#why yes i did write this instead of the replies i owe and stories i should be working on. shut up. >_>

[ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok]

Sorry, I'm still stuck on this, so I need to rant.

The function of the compass, first and foremost, is to indicate that Peggy is Steve's sweetheart, because he carries her photo around the way soldiers during the war carried photos of their girlfriends/sweethearts in their wallets, lockers, etc. as a morale boost. It shows his intention of building a life with her once the war is over and how he uses that thought to get him through it. This is also why, post-ice, the compass, like their dance, becomes a symbol of everything Steve lost. What was once a hopeful vision of the future to look forward to then became a bitter reminder of what could've been.

There's also the layer of it symbolizing Peggy as a source of guidance and support, which she remained throughout his films. Even after she dies, it's her words through Sharon that strengthen his resolve to not sign the Accords and it's her photo he looks to when he's at one of his his lowest points post-Thanos.

You can't just replace her photo in it with someone else's, no matter who they are or how important they may be to Steve, without completely gutting what the damn thing means. Peggy was one of his biggest sources of support and guidance, especially during the war. Peggy was his sweetheart. Peggy was the only person he wanted to build a life with, a life he always mourned post-ice. Not Bucky. Not Sam. Not Natasha. Not Sharon. And certainly not his mother Sarah. While I'm the first to say how the MCU treated Sarah is utter bullshit, tumbling head over ass into Oedipus valley is not the solution here, people.

Trying to erase Peggy from the compass is just another example of certain groups trying so hard to tear her down or diminish her importance to Steve and I have to wonder if the people who do this stuff realize how insecure it makes them look and how badly it reflects on their preferred ship. Because if your ship was all it's cracked up to be and you truly believed it's as good as you claim, you wouldn't feel a need to tear another ship and character down in order to prop up yours, regardless of whether or not you personally like them/it.

Let me put it to you like this: I'm a huge fan of Dawson's Creek, but I haaaaaaate Dawson Leery. Like with the power of a thousand suns hate. And I also really hate the Dawson/Joey dynamic. Platonic or romantic. Can't stand it. Pacey/Joey forever. Now... does that mean I'd ever claim Dawson isn't an important person to Joey? No! They're childhood best friends and self-proclaimed "soulmates" and trying to deny their history would be an exercise in futility anyway, given how the show and the characters will take any opportunity to remind the audience of it. (Even if my feelings toward it all can best be summed up by Pacey: "And the reverence that you two treat this little saga of yours with, it's enough to make a guy want to puke.") Point being, Dawson's importance to Joey doesn't in any way negate Pacey's massive importance to her. Both can be true and they are.

Anyway, sorry for the tangent. I don't know where I'm going with this anymore. Hopefully this makes some semblance of sense. I just needed to get that off my chest and not only because of the specific post I saw earlier. Fandom's various nonsense about Steve's compass has irked me for a long time.

Oh, Lord, the ridiculousness that just graced my for you page.

Like, I need to sleep, man, and instead I'm contemplating writing a whole ass essay about Steve’s compass, because folks continue to miss the point and purpose so fucking spectacularly.

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {9}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Queue the fireworks...and the drama.

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Wife,

I am writing to inform you that I am prolonging my absence. I will write again when I know of my return date. It will be a fortnight at minimum. 

Sincerely,

Tomas Mandray

<.>.<.> Cassian <.>.<.>

Three days have passed since the ball and she’s all I’ve been able to think about. 

I feel foolish, utterly enraptured by this woman who can never be mine. Yet, I cannot seem to stay away, which is how I have found myself standing at her front door.

The sun has nearly vanished and the city of Velaris is painted in pink and orange. You would think that such a beautiful display of nature would calm me, but the serenity only has my nerves worsening. 

I knock before I can back out.

The head butler greets me although there’s nothing pleasant in his expression.

“Good evening, my lord,” he says, his voice low with a hint of confusion. “Lord Mandray is still in the north, I’m afraid.”

