

but taehyun speaks up, “no, no, let them do it. soon, chan will snap them in half and they’ll regret their actions.”

“yeah lino, if the HR head isn’t even telling us off then that means it’s okay,” yeonjun debates with a proud grin.

but hyunjin just looks at him with a judging stare, “don’t you guys have your own snooty breakroom, why are you even here.”

"it's snooty, that's why i'm here," yeonjun simply shrugs before leaning back on his chair.

#2 | PAYDAY

“so then, i told him, dude! that’s so crazy, we should hang out sometime, i have a jar of bloo—oh hey guys!” beomgyu stops to greet jisung and felix who walks in the breakroom, still bickering about their latest project. which was a huge plus for soobin because he definitely wasn’t listening at all, because he’s trying to fall asleep on the table.

meanwhile, jisung and felix doesn’t hear the greeting because of their argument.

“i keep telling you, you should animate the cartoon to do the renegade, it’s hip these days. the ad will have a higher chance of going viral if you do that,” felix tries to reason but jisung just rolls his eyes.

“animate your own shit, lee. i’m not gonna follow your cringey tiktok trends,” he rebuts.

shuhua just gives jisung a weird look, “don’t you have a tiktok account?”

“yeah but i use it to showcase my art, not dance like a douche with my shirt off,” jisung judges in disgusts, throwing a look at felix.

so, it was felix’s turn to roll his eyes, “please, you’re just jealous that i already have 34k followers while you only have 500, LOL.”

seeing that felix and jisung is stuck in their own world, beomgyu goes back to chattering with soobin and shuhua—both who couldn’t be bothered to listen.

suddenly, jeongin enters the breakroom, and silence ensues. everyone stops to look at jeongin but beomgyu, his friend, is the only one brave enough to greet him with a smile, “jeonginnie! hard at work?”

“yeah,” jeongin simply replies while he gets his coffee.

shuhua pretends not to look at him but she passes a glare at beomgyu, telling him to stop, “are you stupid? it’s payday week, we can’t afford pissing him off.” she harshly whispers at beomgyu who just rolls his eyes.

“ugh please, you’re all such babies. jeongin will never put my salary on hold.” he stands up to hang with jeongin but just as he does, jeongin turns around.

so, the cheery man accidentally bumps on jeongin’s coffee. thankfully, they were fast enough to evade the steaming liquid, but not fast enough to avoid getting stains on their clothes.

right away, jeongin glares at beomgyu, “i hope you like starving for a week.” he threatens before walking away.

“yah! yang jeongin! i have to pay for my online shopping please!!” beomgyu pleads as he follows jeongin outside.

“has anybody ever told him not to spend money before he even gets it,” jisung comments rhetorically, so nobody bothered to answer.

instead, shuhua speaks up, “well, can’t say i didn’t warn him.”

suddenly, they all hear a bang, turning to soobin whose face slammed down on the table as he snoozes.

#3 | PRESIDENT

“do you know why i called you two in here?” johnny says in a serious tone as he looks at his capable employees: lee taemin, his secretary, and choi minho, his senior agent.

“is this about one of our bigger authors?” minho asks but johnny shakes his head.

“is it about ghost that sits in the corner of your office and stares at you?” taemin asks with an eerie smile. johnny instinctively shakes his head before processing taemin’s words.

suddenly, he looks up at him, weirded and freaked out, “ghost? what ghost?” he asks while looking around.

taemin just shushes him, “shhh, you’re making her self-conscious,” he says with a soft voice.

“so what’s this about?” minho asks, re-routing the conversation.

so, johnny turns serious, leaning back on his chair, “i called you here because i need advice from my older employees. i value your insight and would appreciate the help.”

the two nod, waiting for johnny to continue.

“do you guys think…” johnny trails off, braving himself to ask.

“do you guys think i should join the other employees in the breakroom? or would it be weird for me to do that?” johnny asks, which makes minho look at him questioningly.

so, the chairman continues, “no, i know we have our own breakroom for the higher-ups and whatnot but i heard yeonjun prefers going down there with the others because it’s more fun—do you think they’re talking about me? will i ruin the mood if i go there?”

minho just sighs before collecting his things, “sorry sir, i have to meet with a client in a while, but i’m sure your capable secretary here can ease your concerns,” with a small smile, he hurries off the office.

so, johnny is left to consult with taemin who’s still just staring at him with an eerie smile.

“w-what do you think?” he asks again.

taemin just shrugs before standing up and leaving, “i think the ghost wouldn’t like it if you leave her here alone~” he says before closing johnny’s door, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.

“y-YAH! WHAT GHOST?!”

mastertag: @geniejunn @leagreenly @90s-belladonna @fuzzylard @loveliebri @chimmybaek7 @todorokiskitten @lilacdreams-00 @ethereallino @ninjaleeknow @trials--error @hey-i-really-miss-you @multifandomizer @aerastus @caratinylyfe @kdhvier @hibuki-chan @blaaiissee

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Again

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Warnings: Notes of depression and suicidal thoughts but nothing explicitly mentioned

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Five Hargreeves seems to have his heart taken by a mysterious girl who has spent a lot of time with him in a future that he’s trying desperately to erase.

Author’s Note: My first TUA work and so kinda excited for it. Will there be a part two?? Undecided for now must most probably not.

Forever Taglist: @simonsbluee​

“Hello?” Five called out as he walked closer to where the heaps of his findings had fallen down. The dust cloud was making it difficult to see but as soon as it settled, he sighed.

‘Of course.’ Why did he even expect to find anyone?

 But then another pile fell down and he knew it couldn’t have been a coincidence. He ran over the coincidence fallen debris to find you hiding behind it, looking dehydrated and in tears.

His eyes widened when they landed on the burns on your body, finding it amazing that you even managed to survive them.

But compared to the others, you got off easy.

“Hello?”

The whole while you had been staring at him but it was only when he spoke it felt like you were actually looking at him.

Immediately, you got to your feet, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you threw your arms around him. He instinctively caught your form as it collided with his, holding you close as you buried your head into his neck, sobbing.

“I’m so glad you found me.”

****

Allison noticed the way Five looked longingly across the street. At first, she thought he was just staring lovingly at the cafe because he needed a shot of espresso but she quickly noticed that his eyes were locked on the tables outside the little coffee shop.

In a table right underneath the shade of a parasol, sat you alongside your older sister, just enjoying a drink and chatting very animatedly. She looked between the two of you a couple of times, wondering which one of you Five was staring at but ultimately deciding that it wasn’t important.

“Five?”

“Hmm?” He answered distractedly, not shifting his gaze to his sister and continuing to watch you. Seeing you smile so brightly had a small smile coming to his face but no matter who saw it there was a touch of despair and sadness behind it.

“Do you know her?”

“Not....yet.”

She turned back to the table, watching you drink whatever you had in your cup and wondered what Five meant by that. Were you someone who survived the Apocalypse?

“Yes.”

“Oh, I said that out loud?”

“She’s the sole survivor of the Apocalypse.”

It was as though you could hear them talking about you even though they had the distance of a busy road between the two of you, but you looked up and locked eyes with him, holding your gaze curiously.

He continued to look at you with an unreadable emotion and time slowed down. The noises around Five slowly faded into cotton and the people faded into wisps of sweet-scented smoke.

And then suddenly like as if someone crashed through a window, he heard a glass smash and the trance was broken. You turned back to your sister, only sparing small glances back at him to see if this mysterious stranger was still watching you.

“Five? You okay, buddy?”

He sighed, now knowing that you really couldn’t recognize him and so he turned his back to you, disappointed, to meet his sibling’s concerned eyes.

“I’m not sure.”

****

You cuddled closer to five, watching the fire flicker and trying to stop shivering. He sighed exasperatedly and you knew he was angry with you but you really couldn’t care less about how he felt while your teeth chattered and you shook like a chihuahua.

“I know you’re upset with me because I made us stop but it’s not like we have a deadline or something. It’s just the two of us, we can do things as slowly as we want to.” You told him, trying to relax but something in the back of your mind wasn’t settling right.

You hated being alone with him. You hated being the only 2 people on the planet. Your heart yearned for something else.

“Dammit, (Y/N), we can’t just sit around and do nothing!” He snapped, throwing the last piece of kindling into the fire and a few of the embers jumped out.

“Why not! It’s not like we have anything to live for here anyway! We should just end it now!” You shouted in his face, feeling a wave of tears grow. You missed your normal life, you missed your family, your parents and people.

You missed it all.

“I won’t die like this! I will find a way to stop the Apocalypse even if it kills me! I will fight for it!” It seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than you but all you felt was a weight on your heart and you broke down into tears, hiding your face from Five who immediately felt guilty.

“I can’t fight anymore, Five. There’s nothing waiting for us at the end of the line, I can’t do this anymore, Five, I can’t.” You sobbed.

He pulled you into his arms and you cried into his chest while he rubbed gentle strokes up and down your back while you choked over your own breath. He felt his own tears prick in the corner of his eyes.

“We’ll change it all, there has to be something, (Y/N), there just has to.”

****

“Five are you okay?” Came a concerned voice from one of his brothers but the younger boy (physically) couldn’t tell which one it was. He was far too lost in his own thoughts.

“Five?” Allison called out again, shaking her little brother’s (again, physically) shoulder and he snapped out of his trance, only realizing then he had overfilled his cup of coffee and spilled it everywhere.

“Oh.” He muttered quietly before getting a rag to clean it up.

Above his head, Allison and Klaus shared a concerned look and had a mental conversation about whether they should ask Five what was bothering him. It was likely he would just talk about equations and tell them they didn’t have the capacity to understand it.

But this seemed different to his usual ‘I’m superior than you and incredibly stressed about this Apocalypse’ silence. So, against their better judgement they decided to ask Five about it.

“Five is everything okay? You’ve been acting weird ever since the coffee shop.”

“Oh, coffee shop? What happened at the coffee shop? Was there another gun fight?” Asked Klaus excitedly and Allison spared him an eye-roll before sitting down.

“No, he saw a girl and well, he did that.” She explained, pointing to Five where he stood just holding a rag in his hands and not even bothering to wipe up the mess he made.

“Oh, well I can fix that no problem.”  Klaus said, sliding off the table and onto one of the chairs, “You see, baby brother, when a boy comes to the age of puberty—”

“Shut up!” Ben snapped from behind him and Allison slapped the back of his head but Klaus clearly saw the smile on her face before she glared at him.

“Five seriously, what’s wrong? Who was that girl?”

“She—” His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat, “She’s nobody.”

“Not yet.” She pressed and he sighed before abandoning the rag and sitting in front of them. The older siblings immediately noticed the way he was playing with his tie, fidgeting in a way that was very unlike him.

“You said she survived the Apocalypse. So, the two of you obviously met.”

“Yeah, we did.” He spoke softly, still fidgeting with his collar and not meeting their eyes.

“And I’m assuming she’s important to you somehow?”

He sighed, leaving his collar and from his palm fell out the pendant of the necklace hung around his neck. Although from a closer look, it was a pendant as much as a—

The three of them gasped, “Five, she is not.”

He nodded sadly, hand going back to the wedding band strung on a chain around his neck.

****

“Do you think it’s legal?”

“We’re pretty much the only people here so I’m assuming it is.”

“Don’t we need witnesses or something?”

“That’s a stupid old law, made my stupid old folks that aren’t alive anymore.” He said, smiling gently as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You gave him a teasing smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair out of his face.

You couldn’t help the giggles when he reached down to kiss you gently. It was infectious apparently because Five couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face either as he leaned closer, making your back curve.

“I like the way you think, Mr. Hargreeves.”

“I like the way you kiss, Mrs. Hargreeves.”

You chortled and burst into laughter as did he. It was one of the happiest moments since you both found each other and moments like these were as rare as they came, when the two of you were just laughing in each other’s arms like carefree people.

Of course, you couldn’t have a big fancy wedding with your family and go for a fancy honeymoon, but this wedding gave you something that you had wanted ever since the Apocalypse.

A family.

****

Allison, Klaus and Ben all noticed the way that Five smiled when he thought about you. They noticed the gentleness in his voice and how wistful it became all of a sudden as he told them about you.

Allison grinned at him, feeling incredibly relieved that her brother had somebody to hold him while he had suffered through the apocalypse. Hearing the story of how he survived so many years all alone really broke her heart.

She always knew that she had a rough childhood without the love of a real father, but hearing Five’s story made her feel like she had it easy. At least she had civilization around her.

But even with the relief she felt it was ridiculously incredulous that her brother who couldn’t even drive legally yet was legally married. It was too much to even process and a part of her is reminded of when her daughter told her that she married Elmo.

But the longer she watched Five the more convinced she grew. He actually married you and lived a long life by your side before he came here to stop the Apocalypse.

“Wait...” She spoke up, realization hitting her, “Five, if the two of you met because of the Apocalypse, if you stop it...” She stopped herself from saying the rest, seeing his face fall. Klaus gasped softly from beside them, understanding what Allison was trying to say.

It seemed like Five was trying to gather himself and both siblings say the way he swallowed painfully and the way his mouth quivered for just a second.

“I know.”

****

“I want you to do this, Five.” You told your husband, holding onto him tighter and burying your face into his neck and trying to hide your tears from him.

His arms looped around your waist and he pressed kisses to your shoulder, cradling your head gently. You heard his breath stutter by your ear and tightened your hold on him.

“I won’t leave you.” He said firmly and you sighed but didn’t move from his hold. He was firm on that decision since he married you, giving up on his search to find the correct equation, promising that he wouldn’t abandon you.

But you knew what lied in his heart. His love for his siblings, the guilt for not doing anything to save them and him spending hours awake while you were asleep just wondering what it would have been like had he done something.

“You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t do this.” You murmured and his body shook a little from trying to hold in his sobs.

“I can’t leave you.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered, pulling away to cup his cheeks and you wiped a few of his stray tears away. You knew it must have been tearing him up inside if he was crying and it hurt but you also knew that he needed to hear this.

“It’s okay, I’m happy that we had our time together. I’m so unbelievably happy to have met you, Five, but I know that this is something you need to do.” You told him earnestly, still wiping tears from his cheeks.

“I love you.” He whispered so gently because he was sure his voice would crack.

“I love you too.” The tears running down your cheeks was in contrast to the sad smile on your face as you pulled him in for a hug.

It was after that he began his search to find the right equation again and it was admirable to see him work so hard but also heart-breaking because you knew when he would find the right one the two of you would be separated.

But still you encouraged him and supported him, knowing that in another world, the two of you could have possibly been happier had the Apocalypse not taken place.

It hurt, but at the same time, you wanted it to happen, which broke your heart even more.

And somewhere deep down you hoped that you would meet Five in another life and love him again.

You really hoped.

****

You sat quietly in the corner of the booth with earphones plugged in and reading a book with your favourite drink sitting on the table in front of you. You were so immersed in the book that you didn’t hear the boy in front of you until he tapped on the table politely.

Pulling out an earphone, you looked up to see a boy about your age with a charming smile and a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Hi, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Of course not.” You smiled, moving your bag off the table so he could sit comfortably.

“I’m Five.” He said, holding his hand out for you to shake and you nodded.

“That’s a pretty unusual name, I’m (Y/N).”

He smiled in a mysterious yet adorable way and you couldn’t help but feel that there was a reason he sat down. One you would find out extremely later but for now it was enticing and curious which attracted you to him even more.

“Nice to meet you.”

‘Again.’

[missdawnandherdusk]

brother’s best friend

Sirius X Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Request: @lam-ila​: Sirius and a Slytherin reader

A/n: This is mostly angst and pining with a cute ending as always. It’s kinda nice to do these short drabbles not going to lie. This one’s about 3k words though... my bad. I meant to keep it shorter but ya know...

“Isn’t that your older brother?” I whispered in class.

“Yes, regrettably,” Regulus muttered.

“He’s a Gryffindor?” I was taken back. “Isn’t your whole family Slytherin?”

“You’d think that wouldn’t you?” He sounded dismayed.

“Your parents must be livid,”

“You have no idea,”

Curious blue eyes met mine from across the room before I saw a hint of disgust on his face.

“What are you doing hanging around my little brother?” His voice caught my attention in the hallway between classes.

“Hello little black sheep,” I smiled, turning from my friends to face him. He had a sneer etched into his features, but he couldn’t hide the concern from his eyes.

“Don’t call me that,” Sirius snapped. “What do you want with my brother?”

“He’s a friend? Did you think that Slytherins didn’t have friends little Gryffindor?” I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re bad news,”

“So are you,” I refuted. “And yet here we are.”

“Just stay away from him,” Sirius threatened.

“He’s my friend,” I snarled. “And how dare you think you can order me around!?”

He drew his wand, and I drew mine. Others made a circle around us, ready for the show. My eyes didn’t leave Sirius.

“Y/n? Sirius?” Regulus called pushing through the crowd. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing Reg. Just go,” Sirius ordered.

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” I snorted. “Not gonna tell him you’re threatening me, are you big brother?”

Sirius raised his wand, but Regulus was between the two of us, staring down his older sibling.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Regulus left no room for argument.

“I’m your brother. It’s my job,” Sirius eyes didn’t leave mine.

“And Y/n is my friend. If you want to protect me find some new friends yourself,” Regulus said.

The younger Black took my hand and pulled me out of the ring and to an empty hallway.

“I’m sorry. He always does this,” Regulus eyes were fixed on the ground.

“It’s alright,” I stowed my wand away.

“I... I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore,” He mumbled.

“Because Sirius threatened me?” I laughed. “Reg, I’m not intimidated by some arrogant Gryffindor. You’re still my friend and that’s that.”

A smile played at Regulus’ lips.

“Has Sirius done this every time?” I pondered. He shrugged, giving me my confirmation. I harbored a slightly bigger grudge against the older Black.

Later that night, I found resolve to go and find Sirius and his little gang of marauders and deal a few threats of my own. He and his posse were hanging out under a tree in the yard as the sun began to settle in the Scottish mountains.

“Oi, little black sheep!” I called, stalking up to him. Sirius immediately squared up and drew his wand, his three friends flanking him.

“I told you not to call me that,” He sneered.

“I really couldn’t care less,” I snapped back. “But you need to stay away from Regulus,”

Sirius barked a laugh and was joined by his friends. It didn’t sway my determination. “Oh, yeah?” He snickered. “And why is that?”

“Because every time you threaten one of his friends, they leave him. And now he has one friend and abandonment issues,” Seething, I crossed my arms. “So, don’t you dare act all high and mighty.”

I could see him falter in his confidence at my words, as if he had no idea.

“Reg has always said he’s fine,” He argued weakly.

“He looks up to you Sirius,” My tone softened. “I don’t think he wants to disappoint you,”

“You’re lying,” I watched Sirius’ defenses go back up. “That’s all you Slytherins do,”

I flinched slightly at his accusation as I turned to leave, knowing it was a lost cause at this point. Sirius was too caught up in his own fantasy.

“Fine,” I shrugged. “Don’t believe me, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”

Walking down the hall, back to my dorm, Sirius caught my hand, and we were alone on the staircases as the shifted in the grand room of portraits. His blue eyes met mine, a thousand questions in them, but only a few in mine that he seemed to be able to read.

“Why... why would you say that?” Sirius seemed as if he had a hard time asking the question, to bare any sort of emotion in front of me.

“Because believe it or not, I care about your brother.” I understood his hesitancy to admit his feelings because I was having a hard time finding the words myself. “I... he’s like family to me, Sirius. Surely you must understand what that’s like,”

He pursed his lips and nodded, a hand running through his long, tousled, raven hair. “Look out for him, yeah?” Sirius baited.

I nodded, and we parted ways. I paused at the bottom of the staircase and glanced over my shoulder to him. He had done the same thing I had at the top of the stairs. Our eyes meeting a brief moment broke the pull between us as we both went on our way. But it left me thinking that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

______________________________

_____________________________

“So, did you tell her off?” James asked, fidgeting with a snitch, lounging on a couch in the common room.

“Yeah,” Sirius could barely manage a smile with the lie as he headed straight to his room.

Sirius was confused. He could hear your voice taunting that it wouldn’t take much in his head. He let out a groan to clear you from his thoughts as he perched on the window seat, staring at the stars.

He hated Slytherins. He hated every Slytherin he had ever met. His family, his parents, their friends. They were all dreadful and he loathed them more than anything in the world. His only exception was Regulus. Sirius wasn’t surprised when his little brother was sorted into Slytherin. He knew it was coming. He hated every Slytherin, but Regulus.

“I care about your brother, he’s like family to me,” Your words played on an endless loop in his mind.

Surely you couldn’t be as bad as the other Slytherins if you had befriended and defended his brother. There weren’t many that would stand up to him and his friends for the sake of another. Sure, any Slytherin was proud enough to stand for themselves, but you surprised him. You stood for his little brother. Against him of all people. So maybe he hated every Slytherin but Regulus, and he could tolerate you. And your attitude. And your confidence. And your loyalty. And your honesty.

And maybe you started to smile at him in the halls. And maybe he always noticed you because you were always with Regulus. Whispered words between you and his brother that would make you flush a bright pink and shove Regulus, both of you laughing, leaving Sirius wondering what the hell had made you blush so hard. Then those smiles became waves and taunts in the halls that made him laugh and glance over his shoulder just to watch you leave.

“Not two months ago were you about to hex her to next week and now you’re flirting with her?” James demanded in the hall one afternoon. “What the hell Pads?”

“Just leave it,” Sirius snapped. “She’s friends with Reg, so I might as well be civil.”

“There’s civil then there’s whatever the hell you two have going on, mate,” Remus pointed out.

“She’s a Slytherin, mate,” James warned. “They’re all the same. Look at Snivilus, you really want to date that?”

Sirius blanched and sighed. “Look, it’s nothing okay? She’s just friendly to my brother and I don’t want to ruin that for him, that’s all. She’s nothing to me,”

Then Sirius caught your eye in the hall, but you weren’t smiling at him this time. You looked defeated and pissed. A dangerous thing. Regulus held the same look of disapproval beside you. Sirius’ hand went to his wand, ready for backlash from you, but for the first time since he’s met you, you turned your back and walked away.

Sirius panicked and took off to follow you and paused around the corner, listening to your conversation with his brother.

“He probably didn’t mean it,” Regulus tried to comfort.

“I’m fine,” You huffed. “It’s fine.”