I try to put on my best disheartened expression. “I see. Is Lady Mandray home? It’s urgent.”

The butler hesitates but ultimately succumbs. “Yes, my lord. Let me show you to the drawing room.”

Hiding my relief, I follow him into the house and down the hall to the drawing room. He leaves me alone to fetch his mistress and I find my way to the floor length windows, staring out at the gardens that Nesta and I got lost in only days ago. Mere minutes pass before I hear her voice.

“That will be all, Alfred, thank you.”

As I turn around, the doors close softly behind her and we are alone. The room falls into silence and we stare at one another expectantly. I’m scared to say a word, afraid that the help is still standing outside the door, waiting to collect their gossip.

“Lord Cassian,” she says, at last.

“Lady Nesta,” I reply, with a nod of my head. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It is no intrusion,” she says, her voice louder than usual. I assume she is thinking of the nosey help, too. “Have you news for me to pass along to my husband?”

The word husband surges through me with a spike of jealousy, but I play her game. “Indeed. Shall we sit?”

“Please.” Instead of making our way to separate seats, we meet at the settee, sitting together. When she speaks again, it’s quieter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I had to see you,” I say, unable to hide it, unable to deny a damn thing, knowing we don’t have much time. “The other night felt…”

“I’m sorry I had to run off,” she whispers.

“Do not apologize,” I counter, longing to reach for her hand but refraining. “You did what you must.”

Nesta’s quiet for a moment, staring at her hands that are clasped together on her lap, on top of her pale blue skirts. When she does speak, she repeats, “Why are you here, Cassian?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No,” she says, and when she looks at me, her eyes are blurry. There is regret there. Regret, and longing, and an undying sadness. “You are here to suppress me.” 

I blink, not understanding. “Pardon?”

“You are here to make me feel want, jealousy, for something that can never be.” A tear falls down her cheek and she angrily wipes it away. “And that is cruel.”

“I am not trying to be cruel—”

“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” she breathes a laugh that holds no humor. “The other night…” She shakes her head but her eyes remain on mine, dejected and yearning for something that is imaginative. “It was lovely. Our moment in the garden, with you, made me feel alive and for that I am grateful. However, it is good that we were interrupted. If we were to kiss, Cassian, there would be no going back. Not for me. And that is something that I cannot risk.” 

I am speechless. Foolish, too. I had no idea what I was thinking coming here, or what I had hoped to accomplish. I was only thinking of myself and not her. I was thinking of how she had been affecting me, and not how I would affect her by my presence here.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and when a tear slides down her face once more, I reach up to wipe it away.

She does not push me away. Instead, another tear falls at my touch. 

“I will leave you alone,” I say, and I mean it, but I will not go quietly. “I am sorry if I have made you feel any distress, but you have no idea what you have done to me. Since that first day we crossed paths, you have consumed me. Not a waking moment goes by when my thoughts do not drift to you, and I cannot sleep without you infiltrating my dreams. You are, without a doubt, the most intriguing woman I have ever met. You are stunningly witty and intelligent, and your beauty…” She swallows as I speak, hanging onto my every word. “You make me laugh. And you infuriate me at the same time. And I hate that I cannot kiss you, that I cannot hold you in my arms and make you feel as loved and appreciated and wanted as you should feel.” 

“Cassian—”

“I am irrevocably in love with you.” The words pour out of me before I can stop them, and the moment they leave my mouth her silent tears have turned into a downpour. “Even if you will never be able to return that love, I thought you should know that someone loves you as you deserve to be loved. Unconditionally. Without fault. Wholly.”

“We hardly know each other,” she protests, wiping at her eyes. Her words lack strength, as if she’s trying to convince herself just as much as me. 