“Y/n,” Regulus called.

“Enough!” You shouted, and Sirius flinched at your raised tone. “Don’t you get it? It was always going to end like this. It’s better that I walk away now before it’s too late,”

“Y/n,” Regulus sounded desperate. “Please don’t give up on him,”

“He gave up on me, there’s nothing I can do about that,” You sighed and there was nothing more to be heard or said. Sirius leaned up against the wall, feeling like a total prick.

“Come on, mate,” Remus said sympathetically. “We’re gonna be late,”

And Sirius walked away, trapped in his own mind by the look of betrayal on your face. He wanted to go back and say something different. He wanted you to not be there when he said those stupid things. He wanted to find you and try to explain. Nothing could be done now. He sealed his fate.

The permanent look of despondency on your features bothered him. More than he cared to admit it bothered him. You didn’t smile at him in the hall anymore. You and Regulus didn’t whisper hushed secrets any longer. There was no more banter, no more reason to laugh. Without your smile everything around him was a bit lackluster.

What really crushed him, however, was when he saw you in the halls, not with his brothers, but rather his three cousins, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda. The same air of disdain they held appeared on your face. Like they had sucked you in.

That was the line for him.

He stopped short in the middle of the hall and stalked over to you, grabbing your arm and he dragged you to an empty hallway.

You didn’t dare to meet his eyes. As if you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Y/n,” Sirius began. “Bellatrix? Really? What the hell are you thinking?” Oh, that was so not the thing to say and he realized that very quickly.

“I’m sorry,” You snarled. “I didn’t know you cared. I’m nothing to you Sirius, so my friends are none of your concern.” It was like a slap to the face.

“I didn’t mean what I said! That day! It was stupid! I was stupid!” Sirius argued back.

“I’m glad you figured that out. But it’s too late Sirius. I know my place. I never should have acted like I belonged anywhere else.” The coldness of your words seeped under his skin. “So, thank you for the reminder,”

“And what about Reg?” Sirius asked, “Are you just going to ditch him for your new ‘friends’?”

There was a softness and moment of doubt in your features and for a moment Sirius saw the old you seep through.

“Of course not,” You words were still cold, but not as harsh. “He’s family,”

You left him there dumbfounded, more confused, and angrier at himself than he was before he had the conversation with you. It was foolish of him to think that a few words could sway you. Not after what he had said to make you so... distant.

“Still no luck?” Remus asked softly. Sirius shook his head and flopped on the couch, defeated. 

“She’s a Slytherin, mate,” James tried to appease. “You don’t need her,”

Sirius’ glare became cold and unforgiving as he sat up. “It’s your bloody fault that I’m in this mess! You couldn’t just leave her alone could you!? You couldn’t just let us be!?”

“Don’t get so bent out,” James argued. “You’ll find someone else,”

“Go to hell, Potter,” Sirius muttered, stalking out of the common room and into the drafty halls of the night.

Sirius wandered with no direction. Muttering to himself and sighing, he barely heard your voice in the vast quiet and darkness.

“Leave me alone,” You threatened, sounding unsteady. “I’m not in the mood,”

“Ickle Slytherin have no fire left in her then?” Another taunted. Sirius took off running, wand drawn.

“I said leave me alone!” Your voice was more frantic as he heard the other voice cast a disarming spell and the clattering of a wand on the cold stones of the castle.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that darling,” The assailant chuckled. “Where are your little friends now? I thought Slytherins were loyal?”

Sirius rounded the corner and saw you pressed against a wall, looking defiant even still. He could see you shaking, a wand under your throat. Your attacker caressed your face gently, too close for anyone’s comfort. Your eyes flashed to his, terrified. It was just enough to distract your aggressor.

With no regrets Sirius casted a stunning spell, overtaking your attacker. You about collapsed, but Sirius was there to catch you.

______________________________

____________________________

My fingers curled into the cotton of his shirt, clinging to him desperately. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. I couldn’t stop myself from hiding my face in his shoulder. I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

He hushed me softly, wrapping his arms around me tightly. 

“It’s over now,” He consoled. “It’s over, you’re safe,” 

“He... I... Sirius,” I sniffled.

“I’m here,” He whispered. “I’m right here,”

“Y/n!” I knew that voice. I trusted that voice. “Sirius, what happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing, Regulus,” Sirius snapped. “She was...” He growled. “I’ll tell you later. Can you go get Slughorn and McGonagall, I need to get her to Pomfrey,” 

Something must have passed between him that I didn’t see because I heard Reg’s retreating footsteps.

“Can you walk?” Sirius asked softly, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to me.

A long enough moment that instead of allowing me to test his question, he gathered me into his arms and began to carry me. I still clung to him, pressing my face to his shoulder, and trying to find the will to take deep breaths. With each breath I took, Sirius’ scent surrounded me. Leather, cotton, fire whiskey, fresh air... I focused on that.

“Oh dear,” I heard Pomfrey flit about, asking Sirius questions about what happened, not caring to listen for the answers.

I felt myself being set down, but the small, scared girl inside of me was not allowing that. She fought against it, gripping tighter to the familiar comfort and warmth. There was a soft chuckle from my safe haven and the motion to set me down stopped.

I dared to open my eyes and look around, and sure enough, we were in the hospital wing. Sirius held me in his lap as he stretched out into a cot, pulling a blanket around my shoulders.

“Sirius, I—”

“Drink,” He didn’t let me finish as he shoved a glass of water into my hands.

“But—” I paused after seeing the steady determination in his eyes and I began to drain the glass of chilled water. He freed my hands of the empty glass and there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Better?” He spoke with utmost care and softness. I nodded.

“Mr. Black!” I heard the shrill of McGonagall’s voice and flinched harder than I meant to. “I choose to let a lot of things slide, but there has to be a line somewhere!”

“Don’t yell at him,” I croaked. “He saved me,”

The professor backtracked, as Slughorn rounded her, concerned with my health.

“Are you alright my dear?” The professor asked, reaching out to check me for a fever, yet between my cringe and Sirius’ growl, he paused. “Seems like we have much to discuss,”

“Tomorrow,” Sirius affirmed. “She needs to rest,”

“Then off to bed with you Mr. Black,” McGonagall ordered.

“Best not, Minnie,” Pomfrey cautioned. “I’m afraid with the current situation, Mr. Black would do her more good here than if he left,”

McGonagall scrutinized us, then sighed, her resolve leaving her. 

“Very well,”

The lights dimmed and Sirius and I were left in the quiet of the night. His hand absentmindedly ran through my hair as I tucked my head back into the crook of his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I choked out.

“You’re safe now,” He murmured.

“Sirius I—” I had no words to say.

“I’m sorry,” He found the words I wanted to say and gave them to me. “I should have defended you. I know you’re different. I know you’re not like them,”

“You were there when it counted the most,” Tears pricked my eyes. “I was so scared,”

“I know, I know,” He soothed, rubbing my arm. “It’s all over now,”

“I’m so sorry,” I cried softly.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I felt him press his lips to the crown of my head in a gesture of comfort and safety.

A quiet moment passed between us.

“I love you, Sirius,” It was muffled and tearstained, but it was true. “

I... I love you too,”

.

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[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 23

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +6.4k

Chapter warnings: lmao angst and then fluff, a brief mention of food, and drugs and a dog.

A/N: This chapter is set after season three. // aAAAAAA this is so long i dont even why but it took me like ALL day FUCK FUCK FUCK anyway thanks to all my babies that got me through the desperation of wanting this to write itself lmao, also two chapters and we are DONE with the main story holy shit

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

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gifs: @pascalsky

Javier groaned when he sat up and moved his legs to get them out of the bed and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand; three forty-eight in the morning. He turned on the lamp, reached at his nape and scratched with blunt nails and reached for the pack of smokes that he left on the nightstand before laying down to try to sleep with the other hand.

He pulled the last one out of the pack and stood up to throw the empty carton in the trashcan near the door; he eyed the empty pack from the day before in the bottom of the can with the cigarette clinging to his lips thanks to near dry spit making them sticky and let out a deep sigh.

It wasn’t working.

His tongue moved to shift the cigarette from his lips and he let it fall inside the trashcan, knowing it wouldn’t be the last one he put between his lips, but at least he didn’t light it.

Javier thought of getting out of the room and raiding his dad’s bar again, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.

It wasn’t working.

He knew it, and it couldn't be denied any longer. He wasn’t getting any younger and his old ways weren’t helping him forget as they used to ten or fifteen years before.

Javier walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, letting his half naked body fall backwards on the mattress and looking at the ceiling, he felt his hand twitch and he felt it empty without a nicotine stick firmly pressed between his index and his thumb but did nothing to calm it down.

Ten or fifteen years before: had it really been that long? Javier huffed at nothing and scratched his chest, leaving his hand there, uselessly wondering what would it be of him if he did something different; incidentally working through years and years of missteps, mishappens, mistakes, and shaping them in some other way that would have saved him from five months of poor sleep and constant drunkenness, five months of chain-smoking and lack of sharpness, five months of only remembering the bad things he had done and the bad things he deserved.

He huffed again because of course his retirement wouldn’t be him sitting on a porch to enjoy the evening Texas breeze and a glass of scotch; even if he had tried it.

It was having nightmares every third night he wanted nothing but to shove deep inside his head, but that then, reluctantly, he had to tell his new therapist his dad had forced him to go to.

It was having to remember all the men he saw dying every time he heard the words war or coke or shooting. Having to remember them changing and fighting and dying for a cause he wasn’t sure if he still believed in. Having to remember Carrillo every time he and Steve talked on the phone.

It was remembering you each time someone sent him a letter congratulating his work or asking for consultation or asking for an interview; because he had an idea of what you had been through and he was sure he didn’t deserve all that claptrap. He did nothing but cause chaos and destruction and death and even though his therapist said it wasn’t his fault he knew it was because he aided for it to happen.

But you? You did everything you could to find yourself a way to recover what was yours, and you still lost it.

Javier sat up again and after six exact seconds of consideration, he leaned forward and opened his nightstand drawer. He took the black tape he had been clinging to for five months and held it in front of him for a couple of minutes.

He chuckled at himself and gripped the small cassette, took from the drawer his tape player, pressed the red button for it to open, let the tape fall in the slit and closed it, turned it on and rewinded the tape, trying to make the calculations in his head of how many times he had repeated that process as the tape ran to the beginning.

He put the headphones on, laid down back on the bed and pressed play.

“Hi, Javi, uhm…”

God, how he missed you.

The phone rang again, fuck the phone, you thought, and hid your face under a pillow, trying to fall asleep again despite the clear signal that you were no longer sleepy.

And the phone rang again, you lifted your head from the cocoon of pillows and eyed the clock on your nightstand, who was calling you at five seventeen in the morning?

Grunting, you got out of the bed and walked out of the bedroom to the small space that made your living room, dining room and kitchen and got to the phone.

“Hello?” your voice was a deep groan, and you cleared your throat.

“Another letter came for you, when are you gonna change your address?” your dad’s voice broke through the receiver and you closed your eyes, breathing in and out the stress it was already provoking in you.

“I’ll get to it, dad,” you replied “are you gonna send it to me or can I go to the house?” you questioned, feeling already your lower lip tremble.

“I’ll send it, your mom doesn’t wanna see you yet,” he let out in a stern voice “sorry, pumpkin.” he whispered and hung up the phone.