“I know you well enough to know how I feel,” I promise, “and I know myself well enough to know that I have never felt this way about a woman, nor will I ever feel this way again.” I reach for her hands and she lets me. I cradle them in my own, brush my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Forgive my selfishness. I know my feelings make no difference, but I had to tell you. I had to let you know that you are loved, Nesta, and always will be.”

I wipe her tears away and my confessions turn into silence that she does not respond to. I do not expect her to. She is married. Yet, we sit there unable to keep our hands off of one another. My thumbs brush along her cheeks, her hands grip my wrists. I can feel the warmth of her body. 

I don’t know how much time passes, but I know that we are running out of that precious time. I force myself to stand up from the settee, force myself to look away from her tearful gaze. I force my feet to move, one foot in front of the other, until I reach the door.

I force myself to reach for the handle, but one word stops me.

My name.

“Cassian.”

By the time I turn around, she’s already in front of me, and before I can catch my breath, she’s throwing herself into my arms and her mouth is landing on mine.

For a moment, I’m stunned, lost in this moment that could never be replicated, but then I’m melting into her. My arms wrap around her waist and I draw her against me, as close as she can get, until I feel every inch of her body against mine. Our tongues brush and I am lost in the sweet taste of her. The help outside fades away, as does the fact that we are in her home that she runs alongside her husband. 

The second her lips leave mine, I feel empty. She escapes my embrace and takes two steps back, then three, then she’s so far away that I cannot touch her. We are staring at one another as if something monumental has just happened, something that cannot happen, something that should not have happened, something that changed everything. 

I want her. I want to take her away from here just as much as I want to lay her down on the table, strip her bare, and ravish her. Her eyes fall from mine and land on my heaving chest just before they land on my groin and the blatant display of my passion. 

Her lips are swollen. Her hair is falling from its pins. Her cheeks are rosy.

I have never seen her so beautiful. 

“You must leave,” she says, and although I knew it was coming I still feel like I’ve been blindsided. “We must never speak of this again.”

“Nesta—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes shining. “I am begging you, my lord. Leave.”

I nod, accepting our fate. I know she is going against her wishes, know that she is defying her heart. Nonetheless, I must listen. I have created enough inconveniences already. 

I swallow as I straighten my jacket and run a hand through my hair. “Goodbye, Nesta.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she says, and her voice breaks, tearing my heart out of my chest and leaving it irreparable. 

With nothing left to say, I open the door and let myself out. The hallway is empty as I make my way down it and to the front door where I rush past the butler and into the open night air. 

It’s peaceful outside.

But even the famous Velaris starlight cannot make me feel whole again. 

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts days 51-55

From this prompt list. If you’ve read this far, I’m not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn’t written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here

Days 49-50 here

***

16. You drive me so insane, you don’t even know.”

39. "Tell me how you like/want/need it.”

46. “Wanna feel you against me.” (slightly modified for characterization purposes)

48. “Clothes on or clothes off?”

93. “Gonna make sure you don’t forget about tonight.”

110. "Do whatever you want with me."

118. “S-Stop leaving marks on my neck. I have a presentation first thing in the morning.” “Then I get to leave marks anywhere below the neck?”

***

Tim was busy over the next couple of days, because the surveillance he’d planted at Waters’s house proved to be a gold mine of information. He and Galloway were high up on the food chain with their respective creditors’ organizations. Waters had ties to the Irish mob, and Galloway was in deep with the Russians. Both had a history of leaving bills unpaid, so it was no surprise that some of the debts they’d incurred would leave them owing more than money. What was more surprising, in a way that didn’t leave Tim with much shock at all, was the fact that they didn’t seem to mind being at the beck and call of criminals as long as they got the benefits of the trafficking as well. And they did reap plenty of benefits: building permits issued with almost no wait, real estate deals that made no sense on paper, weapons collections that would have made a warlord proud, and of course a never-ending supply of humans to exploit and use as capital.

Tim watched the video footage of Waters fucking a model-beautiful woman on his desk in his study, and all he could see was the deadness in Luz’s eyes.