You sat on the armrest of the loveseat next to the phone and let your tears fall from your eyes, not even bothering about cleaning them anymore.

You sighed and nodded to yourself, letting your tired gaze roam around your tiny living space and you missed the openness of your family house, the one you had come back to and were expelled from by an angry mother that felt ashamed of the truth you told them.

But you had to give it to her, she didn’t even know you went down to Colombia, or that you’d been having drug issues, or that they fired you.

She had told you she didn’t know who you were anymore.

Neither did you.

So you left, they couldn’t be more disappointed in you than you were in yourself, so you walked out as your mom wanted and tried to find a home for yourself as you still wondered what the hell were you supposed to do. There wasn’t a handbook or a protocol that taught people how to stop being a DEA agent, the government didn’t train people to go back to civility or even offered a program to forget all the shit you had lived in the places they had sent you.

You stayed in your hometown, unknowingly to your old friends and twenty minutes away from your parent’s home and didn’t leave your house unless absolutely necessary; Albuquerque wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t big, and you were dreading walking past someone who knew you before you had lost yourself and tried to explain all your baggage, you didn’t have the time, or the energy. And you didn’t want people feeling sorry for yourself, with the woman in the mirror you had enough.

Everything seemed pointless, and you felt heavy all the time, as if you were carrying a chain ball in each foot and shackles in your hands while being dragged down by quicksand.

In the kitchen's corner you saw the last two boxes you still didn’t have energy to unpack after moving them across the continent and let out a teary sight as you stood from the armrest and walked to them.

You opened the first box and saw it filled with office clutter; pencils, markers, some notebooks and notepads, the brown journal you had been looking for to burn on your stove; a set of keys you weren’t sure what they opened and in the bottom, folded pieces of paper.

“Oh, no.” you muttered to the air of the warm kitchen and you doubted reaching in for it… The hesitation lasted two minutes but for you it was like two hours, you knew what it was, you knew why it was in that box and when you took it it felt hot and heavy. You were holding feelings in that letter, you were holding hours of shed tears and memories you didn’t want to have anymore. Memories that still haunted you whenever you smelled roasted colombian coffee and saw an ad of Malduros on tv.

You didn’t open it. You knew what was written there. And for a few seconds you thought of burning it on the stove instead.

“Well, I don’t want this, might as well send it.” you muttered under your breath, recognizing it would do you some good to stop holding to it, acknowledging it would do you some good to know he had it. If he wanted to rip it into millions of pieces or burn it or toss it in the trash or eat it, it was his problem.

You bit your lip as you walked to the phone; you hadn’t thought of him in a while. But as you sat on the loveseat all the shit you wanted to bury if not get rid of came back to your mind like a high wave of a rough sea; sharp, cold, gritty.

“Shit.” you gasped, trying to breathe in and out several times because you didn’t want to cry. It was too early for crying.

You grabbed the phone and thought who could have Javier’s address. God, even thinking of his name made your chest flutter and your stomach churn. You had fooled yourself into thinking he didn’t have an effect on you anymore, into even assuring five months was enough to forget him. What a fool.

You dialed the number of the only person you knew for sure knew the address by heart; the phone rang three times before it was answered.

“Hello?” a sleepy nasal voice greeted, and you smiled through the few tears that had accumulated in your eyes, grateful that he still had his embassy issued cell phone.

“Stod!” your smile was making your cheeks hurt, and you wondered in the back of your head when was the last time you had smiled.

“Who’s this? Flor?” he asked and you let out a stiff chuckle. You decided not to be a huge asshole and dump something heavy as your actual name that early in the morning, so you went with it.

“Yeah, sorry to call at this hour, did I wake you?” you played with the edge of the loveseat’s armrest.

“Kinda,” a noise of shuffle was heard “but it’s almost seven here, so I’m not that mad,” he teased, making you chuckle again “how are you? to what do I owe the honor?”

“Uhm, I–‌I’m calling to take advantage of you,” you said, hearing his chuckle through the line and a whisper of of course you did, “by any chance do you know Peña’s address in Texas?” you asked, closing your eyes and crossing your fingers, wishing for him to not ask:

“Why?”

“I–‌I have something of his...” you mumbled under your breath “I just found it and I wanna send it.” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Uh…” Stoddard hesitated, and you heard a faint of a pouring noise in the back that made you sigh, a cup of coffee would do you wonders, “well I do–I don't know if I’m allowed to just say it, y’know?” you frowned.

“Oh, come on, please?” you pleaded, your leg started bouncing because of the anxiety that was growing in your chest.

“What is it? is something important?” he asked.

“Super important,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see, “he needs it.”

“How do you know?” he questioned again, and you whined under your breath.

“Uhm, I ju–‌I just know, uhm…” since when were you a twitchy, nervous mess? “can’t you just tell me?”

“Not really, no.” he muttered in that voice that made you want to punch him and hug him at the same time.

You let out the air of your lungs and controlled your body.

You had promised yourself to tell the truth when it was necessary. So you were going to.

“Look, Stod, this is long to explain, okay?” you began, and he hummed affirmatively in response, “the only thing you need to know is that the thing I have here is very important that he gets because he needs to know that I kept it for him.” you said, closing your eyes again.

“Flor you just told me nothing.” he let out, his voice was being muffled and it sounded like he had something in his mouth.

“Fuck, Stoddard, I love him, okay?” you let out “and this thing I have is a letter that I need him to have so he knows I love him!” you panted and bit your lip when he didn’t answer.

You just had said out loud you loved someone, you just had said to someone you loved Javier Peña for the first time. Shit.

“Oh,” Stoddard said after a moment and you held your breath, “you have where to write?”

“You’re a fucking king!”

Six hours later, you wanted nothing else but to turn the fucking car around.

“This is a mistake, this is a fucking mistake!” you yelled inside your car, opening the glove box to toss there your sunglasses. The highway 285 was eternal, and you hated driving through it; it was empty, there was nothing but desert landscapes and the occasional tree, but you were halfway, just crossing the state border and there was nothing in the everlasting earth that would make you drive back home, not even your fucking hesitation, not even your self-doubt.

“What the fuck am I gonna say?” you asked yourself again, chewing on your lower lip and gripping the steering wheel, “am I just pulling on his driveway and knocking on his door and saying hi I’m sorry I broke your heart I have a letter for you? Fuck!” you saw the beginning of yet another town and you drove slowly looking for a gas station, “or better yet, I read this shit to him to complete the humiliation!” you turned your head for a second at the letter resting easily in the co-pilot’s seat and you groaned, finding a gas station. You were also hungry.

With the car’s tank full and a plastic bag filled with snacks for the remaining six hours, you sighed to yourself and started driving again.

“You’re doing this because you need closure,” you told yourself, shoving your hand into a bag of salted chips and bringing three to your mouth “if he doesn’t wanna see you, too bad, he’s gonna miss your haircut,” you mumbled, chewing at the same time “you leave the letter and let him decide what to do with it.”

With the highway 285 long behind you and the sky just beginning to turn orange, you had convinced yourself of your own reasons and you even had a plan to go back home as soon as you were done in Laredo. You also had promised yourself and all your Muertos, you wouldn’t react to Javier Peña if he didn’t react to you and as you had learned in your three-year station in México, you can’t break a promise you made to dead people.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you said when the marked map told you you were a block away from the Peña’s ranch house, you were chewing the last bit of a nearly melted chocolate bar you had bought hours ago as your nervousness betrayed you and you started chuckling at your impulses, “holy fuck, I wanna go home!”

But you were already there. The gate was open and there were two trucks parked on the driveway. So you sucked everything you were feeling, and you turned off the ignition. Fuck. It.

You breathed in and out several times before you unbuckled your seatbelt, grabbed the letter and opened the door. You did it again as you walked the gravel path to the house and were grateful it was already dark, so at least the night could help you hide until the last second.

You stopped walking, rationality coming back to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” you whispered to yourself and turned around, shaking your head as you walked back to the car.

“Mija!” you heard behind you, you froze in place and stiffened at the sound of a thick accent in a rough and warm voice.

“Oh, no.” you said under your breath.

“It’s you!” you turned around, and you saw the face of the man you had only met through an old picture Javier carried with him at all times. “viniste.” (you came) behind him walked a black, large dog that ignored the man and huffed at you.

“I’m sorry?” your voice went out thin and high, and you wanted to chastise yourself for it. You had given yourself a seven-hour pep talk on the way, and you were already breaking.

“I told him,” the man rolled his eyes behind the glasses he was wearing and gestured for you to walk closer “Jesús Peña, nice to finally meet you,” he extended his hand to you and you took it and shook it, the dog got closer to you and smelled your legs, you tried to smile at him and at the dog but tears were already gathering inside your eyes “le dije que ibas a venir a buscarlo.” (I told him you’ll come looking for him)

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peña, I–‌I do–‌”

“Mr. Peña nada,” he interrupted, “call me Chucho,” you nodded and sniffed slightly “ven,” (come) he gestured again and started walking towards the house, “Pepe, métete.” (get inside) he called, and the dog trotted to his side.

“Wait, Chucho, wait!” you called him under your breath as you followed him, he didn’t stop.

“Come on in,” he opened the house door and waited for you to get inside. He nodded his head for you to walk in and you frowned.

“You don’t even know who I am, what ar–‌”

“I know enough,” he said solemnly, walked inside and you and the dog did too and he pointed to an armchair “siéntate, mija, he’s on the back.” he turned around and walked through an archway to what it looked like the kitchen and disappeared through a door, Pepe behind him.

“What the fuck.” you sobbed out, knowing you had little time to leave the letter you were clutching in your hands on the coffee table in front of you and walk out and leave for good. But you couldn’t move, you were in Javier’s house and you wanted to stop being there, but your body was frozen in place and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream at yourself, at your fucking impulses; you had all the opportunities to turn around and go back home, why didn’t you listen to your logical, rational, always right brain?

“Hi.” you heard behind your back and you covered your mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding the fucking letter.

You turned around and blinked the first two tears of what you already knew was going to be a sea of them.

He was wearing the red shirt. And God, it was his color.

Javier wanted to run away and hide.

He had just made peace with never seeing you again; he had just accepted that the only part he would have of you was that voice mail you had left him months before. But there you were, teary and gorgeous in front of him. Shaking and with your hands holding a piece of paper as if it were your lifeline.

His head was a contradiction, because he wanted to grab you and hug you all the same he wanted to grab you and shove you out of his house and his life.

“What are you doing here?” Javier asked, knowing deep inside him he wanted to tell you how good you looked and how much he liked your new hair. You let out a shaky breath at his deep voice. You had missed it.

It was the first time you saw him in five months, and the weight of your feelings for him fell again on your shoulders like a recently broken off boulder, heavy, rough edged and shapeless.

“I don’t know.” you answered truthfully, he sighed and deviated his eyes from you, you breathed in heavily and the only thing that got into your lungs was his essence. You cursed under your breath and he huffed, putting his hands on his hips and leaning to the side.

“How d'you found me?” he questioned, and you huffed through the tears.

“I have my resources.” you let out on a whisper. Trying to find his eyes, you needed to see his eyes.

“What do you want?” Javier asked again, and you deflated at the tone of his voice. The rational part of your brain yelled I told you so at your feelings and you knew it was right, you were expecting too much of yourself and of him.