Damian texted him while he was on patrol three days after the Closet Incident (it had earned a title and upper-case letters, after being looped in Tim’s brain on repeat like a favorite movie). Tim, in the middle of watching over an underpass that had seen a few houseless people murdered during the past month, pulled out the phone and nearly dropped it onto the road below when he read the sender’s name.

Do you have anything new to report?

Tim snorted, imagining what Damian would do if he replied with his first impulse, which was “yes, your dick is now living rent-free in my thoughts at all times.” Instead: have u been watching the surveillance footage?? good stuff, disgusting stuff lots of info

I have not. Is there a reason why you refuse to use upper-case letters? I've wondered.

Tim grinned. Maybe it was a League-trained thing. 

convenience 

I suppose, but at some point you've done more to keep things lowercase than you would have if you'd just let autocorrect do what it likes.

jason's told me the same thing more than once

Be that as it may your point stands. We should consider next steps if you feel we have actionable intel.

do u and jason want to come over to my place again? it might be the best use of our time right now to coordinate our plans in person rather than via video call

Perhaps. My WE schedule is demanding at the moment. I'll see if we can align times.

ok lmk 

Tim put away his phone and concentrated on proving to himself through measured breathing that he was completely unaffected by the prospect of having Damian in his space again. It didn't matter. He'd had random hookups before with weird choices. The fact that he couldn't get Damian's voice, low and intimate, saying let me feel it, out of his head meant nothing. Neither did the forever pain in his chest and stomach. That was just how he lived now.

Well, at least Jason would be there. That would keep him from doing anything stupid. Probably.

Given the fact that they'd fully gotten each other off with Jason on the other end of a precariously deactivated comm, maybe not. Fuck. He was already starting to get hard just thinking about it.

An Audi parked a few hundred feet away from the encampment beneath the bridge and five men got out, voices loud and abrasive in a way that screamed "drunk frat boys" even if he couldn't have seen the Greek symbols on the bumper sticker. They ran toward an old man huddled in a cardboard box against the slanted concrete, and Tim leaped down to join them, grateful for the distraction.

*** 

Damian texted Tim and Jason together the next day while Tim was at work: I will be available this afternoon after 5:30. Will your schedules permit a meeting at 6?

Yeah, I can make that, Jason replied.

Tim swallowed and typed, i'll meet u both at my place then

Capitalization, Damian replied, at the same time Jason's message came through: Punctuation, dammit!

i am free as the wind and so is my text style u plebes just dont understand my aesthetique

Both of them left the conversation simultaneously, and Tim smiled in triumph. He wasn't sure what was so fun about making those two mad, but whatever it was definitely sparked joy.

Tim had contracted for R&D at WE for a couple of years now, ever since he'd finally gotten his degree, but it was mainly a front for funneling the research and products with the greatest potential for Bat-exploitation to the right places. He typically spent at least half his time on the clock doing casework, and the other half doing the same work that took most of the other people in his department twice as long. He almost never saw Damian, who tended to stay firmly in the finance department. Out of idle curiosity, he checked Damian's calendar on WEdrive. His entire day was packed with meetings from the moment he got in until he left, for the rest of the week. He didn't even have a lunch break today. Bruce was such a fucking slacker. Of course, Damian had probably demanded extra responsibilities as the "blood heir" or whatever. 

Tim opened his meal delivery app and put in an order for dinner. He didn't feel like cooking, i.e. pouring cereal, tonight.

Once he got home, he changed out of his suit into sweats and sat on the couch to wait, flipping through the video feeds in Waters' house. The devices he'd planted in the escorts' bags hadn't been much help as neither woman had done anything but take their purses back to where they lived. Luz’s conversations at home were boring mundanities, and Katerina’s device had been mysteriously deactivated, but at least he had their addresses now. And possibly those of clients if they attended anything else that required a fancy clutch.