“See you,” you bit your lower lip and Javier saw from the corner of his eyes how you scrunched up your nose, and he felt something inside his chest flutter, hating and loving all the same how much of you he still had stored inside his memory, “I have something for you.”

“Keep it.” he let out. You shook your head and raised your hand with the letter on it.

“Read it.” you half ordered, half pleaded, Javier chuckled and then shook his head, mimicking you.

“I don’t want it.” he knew he was lying to himself, he wanted to know what it was, he wanted to grip it and smell the paper and read it over and over but his body wasn’t responding to what his feelings were telling him and only responded, almost in automatic, to his prideful side, to that side of him that still resented you and himself.

“Alright then,” you said, standing straight after realizing you had regained the ability to read him even through your tears, and understanding there was something he was struggling with, “I’ll read it.”

“Stop.” Javier frowned and looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something you couldn’t decipher.

“I know, okay?” you said, trying to reassure him and yourself “I know I’m in no position to ask for shit,” Javier dropped his hands to the sides “but I just want ten minutes, just ten of your life, and you’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

You knew it was a risky thing to say, but you needed him to know, you needed him to understand you because you knew and he knew you did understand him. And he needed to know you. You and your version.

He said nothing, you took it as his queue to start so you breathed in deeply and unfolded the letter.

“Stop.” Javier said under his breath.

“No,” you wiped a tear off your cheek “I wrote this when I went back to Colombia after I got fired,” Javier looked at you and you saw his face quirk in something close to pain “uhm, before I wrote this I drove around Bogotá,” you recalled that last day in the city and how much it pained you to be there, “I went–‌I went to some of the places you told me you liked” you tried to smile and dropped your eyes to your shoes, trying to find something to cling to and compose yourself “even that little cafe you told me about, near the palace of justice, remember?” you sobbed out. And he called your name. Making you gasp.

“Stop,” you looked up at him and saw him frowning, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “we don’t need this.”

“I do!” you let out, Javier brushed his lips with his thumb and felt his hand twitch in need of nicotine again “I need to tell you all this!” you wiped your tears away again “I need closure!” you cried out.

Javier felt his stomach turn around and all the blood of his body went to his feet. Fuck. 

How could he had been so stupid? he got into his own feelings too much and he forgot that you had cried your eyes out to him all those months ago when you handed him everything you were in a couple of manila folders. He had gotten wrapped by his own feelings and the hurricane your declaration had created in his life that he had forgotten just how much you were suffering as well. Because he might have thought about you; all the time, every day; he thought about your past and your reasons and motivations. He even thought of you naked on his bed in Colombia, under his body, moaning and gasping when he needed some release, but he forgot to think about your feelings.

“I didn’t come here to ask for forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it,” you said and Javier felt the wetness of a tear escaping his eye and making its way through his cheek, “I’m trying to get closure, Javier, please let me try.”

Javier nodded.

You cried more when you saw him brush a tear off with his thumb and chew the inside of his mouth. You wanted to run away; you were sure he was better before you came to his house and disrupted his peace; you were hurting him again, and you wanted to kneel in front of him and ask him for what you said you weren’t seeking. He made you want so much.

You sniffed and dropped your eyes to the open letter in your hand, Javier didn’t move from where he was standing.

“No amount of guilt will or can change the past,” you began, Javier crossed his arms on his chest and saw movement to his side, “that much I know. I kno–‌know that it doesn’t matter,” you sniffed again and Javier turned his head to watch the dog casually walking towards him and sitting next to his boots. You saw it too, and you let out a sad chuckle.

“Ignore him.” he just said. You nodded.

“Uhm, it doesn’t matter how much I apologize, or how many I’m sorry’s I mouth, forgiveness doesn’t come for free.” you didn’t want to lift your eyes to see him, so you continued.

Javier only saw you reading him something he was sure you had poured your heart into, and he wanted nothing but to hear what you wanted to say to him, but he couldn’t focus into listening, because there you were, again in front of him doing what he never dared to do.

Opening your fucking chest, taking your heart out and giving it raw to him.

“...knowing and realizing and acknowledging just how much I love you.”

Javier drowned a gasp, as he fell in love with you all over again, you were doing what he didn’t have the balls to do, because in his sleepless sleep he wanted to look for you, in the middle of his idle nights, just after waking up after a nightmare, he wanted to find you and go to you and tell you whatever the fuck he could to be back with you. But he never did, he never did because he was a coward, because he feared his own feelings so fucking much.

He couldn't hear anything of it after your declaration of love. God, how much he loved you. You were standing there, with your eternally hopeful eyes filled with crystalline tears and several pages of written feelings. And he realized, there, with you in the middle of his living room, shifting to the next page, that even though you were extremely similar, you were also very different.

“...with you I found a reason to give up after all the shit I've lived in…” you muttered and he found the differences inside him; you were braver than him, you were smarter and more connected with what you felt; you weren’t scared of your feelings as he was. You went for what you wanted and even though it had been five months of that dreadful day when he saw his heart squeezed out of his body by your hesitant hand, that day he still replayed inside his head when the day was just over and his brain was floating between sleep and awakeness, he still wondered why you were bothering.

“There were so many things I thought…” you kept reading as he wondered if it was possible for the two of you to connect with each other outside of shared trauma and sympathy for each other’s experiences. But he answered to himself that even if you two weren’t as emotionally available as you needed to be to build a relationship or if you both were having a hard time adapting to be and live out of the system, maybe the love was real.

You stopped reading after noticing he was just standing there with his arms crossed and his eyes on you but not seeing you; you wiped the last of your tears and chuckled bitterly to yourself. Making him blink a few times.

“Fuck this,” you crumpled the pages in your hands and dropped them on the coffee table, shaking your head. Javier frowned, “it doesn’t matter what I read, I shouldn’t have come.” you said, drowning your sobs and gasping for air. He wasn’t paying attention, and nothing about it was making you feel any better about anything.

“What?” Javier whispered, dropping his hands to his sides.

“A’right, then…” you didn’t look at him and tried to control your breathing again “I guess that’s what I wanted to do,” you walked to the door and opened it, Javier wanted to ask what the fuck was happening, he wanted to grab your arm and stop you as he didn’t do it when you were leaving his office back in Colombia “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Javier,” he winced slightly involuntarily at the way you sobbed out his name “I’ll go.”

You walked out of the house covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your sobs, your rational brain was right, it was a mistake; it was a complete and utter mistake, and you were so ashamed of yourself for even thinking it would change anything. You walked to your car feeling the sharp, stinging sensation of a migraine settling in your head. You heard steps behind you and you turned around slowly, not wanting to put hope on the source being Javier.

“Mija,” you look at Chucho trying to catch up with you, “¿a dónde vas?” (where are you going?)

“I’m going home.” you said, shrugging at the man when he stopped in front of you.

“Why?” he asked, frowning.

“Because he said nothing, Chucho,” you bit your lip and looked at the Texan night sky and huffed at yourself, “he said nothing.”

“But he wants you, mija!” he assured you, and you shook your head several times.

“If he wants me as you say,” you pointed towards the house behind him, “then how come I’m not with him?” you reasoned, “he doesn’t want me.”

You dropped your eyes to the gravel path as Chucho sighed and raised his hand to squeeze your shoulder just enough for you to feel less sad. Just how a father would do.

Chucho glared at the house, the door open and Pepe standing in the threshold; his son had been back for months, he had been living next to him, eating next to him, working next to him and breathing next to him just as he did before he went away but he knew, just like a father could, he was not the same man that left.

He reminisced over the muchacho his son was before he left Laredo, so eager to get out of the small town he grew up in and that harbored his family home, so anxious to meet new horizons, so keen to find and explore new places and learn new things; he sometimes found himself missing that boy, he sometimes missed his Javi; the one that helped him build a paddock for his own horse, the one that washed his truck without asking and without failing each friday evening, the one that took care of his Mamá’s funeral at sixteen when himself was too sad to think about coffins or tombstones; because the man that came back to him after almost two decades too far away from home wasn’t the same.

He had seen and done things that Chucho never wanted to to ask about but he imagined, his Javier wasn’t the same. And Chucho knew why, but he also knew about you. Javi had talked about you way too much for his own good, as he did everything. And Chucho also knew why, he wasn’t letting the woman that made his son come back home run away.

“He does want you,” he said, slowly, with a low voice, as if it were a secret, “mijo… es un idiota a veces, but he loves you.” (he’s an idiot sometimes)

“You don’t know that.” you refuted.

“I do,” he gave you a smile that was barely visible under the white mustache “el te ama, y yo…” (he loves you, and I…) “I’m so grateful.” you shook your head as two thick tears left your eyes.

“I broke his heart.” you sobbed out.

“Y me lo trajiste a casa, Florecita” (and you brought him home to me, little flower) you sobbed harder, not able to control it anymore, and he brought you to him, and held you.

“He told you my fake name?” you asked between sobs.

“He told me what you look like.” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry.” you let yourself be wrapped by him and you hid your face on his shoulder.

“Don’t be, without you I would’ve lost my only child.” you held him tighter.

“Please.” you pleaded for nothing and everything at the same time.

“You gotta fight for him, mija.” he muttered to your ear, and you shook your head, still leaning into him.

“I’m fighting for him!” you almost yelled “I’m here, aren’t I?” you lifted your head to look at the man and you gasped for air, dropping your hands to your sides “I drove almost thirteen hours non-stop all the way from Albuquerque just to be here!” you told him and the man stiffened as you lost your shit in front of him, you gripped your head between your hands “thirteen hours to read him that stupid letter and he didn’t say shit!”

“You did what?” you heard and lifted your head to see Javier standing behind his dad.

Chucho looked at Javier and then at you with your cheeks dampened with tears. He squeezed your shoulder again and turned to walk to the house.

“You were in Albuquerque all this time?” he said, and you nodded, noticing he was holding the letter in his hand “when you said you’d go you meant back there?” he frowned in confusion.

“Well, yeah, I have nowhere to stay so I might as well drive home.” you muttered, Javier’s frown deepened, and he stepped towards you.

“Stay here,” he said, “if you wanna leave you leave in the morning.” his voice was thin and low. You looked at his eyes and saw them reddened and wet.

“Did you read it?” you whispered out. He stepped towards you again, nodding.

“Stay.” he whispered back.

“You don’t want me.” you said under your breath as shook your head and he stepped closer.

“Who says that?” he asked, and you looked at the gravel path again.

“I won’t stay.” you felt Javier’s warm fingers graze under your chin and lift your head to him slowly.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” he chastised you with half a smirk forming on his lips “stay with us.” you shook your head again.

“You don’t want me here but you want me to stay,” you said, frowning at him “Javier you can’t have it bo–‌”

“I want you to stay,” he interrupted you “I want you to stay with me,” he whispered as his fingers moved to your cheek and wiped away a tear. “please.”

Javier had read your letter after you walked out and realized, at the prospect of you leaving for what it seemed like forever, at the possibility of you leaving him for good and he never getting to see you or your gorgeous face or your hypnotizing eyes or hearing your voice that did so many things on him, that the balance of his other losses leaned upwards when he weighed the probability of losing you.

Did he care about what you did? of course he did, it still stung sometimes deep inside his chest, it still filled him with something close to grief.

Was he willing to work it out and let it aside because he didn’t want to feel the agony and deep sorrow of not having you by his side he had been feeling for the last five months again? yes.

And the answer to that question inside his head startled him and shook him deeply.

You were there. God, you were there, there was no way he was going to let you leave.

Javier decided you could work it out later, he loved you way too much not to try. He didn’t even plan to love you the way he did, the way he discovered by reading that letter or remembering the man he was without you. He didn’t even plan to love you at all, but he did. He was madly, insanely, deeply in love with you.

Javier moved his hand to your shoulder and let the one holding the letter find its way to your waist. Find its way home.

“Don’t go.” he whispered again. He moved the last step to wrap his hands around you. You let out a low yelp at the feeling of his body so close to you, for a second you froze in place, your eyes closed and his warmth invaded your entire body as he hid his head in the crook of your neck. He inhaled your essence as you hugged him back and gripped him tightly against you.

Javier felt as if all his parts were being glued back together.

“Stay with me.” he whispered against the skin of your neck.

So you stayed.

←previous // next→

*THE LETTER*

Pepe:

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless​ @northernpunk​ @pascalesque​ @sleep-tight1​ @cheekygeek05​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @letaliabane​ @starlightmornings​ @mouthymandalorianalso​ @supernaturalgirl​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @purplepascal042​ @asta-lily​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @missswriter​ @juletheghoul​ @pedro-pastel​ @agirllovespancakes​

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd​

RushBit tag list: @shestillwrites1​ @alliterative-albatross​ @absurdthirst​ @thoughtfulpandawasteland​ @wifeofdindjarin​ @lank-sextburg @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ @helloannbananalove​ @diogodxlot​ @pascalslittlebrat​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @pedritobalmando​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @mamacitapascal​ @dobbyjen​ @callsigncatfish​ @feminist-violinist​ @jasmincita​ @pascalove​ @eury-dice3​ @gingaahhhh @athalien​

[sambvcks]

redefined, b.b. x reader

summary: just because those ten words no longer wreak havoc on his mind does not mean they are gone. just redefined.

warnings: mentions of food, blood, gunshot wound

word count: 3.7k....whoops

author’s note: first standalone! i’m also itching to work on a sam story next. the last episode still lives in my mind rent free and this is a reworking of that which diverges from civil war and we get one big happy avenging family that aren’t dead :)

[ read on ao3 | masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

Longing

An Avenger.

The concept was still so foreign to Bucky, despite dozens of successful missions under his belt and a permanent residence in the tower. Still, every morning he sprung up in bed expecting to still be in some run-down apartment halfway across the world, on the run.

Instead, he would awake on a plush mattress that offered little back support. He would shuck on the first shirt his bleary eyes could see and pad into the hallway, the smell of fresh coffee overtaking his superhuman sense of smell. You would be perched at the kitchen counter, pouring over mission files stained with coffee rings that Tony would later complain about.

Steve and Sam would have already come through on their way to their morning run, the coffee pot running dangerously low. You’d already placed his favorite mug nearby, two packets of sugar emptied into the bottom. A routine.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever have a routine again.

His hand would press against your shoulder in a familiar greeting as he passed, you’d grin up at him with sleepy eyes and a lazy smile before returning to your work. Your cereal sat forgotten beside you, the overly sweetened kid’s choice growing soggy.

It was a silent and comfortable interaction. Neither worked to fill the quiet or felt the need to. Even with Steve, there was always talking and planning and ‘what about this’. With you, it was so natural to just exist how he was in that moment. No excuses, no whispered apologies.

He pushed his back against the sink as he sipped at his coffee, eyes immediately settling on your distracted figure. Your pajamas were wrinkled, mouth formed into a perfect concentrated from as you hunched uncomfortably, hand scribbling furiously. He swallowed and decided you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, especially with your coffee breath and fingernails chewed to nubs.

He wanted so desperately to move across the kitchen and press himself perfectly against you, to push aside your paperwork and demand your sole attention. His hand clenched into a fist as he longed to feel your soft, round cheeks in his hands, how warm you would feel against the cool metal of his left and how you’d nuzzle closer still.

He hadn’t heard the dragging footsteps of Steve and Sam returning from their run and didn’t even notice them until they were settled at the doorway, watching him watch you.

“Morning.” Steve grinned, all knowing. Bucky cleared his throat and refocused on his mug.

“Morning.” Bucky replied with a look that said ‘don’t say anything’.

Rusted

Bucky learned that if you weren’t cooped up in your room or camped out on the kitchen island, you were tucked away in Tony’s garage. On slow days where it seemed everyone was off in their own little world, Bucky would know to find you under the hood of one of Tony’s vintage cars, each kept in pristine condition, but you claimed that ‘there’s always something to work on’.

Bucky was never a car guy. His family was too poor to even think of ever owning his own car. He didn’t even have his own license and technically couldn’t legally ride his bike either. He found out quickly that being an Avenger meant the term legal could be bent a bit. So, he wasn’t a car guy. But the sight of you with streaks of grease across your face and your raggedy workshop clothes would have him buying one just to see you work on it.

You were notoriously protective of your little hideaway, the music loud and the sound of metal ringing as you fixed and fiddled with every little thing. Steve nearly got a wrench to the face when he tried to distract you from Tony’s antique Chevy.

Bucky was different, though. He was always different.

He would sit himself on a tall stool positioned next to one of Tony’s many rolling tool chests. You’d call out a tool and he’d rifle through the collection until he found what he thought was the right one and only slightly tease him when he’d emerge with the wrong one. Typically, you’d spend these afternoons in silence, the thumping of the heavy base of whatever crazy metal album you picked the only soundtrack to your work.

Sometimes, though, you’d play gentle rock music. Bucky would ask questions on what you were doing, how you learned to do all of this, why you did it when Tony worked on these cars enough for the both of you.

You’d fish your rag from your pocket, concentrating on scrubbing the grease from under your fingernails as you answered.

“I like using my hands. I like fixing things. For every car that Tony has in this garage, there are hundreds just like it sitting in junkyards gathering cobwebs and rust.” You looked up at him from under eyelashes and Bucky knew you were speaking about much more than just hunks of metal. “They’re worthy of love and care.”

You were talking about him, too.

Seventeen

Bucky didn’t think this superhero business would have so many parties. There seemed to be a celebration for everything. Galas, fundraisers, full on parades whenever Tony happened to wake up in a good mood.

At least this one is a holiday, he thought to himself as he nursed his third beer of the hour. Not that it did anything other than keep his hands occupied.

The year was coming to a close, and the top floor of the Avengers Tower was decked in golden confetti and banners to ensure no one forgot. The music was obnoxiously loud, and the lyrics made little sense, but everyone seemed to be having a good time mingling and even venturing to the dance floor.

No matter how many times Sam tried to drag him in with an invisible rope, Bucky was not going to dance. Well. Maybe he would if you asked.

The party had been in full swing for hours now, with only ten minutes until the ball a few blocks up finally dropped and he could sneak away to his room without a teasing ‘bedtime already, old timer?’ from Nat.

Still, the party raged on and he eyed the glass door to the balcony. He downed the last of his beer, brushing past enthusiastic partygoers with his shoulders hunched forward in some attempt to minimize the space he took up in the room that only seemed to be getting smaller. He caught Steve’s eye on the way out and plastered on a smile in response to his disappointed look.

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as soon as the glass door slid closed behind him. His eyes closed as he leaned back against it, the chill of the December New York air blew his hair in every direction.

“Fancy meeting you here.” You were sat in the far corner, so well hidden he hadn’t even noticed you, though he had been on the lookout for you all night. “Tired of the festivities?”

“And Tony’s music.” He grumbled as he fell into the seat beside you.

“Been waiting for you for the past thirty minutes. Honestly, you made it a lot longer than I could’ve in there.”

You were waiting for him. You wanted him to be there, with you, tucked away from everyone else’s prying eyes. He wanted that, too. Sometimes he wanted it so much it scared him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, doll. It’s not polite for a gentleman to make a girl wait.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll find it in myself to forgive you.” Your shoulder pressed against his, eyes focused on the smattering of buildings surrounding you. Identical parties were happening in each of them, you were sure. “Can you believe another year is gone?”

“I can’t believe I’m about to make it to 2017 and my back hasn’t given out yet.”

You laughed, loud and unabashedly in a way only Bucky could make you laugh. Head thrown back and eyes glittering from the city lights, Bucky wanted to spend every new year you would allow him to by your side, trying his best to make you laugh again.

“Well,” You stood to peer over the glass railing, Bucky close behind you. You could hear the drunken cries inside as the countdown begun. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Bucky offered his hand to you. You took it easily.

5, 4, 3…

He wanted nothing more than to pull you close, to finally press a kiss on the lips that had thrown teasing remarks at him during missions. To once and for all end this little dance you both loved so much. But you looked so perfect.

Bucky wasn’t ready to ruin that perfection with everything wrong with him quite yet.

“Happy 2017, Bucky.” You whispered as the fireworks started, but Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes from you.

“Happy 2017, doll.”

Daybreak

The mission had been long and grueling. The week-long stakeout turned into two and quickly turned into a month away. You can’t remember the last time you’d had a good night of sleep that wasn’t interrupted with Bucky’s hand on your shoulder, telling you it was your turn to keep watch.

It wasn’t a horrible mission, more of an exercise in patience and restraint than anything. Bucky’s stories kept you entertained enough, and he was a good partner. Which is why you were paired together more often than not.

Still, it was nice to finally collapse into your familiar bed, not even bothering to kick of shoes or take a much-needed shower. Your sleeping schedule was all out of whack and you tossed and turned, despite the exhaustion seeping through your bones.

After fifteen minutes, you finally huffed a sigh of defeat and stumbled back to your feet. You showered, which was a few good days overdue, and dressed in your largest, most comfortable pajamas.

You weren’t surprised to see Bucky up as well, sitting at the dining table with a mug of fresh coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His foot kicked out the seat beside him as an invitation.

“Sleeps overrated, anyways.” You shrugged, slumping into the seat and pressing your face into the cool glass of the table.

“Sleep is good for you.” He insisted, reaching forward to brush aside the hair that had curtained over your face. “You deserve a good night’s rest.”

“So do you, Buck.”

He stayed silent for a while, just sipping at his coffee and stealing glances at you, face trained out the floor to ceiling windows. He really didn’t know what he deserved, anymore. Sure, he had made some semblance of peace with what the Winter Soldier had done with his body. He was better, that was certain.

Worthy of you and all your unwavering sweetness? He wasn’t so sure.

You idly chatted about nothing for hours, filling comfortable silence with talks of the mission and the food poisoning he had given you when he tried to make dinner two weeks in. You sat side by side until day broke the next morning, eyes squinting at the sun peeking over skyscrapers and finally finding the need to fall shut in rest.

“I guess I should say ‘good morning’ instead of ‘good night’.” You were the first to stand, shuffling towards the hallway that led to your bedroom.

“Good morning.” He answered as you padded away, deciding he would be just fine losing sleep every night if it meant he could watch the sunrise by your side.

Furnace

“Doesn’t Tony make enough money to keep this place at least habitable?” You grumbled as you fell into the couch beside Bucky.

“I’m fine.”