Damian showed up first, this time, still in his work clothes. Tim immediately suffered an overpowering urge to unbutton his custom Italian suit and lick his neck, which was horrifying enough to kick his best acting instincts into gear. He decided to aim for nothing of note has happened between us, ever, and gave Damian a friendly smile as he closed the door. "Hey. How's it going?"

Damian rolled his eyes and kicked off his shoes. "Spare me the useless civilities, Drake. 'It' was a grinding bore today, filled with incompetent idiots who insisted on projecting their own lack of efficacy onto me, and then had the gall to be shocked when I proved to be far out of their league in both intellect and influence."

"So, everyday WE business meetings, then. Somebody's hangry."

Damian scowled, but before he could reply the door speaker buzzed. Tim glanced at the camera and saw the delivery guy holding up the restaurant bag. He pressed the speaker button. "Leave it at the door, thanks."

He ran downstairs while Damian was still grumbling about him daring to order food for himself, and by the time he returned Jason had come in by some entrance that Tim was going to have to eliminate in the near future.

He started putting containers on the table. "I got enough food for all of us if you guys are hungry. Plates are in the cabinet on the right of the fridge and forks are in the island drawer."

"Fuck yeah I'm hungry, I just got up." Jason ambled to the kitchen and got the plates and utensils while Damian looked down his nose at the containers.

"I suppose all the dishes contain meat." He couldn't entirely hide his interest as Tim popped lids open, leaning over to inspect contents.

"I mean, a couple do, but a lot are vegetarian." Tim pointed as he listed them. "Potato pakoras, haleem, fruit chaat, samosas, aaloo gobi, aaloo qeema, paneer tikka masala, vegetable biryani, and of course the raita."

Damian flushed the faintest bit. Jason set the plates down on the table. "Where'd you get this? I didn't know there was a Pakistani restaurant in town."

"Al Noor," Damian and Tim said simultaneously. Damian flushed a darker red and continued, avoiding Tim's eyes, "It is actually one of my favorites. It reminds me of home, a little."

Jason picked up one of the chapli kebabs and bit into it without waiting to put anything else on his plate. "Oh hell yes," he moaned around the mouthful. "Timmers, you got enough to feed the whole fam and the pets too, what's up with that?"

"I got enough to feed two normal appetites plus you," Tim retorted, putting a little bannu pulao on his plate. He wasn’t really hungry yet—on night job days he usually didn’t eat for the first time until noon, and his last meal was after his patrol.

"Fuck you, I've got muscle mass you can only dream of." Jason got some of everything and sat down at the table. “By the way, who gave you that bite on your neck? Conner doesn't usually leave marks so I'm guessing someone new. C’mon, your secret's safe with me and Damian.”

Tim reached for the bruise before he could stop himself. “None of your business.”

"Todd, your table manners are as abominable as your self-restraint," Damian interpolated, sneering at Jason's perfectly respectable use of knife and fork. After a long pause in which he visibly almost said about five different things and changed his mind each time, he added, "Thank you, Drake, for getting the food," still not looking directly at Tim.

Tim spun around to hide his burning face. His first thought was a nonsensical oh shit, Damian knows, to which he could only ask his brain, knows what, dumbass? He hustled to open the fridge and grab three bottles of water, as if he always turned that fast so he could run retrieve fluids. "No problem," he called from behind the door.

When he set the bottles on the table, Jason was looking from him to Damian and back again. Tim didn't like the assessing expression on his face, and he especially didn't like that Jason was allowing him to see it. This was the worst part of being surrounded by people who'd been trained by Bruce "The World Only Makes Sense If You Force It To" Wayne. You couldn't have a private emotion, ever, without someone feeling the overpowering need to track it down to its source.

Damian spoke before Tim could spill a container on Jason's lap and distract him. "Have you heard from Arsenal lately?"

That diversion successfully embarked Jason on a tangent for about fifteen minutes. Tim knew better than to glance at Damian to share a relieved look while Jason ranted about Roy's selfless tendencies and how they endangered his life. Still, a glow flared to life in his chest when he watched, out of the corner of his eye, Damian sitting next to him and eating food Tim had bought for him. Some of the constant pain receded in its warmth.

Once they were done eating, they each brought out their laptops and compared notes on the footage. Damian hadn't had a chance to view most of it, so Jason and Tim gave him the highlights. He had managed to dig further into the Galloway's and Waters's financials, so he gave them a list of the probable beneficiaries of the inconsistencies between income and expenditure.

Jason sighed as he scrolled through the names and companies. "Looks like I'm heading to Tulsa and Corpus Christi. Love it when I get to have fun with not one, but two mafias."

"I can go instead," Tim offered, looking through the same document as he twisted the top off his bottle.

"Nah, it's okay. I can't be in Gotham too many weeks in a row or I'll kill Bruce, and you know how he feels about murder. Fucker'll haunt my ass just so he can lecture me every time I pull a gun on some piece of shit dealer."

Tim, mid-drink, had a sudden vision of ectoplasmic Bruce floating from Jason's butt like an asshole-obsessed Casper and nearly choked when he started laughing involuntarily.

Jason stared, aghast, as he sprayed water all over their computers. "Holy shit, Tim, it wasn't that funny!"

Damian, ever helpful, smacked Tim's back a few times hard enough to leave bruises, expression bored. "Clearly he pictured Father literally selecting your buttocks as his postmortem residence, Todd. His brain's operations are incomprehensibly juvenile, but if you choose the most ridiculous option you can often divine what he was thinking."

"Sorry," Tim gasped, jumping up to get a seldom-used kitchen towel off its hanger. Some days his mind really had it out for him. He couldn't help it that when he was stressed it decided to interpret every idiom as a visual. "Sorry!"

Jason narrowed his eyes as he watched Tim carefully dab at their keyboards. WE laptops were all water resistant, but there was no sense in being foolhardy. "You've been off all evening. Something going on I need to know about?"

Tim ran through various possible responses in the time it took him to hand some paper towels to Damian to dry the floor. He decided to play it casual. "No, nothing. I just have my attention split in too many directions right now between this, work, and patrol. But this case is my real priority at the moment so don't worry. I wanna put all these guys away for life."

Jason nodded, but Tim had a feeling he wasn't satisfied with the explanation.

They made a few more plans for the immediate future of the investigation, and then Jason packed up to leave. Tim walked him to the door.

"How'd you get in, by the way?"

Jason smirked. "Bet you'd love to know."

Tim gave him an unimpressed look. "I'd love to know why you're such a pain in my ass, too, but I guess I'm not getting any of the answers I want tonight."

Jason leaned in close enough that Damian wouldn't be able to read his lips. Tim stiffened, wary. Jason said, sotto voce, "Timmers, I'm starting to think that's not the kind of pain in your ass you want. Don't think I missed the fact that the baby bat is hanging back until I've left you two alone again. Used to be, he couldn't wait to get away from you."

Tim stared, eyes wide with dismay, and couldn't say a thing.

Jason straightened, wicked grin firmly in place, and caroled, "Byeeeeee!" before slamming the door in Tim's face.

"What did he say?" Damian wanted to know, because of course it would've been too much to ask of the universe for him not to have noticed.

Tim was too discombobulated to say anything other than the truth. "He knows something's going on with us. I don't think he knows what, yet."

"Well, that makes two," Damian said.

Tim leaned his back against the door and looked at him, sitting cross-legged on the couch as if he couldn't be more at ease. "I don't know, either, so it's three."

Damian smiled, perfunctory and cutting. "Did you think I meant myself? I don't waste time speculating about inconsequentialities."

Tim surveyed him for another second in silence, then snorted with genuine amusement. "Oh, you are so completely full of shit right now. You think I'm going to believe that after what happened in Waters's closet?"