Bucky sat in his patent jeans and t-shirt, unphased by the temperature that practically had your teeth chattering. You were bundled in multiple layers, including one of the many sweatshirts he’d wear jogging on cold mornings and blankets you had stolen off his bed. Your glare from under your cocoon of warmth rivaled even his.

“I’m not a muscle-y super soldier-”

“You think I’m muscle-y?”

“-that runs so hot you’re basically a personal furnace.”

“Oh, so now I’m hot.”

“I would strangle you to death right now, but I’m about to lose my fingers to hypothermia.” You burrowed further into your smattering of blankets with a violent chill running down your spine. Bucky simply rolled his eyes and marked the spot in the book he had been reading before you stormed in.

“C’mere.”

He balled up a fistful of one of your blankets, tugging you even closer to him. You opened your arms to allow for direct contact, sighing contently as your face pressed into his shoulder and legs tangled with his. You sighed contently as you welcomed his warmth, shimmying as close as you could get.

“Better?”

“The best.”

Nine

“Do you ever think what your life would be like? If you’d gotten to go home?”

Even a year ago, this question would have turned Bucky into a brooding mess. He would have delved into every little moment he had missed, every plan that had been turned upside down when he fell from that train all those years ago. But he was better now, more contemplative. He wouldn’t drown in the idea of what could have been because he knows what it’s like to be on the other side.

“I like to think I would’ve gone to college.”

“Really?”

“You calling me dumb, doll?”

“No! You’re the smartest person I know. I’m just picturing you at college. Carrying textbooks and wooing all the dames.” You fell into him at the thought, a fake swoon overtaking your face.

“I’d be too busy studying for dames.”

“Studying what?”

“I always liked math. Maybe engineering or something. Wanted to be a teacher before the draft.” He shrugged like the information was no big deal, but to you it was everything.

“Professor Barnes. Kind of sexy.”

“Oh, shut up.” But his words held no malice. Instead, he was grinning that cheeky grin that pulled his cheeks into perfect rosy apples and his eyes crinkled in joy. “I wanted to have ten kids.”

“Ten?!”

“So we’d be a dozen. My own little army of mini-Buckys to take over the world. Couple sets of twins, maybe. Definitely as many girls as I could manage.”

Of course Bucky would be a girl-dad. Playing dress-up for fake tea parties and scaring off boys when they’d come ‘round for first dates. You could imagine how he’d learn how to take care of their hair and plait intricate braids when they asked. He would make breakfast for the whole bunch, kiss his wife goodbye before escorting them to the bus stop and taking off for a day of teaching classes. Bucky would be an amazing father.

An amazing husband, too.

“I think ten may be pushing it, Barnes.”

Bucky pictured it, too. A little more modern than maybe the image you conjured up. Teaching was replaced with small missions. The gaggle of kids were smaller, and he wouldn’t have to kiss his wife goodbye. You’d be in the car next to him, headed to the tower for your morning briefings together.

“I’ll settle for nine.”

Benign

If you were to ask any New Yorker what they think the Avengers do on Friday afternoons, they would probably say something like ‘kicking ass!’. None would get even close to what your actual routine looked like.

None would imagine The Winter Soldier lounging in a bathrobe, hair knotted into a bun at the top of his head as his fellow world-saving Avenger spread some green goop over his face. Chinese takeout boxes littered the living room coffee table, his feet were bubbling in warm foot spa.

“To keep your youthful complexion!” You had promised him. He didn’t comment on the obvious sound of your phone’s camera clicking.

He knew he must have looked completely ridiculous. But as you sunk into the couch next to him with identical spa treatments covering you, he couldn’t find it in himself to really care.

He never thought in a million years that he would have the chance of boring, completely benign afternoons. He thought he would be sidelined to violent missions for the rest of his life, to being thawed out like a microwave meal every time he was deemed useful. Sure, he felt a bit ridiculous when you reached over to adjust the slices of cucumber placed over his eyelids, but he also felt so relaxed.

As you settled even closer to him, head tilting to rest on his shoulder, he would happily take the teasing remarks from Sam when you showed him the pictures.

Homecoming

Peter wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting ready for his senior year homecoming dance at the tower. But Aunt May was upstate on vacation with Happy and he still didn’t know how to tie a tie.

“Oh, you look so handsome, Peter!” You gushed as your fingers worked on his tie. Bucky stood to the side, holding MJ’s corsage in a delicate plastic container. Peter had been careful to find the perfect color, with a little guidance from you. The white dahlias matched perfectly with Peter’s light green tie.

“Thanks, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

Peter, ever the polite kid.

“Be safe, kid. Have her home at a reasonable time and no wandering hands.” Bucky handed over the corsage with a supportive slap to Peter’s shoulder. He was quick to promise that he would follow all the rules before making a dash to the door, just as you were about to ask for pictures.

“Don’t wait up!” He called as the elevator dinged behind him.

“They grow up so fast.” You sniffled. “I didn’t even go to my homecoming dances.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever asked me.” You shrugged, collecting the other ties Peter had picked from and hanging them carefully over your arm. Tony didn’t have to know that Peter was taking one of his priceless Versace neckties to a homecoming dance.

“To be fair, I would’ve been scared shitless to ask you to a dance.” Bucky followed close behind. “And I fought a war.”

“That’s sweet, Buck.” You brushed him off as you retreated into Tony’s closet.

“No, really.” His hand caught your elbow. “I would’ve been the luckiest guy in town if I had you on my arm.”

You fell asleep that night imagining you and Bucky twirling around a dance hall without a care in the world.

One

Steve’s hand was firm against your shoulder, his tactical glove soaked and dripping with your blood. Your eyes were unfocused, head lulling every so often when the fight to keep it steady just seemed too difficult. Sam was at your other side, cracking jokes to try to keep your attention on him and not of the literal bullet lodged in your shoulder.

You were escorted from the jet in a flurry, doctor’s hands replacing Steve’s. You barely winced when you were administered painkillers and the ache begun to subside. Before you could blink, you were lifted onto a gurney in the medical bay and the clink of the bullet that had been dug from your flesh rang through the room as it clattered into a metal dish.

Bucky ran in just as the doctor finished maneuvering a long roll of gaze around your shoulder, scheduling a time for you to return to have it cleaned and reapplied again.

“What happened?” He brushed past the doctor without a second glance, eyes trained on your figure pressed against the sterile hospital bed. “Steve said-”

“It’s nothing. Steve likes to be dramatic.”

“-that you were shot!”

“Oh, well. Yeah, that happened.” You moved to sit up, your arm immediately giving out under the weight. Bucky moved even closer to help you, hand careful on your back like you were made of glass. “But just the one time.”

“As far as I’m concerned, one is too many.” He watched the gauze turn darker against your skin; your eyes screwed shut in pain as your knuckles turned white against the sheets. “And you’re never going on a mission without me again.”

Freight Car

“You’re free.”

He remembers those worlds so clearly, it’s like him and Ayo are still sat next to that crackling fire in Wakanda. He thought that had been it. He would never again worry about those ten phrases that erased Bucky Barnes and allowed a machine to emerge from his memory.

As he stole glances of you from the corner of his eye, shadowed by his unruly hair, he knew those words still very much existed in his mind.

They weren’t a means to an end, anymore. He didn’t have to grit his teeth and clench his fists to fight them off. They were new, now. He saw each of those words in you and realized just how important they are now they they’ve found a new meaning.

His love for you came easy.

One second, he was looking at his friend. She was looking back at him and he felt safe.

Your fingers brushed over his shoulder, where flesh turned to metal, and you looked away as though you hadn’t just made him fall in love with you with a single touch.

It took three years for Bucky to make a move. Another party, another escape plan to the balcony where you were waiting for him, like always. The last time you had found yourselves in that position, he had been too unsure. Too wary of what it would mean and if it was too soon.

Now, he didn’t care. He just wanted you and to be selfish and not think about consequences when he leaned forward and finally pressed his lips to yours.

You pulled back, but not far.

Something clicked.

Your love for him hit you like a freight car. Swooping in from nowhere but really, you should have felt the rattling of the tracks beneath your feet. You should have seen all the signs that you loved him and he loved you back. In stolen glances and easy afternoons, in hard missions and bloodshed. He was there, and he looked at you like that. Like everything his body had done was to finally make it to you in this moment.

He waited, patient. He had waited this long, what was another few seconds as the realization washed over your features?

“Oh.” Was your clever whisper.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s hands cradled your face, “Took you long enough.”

taglist: @bibliophilewednesday @teti-menchon0604​ @thiswasnevermylifefromtony​ @spid3rgwen​ @beautyandthebleh​ @victoriabaker112213​ @orthellqs @phasma-trash​

[rainydayathogwarts]

𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 >> 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

Second person p.o.v Warnings: the title says it all There are a few characters on here. Steve, Tony, Bucky and Thor! Tell me if you want a part 2 with the guys or one with Natasha, Wanda, Carol and Maria (and any other girl you'd like).

This has been in my drafts for a while and an anon just asked for a hp girls one so it reminded me that I should probably post this now

-Steve Rogers: Steve panted and let his hands grab the white covers, one of them threatening to go to the back of your head. You giggled, continuing to press teasing kisses on his abdomen. When you got to the elastic band of his boxers, Steve held a hand out, saying, "Wait, honey. Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure we have time?"

You looked up at him with doe eyes, shrugging slightly. "We should. I mean, I doubt we'll need more than thirty minutes." Steve sighed, "Maybe we should skip to the actual, well-uh thing? I don't know darling I just-" You smiled, shutting him up with a kiss. He groaned, trying to deepen it, but you pulled away. You took off your-his shirt that you were wearing and smirked when you saw him running his eyes over your body, only one part covered by a pair of small panties.

One of his hands reached up to your hips to press you down on him and you complied, rolling your hips to get some friction. He moaned quietly and his hands worked on ridding you of your underwear and you did the same with him. Steve groaned, throwing his head back, but the moment was ruined by a knock at the door. "Steve! The meeting with Fury's been moved down, come one, we need you, man."

Steve shot up, his eyes widening. "What!?" He yelled, not only to Clint, who was on the other side of the room, but to you too. You threw on the shirt you were previously wearing, hurriedly helping Steve into appropriate clothing for a meeting. You looked him up and down a few times and nodded in approval. There was only problem though.

"Okay dude, I don't know what's going on in there but I'm coming in." Clint opened the door, expecting something terrible but he looked at the two of you staring at each other with wide eyes. "Okay, lets- oh no I see what happened." He didn't bother hiding his laugh as he walked out of the room, muttering "Horny fuckers."

Tony Stark: Tony was known to have a high sex drive by like- everyone. Literally everyone knew. So when the both of you had your daughter Morgan, he had some trouble keeping it in his pants. You never knew if she'd wake up during the night and come to your room to see something that would scar her for the rest of her life and with your busy schedules, doing it while she was at school wasn't really an option.

"Baby..." Tony started one morning when the both of you were laying in bed. You responded with a hum. "Morgan's still asleep..." he started, knowing you'd get the hint. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him so your back was up against his chest.

"Tony," you mumbled, eyes wide, feeling him getting harder and harder. "I-fuck. Go lock the door." Tony shot up, running over to lock the door. He jogged to the bed again and immediately climbed on top of you, peppering you with kisses. You bit your lip, wrapping your arms around your husband to pull him closer to you.