Damian shrugged and checked his phone with conspicuous boredom. "I barely remember 'what happened', personally. Perhaps I had too much to drink at the after party. If you've got a clearer recollection it must be because it mattered to you in a way it didn't to me."

A sudden blaze of fury burned away Tim's lightheartedness. He stalked to the couch, ripped the phone out of Damian's hand, and threw it to the loveseat opposite.

Damian didn't balk, but he did snap, "What the hell do you think you're—" His words cut off with a sharp inhale as Tim straddled him and yanked his head back by his hair.

"It's either kiss you or punch you at the moment, and frankly this hurts my knuckles a lot less," Tim hissed. “Maybe if you try really hard you can make it matter enough for both of us to remember this time.” He kissed him with a vicious edge of teeth.

Damian went stiff and unresponsive beneath him. For one awful moment, Tim thought he had read the situation entirely wrong, and horror slid down his spine like an ice floe. He jerked away, ready to babble apologies and then die in a corner of shame somewhere.

Before he could go anywhere, Damian's hands shot out and grabbed his upper arms. "Don't you dare." He pulled Tim back into his lap.

Rage faded in the relief of not having hurt him. Tim sat again, unresisting, hands braced against his chest. "Do you want—"

"Do whatever you want with me." Damian wrapped his arms around Tim and drew him close against his own shoulder, in the process conveniently hiding his expression from Tim's view.

Tim decided to let him get away with it and pressed his face to Damian's jaw. His fingers found their tentative way to play with the ends of his hair. He was still shaken, enough so that he felt the need to be explicit. "Tell me how you want it. Please. Clothes on or clothes off?"

Damian tugged on his t-shirt. "I want to feel you against me."

Tim let him pull the shirt over his head. He started working on the knot in Damian's tie while Damian untied the drawstrings of his pants. "You're wearing too many things." He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Damian pulled Tim’s sweats down to his thighs. "Unfortunately, I can't dress for work with the sole priority of being instantly accessible to your touch."

Tim’s brain turned to white noise for a second, blindsided by the wave of sheer possessive yes that crashed through him at the notion. He freed the tie from Damian's collar with unsteady hands and stood up to kick off his pants entirely, along with his underwear. Damian sprawled below him, looking like a perfume ad with his disheveled hair, rumpled unbuttoned shirt, and clear bulge in his tailored pants. Not to mention the sulky mouth.

"Christ. You drive me so insane, you don’t even know." He gripped the top of Damian's shirt and used it to throw Damian down on his back on the couch, a maneuver that wouldn't have worked if Damian hadn't cooperated. Straddling his hips again, he hurriedly ripped the buttons out of their holes, exposing Damian's chest to his perusal. “Gonna make sure you don’t forget about tonight.”

Damian grabbed his hips and ground Tim's ass down, against his own erection. "What a promise. How do you intend to deliver?"

Tim ducked to suck on his neck with enough force to bruise. "I've got a few ideas and zero champagne, so we're already halfway there." Something about having Damian's skin between his teeth was unbearably satisfying.

Damian moved restlessly beneath him, hands clutching and releasing over and over again. “S-Stop leaving marks on my neck. I have a presentation first thing in the morning.”

Tim smiled into his collarbone. “Then I get to leave marks anywhere below the neck?”

Damian pulled his own head back so their gazes could meet. "Yes."