He leaned down, kissing you once, twice, three times, before taking off his shirt you slept in. You giggled, mustering up the strength to flip the both of you over, shocking not only Tony, but yourself. He pulled you in for another kiss but you were interrupting by the sound of the doorknob rattling.

Just like Tony had previously done, you shot up, picking up the shirt from the floor and pulling it over your head in record time. Tony groaned, hiding the bottom half of his body under the duvet. "Mommy...?" Morgan's quiet voice sounded through the door just as you opened it.

Her eyes lit up and she made grabby hands at you. You picked her up, walking back in the room as you asked her how she slept. "Good, but I'm hungry." She yawned, covering her mouth with her tiny hands. "Hi daddy!" She spoke, just as Tony said "Good morning sugarplum."

You finally found your slippers, sliding into them and went to give Tony a kiss, whispering in his ear "Don't be too long or she'll ask about you." Before you made your way back to the hallway, giving him a small wink.

Bucky Barnes: Getting used to the 21st century was difficult for Steve and you new for a fact that it was going to be an even bigger challenge for Bucky. So far, he was actually doing great, and even got himself a girlfriend - you.

The only thing he had trouble keeping up with were Tony Stark's parties. After the civil war passed and the two made an effort to become friends, good things happened and that's where this story leads to.

You and Bucky had just entered the party and, as usual, headed straight to the bar for some liquid luck - or in other words - vodka. Even though Bucky was physically incapable of getting drunk, or tipsy on alcohol from earth, he enjoyed having a couple or more drinks with you. You shot your handsome boyfriend of what was now four months a lopsided smile before turning to find Natasha.

When you found her talking to a pretty blonde woman, you figured you'd let her have a chance and go find another dancing partner. You spun on your heels once more only to bump into Bucky. He smiled at you, looking back at the people dancing. "That's one thing I haven't gotten yet- new dancing." He told you and your eyes immediately lit up.

You took hold of his metal hand and dragged him to the dance floor, so that you were only surrounded by other people dancing. This wasn't one of Tony's fancy parties, no, it was one of his 'Let's get drunk and hook up with random strangers parties.'

"No, no, no, (Y/N), I just told you I don't know how-" "Just follow my lead, Buck, you'll be fine." You giggled when he looked at you with a horrified expression, grabbing both his hands and placing them down on your hips. You swayed to the rhythm of the music, throwing your head back, and pressing your body to Bucky's. You saw him swallow and smiled, turning in his arms.

You dropped your head onto your boyfriend's shoulder, moving your body against his. He groaned, leaning down to kiss your neck briefly. "(Y/N) this isn't a good idea." He spoke in your ear, rolling his hips into your backside. "Oh I beg to differ." You retorted, turning around once more and capturing his lips into a breathy kiss.

He pulled away after a couple dozens of seconds to tell you again "Doll it's embarrassing to get a boner so early in the night." "Well either meet me in the bathrooms or hide it for a little while until it isn't." You winked at him, walking over to the bar and taking another shot, yelping lightly when Bucky appeared at your side and pressed a strong kiss in the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume and whispering "30 seconds, don't disappoint me." before he disappeared into the hallway.

Thor Odinson: There was never a "bad time" to do it with Thor. Whenever he got in the mood, nothing was going to stop him unless it was your discomfort, even though you never were uncomfortable with him and would never say no to some great sex with the man that you loved.

This time, he had just come back from a mission and had insisted on seeing you instead of going to get his cuts fixed up and taking painkillers. That's how you ended up fixing him up yourself in your now bloodied up bathroom. Thor sat on the toilet seat in nothing but his boxers, watching as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, wincing in pain every now and then.

Then all of a sudden, he wanted you. He started thinking about how sometimes you made a similar face in bed and how you always treated him like a king. How sometimes you'd bring him breakfast in bed when he slept in after missions - and he thought, maybe tomorrow you would too. He grinned to himself, pulling you in for a short kiss, promptly managing to surprise you and confuse you at once.

"You're too good for me." He told you, and groaned as he felt himself hardening beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. "Thor, you're hurt." You argued, but it was no use; he had already made up his mind. He wanted you, now.

"I'll be fine as long as I'm with you." he spoke in his gruff voice. He stood up, his arms wrapping around your waist and hauling you into the air. "Thor, you're going to hur-" "Do you really think now is a good time to underestimate a god's strength?" He asked, only half joking. Your eyes widened as he dropped you onto the bed, taking off the last of his clothing.

[cassiabaggins]

Understanding

A/N: This is my first Fili x reader fic, so please be nice! It’s adapted from a scene between Fili and my oc that I never used in my original story but still wanted to share. I hope you all enjoy and please reblog and leave a comment if you can!

Warnings: descriptions of an approaching meltdown that never happens

Wordcount: 1395  | Pairing: Fili x Autistic Fem!Reader

Summary: The Company stops at an inn one night, and you find it exhausting and overwhelming

Tags: @beenovel @rowandor @claraofthepen @annkdarar @curiosityunsated @myrin1234 @guardianofrivendell @frogmuttforever @swillowraven @lexdrillo @clownkid246 @classynerdchick @anjhope1 @legolaslovely 

"There's a town about three miles ahead," Balin says, peering at his map. "We could stop there for the night, resupply."

Thorin strokes his beard. "Aye, that sounds good." He calls the change of plans back to the Company, and you frown. You aren't the biggest fan of towns, they always end up being exhausting and loud. Overwhelming. But the plans are final, and everyone else seems delighted by the turn of events. You sigh, and resign yourself to an exhausting evening.

.

The town is just as bustling and loud as you feared, carts and people and horses rushing here and there, shouts ringing out from a marketplace. A dog sprints through the legs of your mount, causing her to startle. You steady her, the suddenness of the event causing your heart to race. You can't wait to get inside the inn… but inside turns out to be just as bad. The cacophony coming from the bar area is physical to you, slamming against your ears, and once the fifteen of you venture into the crowd, it quickly becomes too much. You clap your hands over your ears and let out a panicked little sound as some stranger jostles you. You aren't paying attention to the others as Thorin negotiates for room and board, just concentrating on staying calm. 

You all sit down at a corner table, waiting for the rooms to be readied. You rest your head on the cool wood, trying to relax. A warm hand lands on your elbow and you look over at Fili. His lips are moving, but you really can't hear him. You glance briefly up at his eyes, look back down at his chin, and shrug to show you haven't a clue what he's said. His lips curve into a frown. He turns to Thorin and they exchange words and a small object, and then Fili takes your elbow and gives a little tug. He leads you out of the crowd and up the stairwell to the second floor of the inn, out of the crowd and noise. He stops before a door and turns to you and you take your hands off your ears. "Sure was loud down there," he says, holding up a key and unlocking the door. "I suppose you want to turn in early?"

Your heart warms at his kindness. "I do. I dislike crowds."

He grins at you. "Me too. They make my skin crawl."

"So many people, all yelling? Please no!" You say with exaggerated horror. Fili laughs and holds out the key. 

"Here. Turn in for the night. The barmaid said they drew us all baths, as well. She said it was all ready for you. I also asked for them to bring you up a meal."

You open your mouth to reply but are interrupted by the rest of the Company trooping past. Kili comes over and slings his arm around Fili's neck.

"Fili! After cleaning up Uncle said we could have some fun! The bar is open all night!"

Fili pushes off Kili's arm. "Stop," he says bluntly. "I don't want to be touched right now."

Kili takes the command with grace. "Sorry," he says. "But will you come down and have a drink with me? You're invited as well, Y/N!" He adds with a grin to you. 

"Not tonight, Kili," you reply. "I think I'll just turn in." You can feel your exhaustion making everything around you feel overwhelming, but are trying to stay civil. It's not his fault. 

Kili looks disappointed, but turns his attention to his brother as you slip into your room and shut the door. 

It's dark and quiet inside, a peaceful respite from the rest of the world. You survey the room, getting your bearings before entering further. An oil lamp burns on a low table near the bed immediately across from you, a window above the headboard. A chest of drawers is pushed against the wall to the left of the door with a small mirror hanging above it. A room divider separates a corner of the room, near a crackling fireplace. You can see the edge of a bathing tub around the three sectioned divider. You quickly lock the door and drop the key on the dresser, placing your pack on the bed and peeking around the divider. The bath is full to the brim with clean, steaming water, a bar of soap and a bottle of hair oil on a low table beside it, along with a pitcher, a clean cloth, and a towel. 

Your companions will either have to use the city's public cold baths or take turns for a warm one but you… you get the luxury immediately. You strip down quickly and hop into the tub, sinking down into the warm water. 

You take your time getting clean, relaxing in the silence, before the water begins to go cold. You step out of the tub, dry off, and dress. The bed looks beyond inviting, the soft sheets, the plush pillows… you're mere seconds away from diving in and falling asleep, when a knock sounds on your door. 

It's a polite knock, but somehow the most grating noise you've ever heard, like a thunderclap in the quiet room. You grit your teeth against the urge to scream "go away!" and move to the door. Upon opening it, you're immediately grateful you didn't yell, as Fili is standing outside with a tray of food. 

"Sorry to bother you," he says immediately. "I was just bringing you supper."

You look down at the tray. It's piled high with food, seeming to be two of everything. "I can't eat all that," you say. 

"I know," he replies. "Half of its mine. Can I hide from Kili with you?"

"Why?" 

"He's trying to get me to come down to the tavern and I really, really don't want to. It's so loud and exhausting down there and all I really want right now is a quiet night. He even likes the commotion and doesn't understand that I just need to get away from it right now!"

He sounds genuinely distressed and you get the feeling this is a common argument between the brothers. While you too want a quiet night, you take pity on Fili and open the door wider. "Come in."

The smile he responds with his blinding. 

Luckily, Fili is probably the least exhausting person to spend time with. He's quiet and predictable and doesn't ask exhausting questions as most of the Company tends to do. He doesn't say much, setting the food out on the rug before the fire as you sit on a pillow and watch him. Finally he sits down and holds a buttered roll out to you. You take it gratefully and you eat together in relative silence, broken only by the occasional "can you pass that?" There's a quiet camaraderie in the activity. 

"Kili can be exhausting," you say between sips of wine at the very end of the meal. Fili nods in agreement, tugging absently on one of his mustache braids.

"He can."

"They all can," you add. 

Fili nods again. "It's hard to make people understand when I need quiet time," he says. "When I was younger I would always cry and scream when it got too overwhelming."

"Me too!" You say enthusiastically, sitting up straighter. "Sometimes it's as if everything is too much and I just need to yell! But I can't because I'm an adult."

He looks over at you. "Exactly! I know exactly what you mean!"

"Sometimes, things are hard for me to handle," you continue, "even little things. And then I cry about them. Do you ever feel like that?"

He nods. "Yes. I do." He meets your eyes. "I've never… I've never told anyone that before," he admits.

"Not even Kili?"

Fili waves his hand dismissively. "He already knows. But he doesn't understand. You do."

You smile and scoot closer to him. "I do. I suppose we're more alike than we thought." Suddenly overwhelmed with affection for him, you lean over and press your head against his shoulder in affection. He presses back, seeming to understand. "I like you, Fili," you say.

"I like you, too," he replies happily and the two of you lapse into a peaceful silence, secure and happy in your understanding of each other.