day 56 here

[girlcatullus]

psychosexual weekend

okay so. context for the psychosexual weekend (aka: two days of gnawing and waiting). i think i've told this story on here but basically a long-standing colleague of mine (we did the same bachelor but with different curricula starting in the same semester almost 4 years ago) replied to an insta story of mine - a selfie - telling me "oh i wouldn't have had a chance because i am not a medieval philologist but can i tell you i am sad that you're not straight". i know. poor choice of words but still. this happened in october. and i don't know why, maybe it's because he's cute and i found him cute subconsciously even back in the day, i was like okay, let's give him the time of day. and during my six months abroad i kept this in the back of my head and we chatted occasionally, and i kept thinking about it even as i got back from erasmus... so i waited for the right occasion and when he posted a story on instagram i replied to it, had a chat, and then nonchalantly told him that if he was ever to happen by the university he should come say hi. and five days later he comes saying hi :)

yes i do realize this is more of a diary entry but i feel like writing this down and WHAT BETTER PLACE than tumblr? so. we meet in university (had a cry in the morning over bureaucratic matters, started solving some problems with my dad, did some laundry and then he texts me over instagram asking if i was in uni that day. i zoom out the door because. you never know how long people intend to pop by for). and we clearly avoid all my friends and acquaintances and we start talking, then we take a walk and we kept on talking, even as we got to a small park in the vicinity of my uni and well there's that whole can can of getting closer, casual touching, making fun of each other, and then finally we do make out (thank god). i thought for a moment that he was looking for something serious but he meant the opposite sooo. amazing! i felt guilty in the beginning because of how things are with l., but he's away in another city and we've already established we're not boyfriend and girlfriend because the situation is just too uncertain to still hang on to labels like that, so we go off our feelings towards one another and meeting whenever we can. which isn't often. so instead of feeling like i owe him something i decided i want to live my life without minding absences too much. it's not like i won't feel the same towards him even with this... thing potentially going on.

but i felt alive in that moment! we kept on walking around and he really was ...fired up, which was extremely difficult to resist BUT i managed. at one point he even lifted me up from the ground, and my brain just went *modem noise*. we kept talking and making out and eventually we decided to go to his house by motorcycle, he would get the car and take me home (since he was already going in a neighborhood close to mine). and so we walked back to his bike (which was parked in the uni's parking lot). unfortunately some of my acquaintances saw me and him together and i hoooooooopeeeeee nobody is going to comment on that because it's something we'd both like to keep under the radar. but i digress.

the ride was exhilarating! i'd never been on a motorcycle before! the wind, the sun, and holding onto someone you desire and whom desires YOU... we eventually agreed on meeting again on monday morning and i tell you the wait was already excruciating when we were still together. it took every ounce of my willpower not to find a secluded place to... you know, in his car 😳but there's no one at his house on monday morning so... best to wait. being wanted really is a high. and this is it ladies and guys i can't wait for monday to come so i *** ****** :)

[babyboiboyega]

I can explain (Shangqi x f!reader)

Shangqi x f!reader

Prompt: “When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you makes it right.” + never wanting to pull away kiss

Content: a little angst, but more fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

A/N: this is my first ever time writing for Shangqi (or Shang-Chi), and I already have a lot of other ideas for this incredibly loveable character.

I hope you all enjoyed this!

A heavy sigh left Y/N’s mouth as she unceremoniously dropped onto her couch. The feeling of her limbs relaxing into the cushions almost prompted a moan of relief to follow the heavy sigh. It did, however, make her eyes flutter closed as she leaned her head back.

Y/N had been thinking of this moment the entire day. The moment when her week ended and her weekend began; a weekend of not having to deal with rude, angry-at-the-world customers who decide to yell at her because a privately owned publishing warehouse doesn’t print the book that they want. Or the customers who don’t check their emails for their tracking information and then get mad at her, for some absurd reason.

Another sigh leaves her mouth, and this time with the sigh goes her thoughts of work, entering the empty air for the weekend. 

But being off on the weekend didn’t exactly mean being absolved of texts and calls from fellow coworkers, ranting about customers, or even management. So when her phone’s ringer went off, signaling a new incoming text, she simply kept her eyes closed. She certainly had enough time to read and reply...but maybe later.

The text had already migrated to the back of her mind in the span of a few seconds...and then her phone went off again. This time, two quick “dings” sounded through her apartment. 

Her eyes opened before she slowly sat up, her phone coming into view. Before she could spare another though about her phone and it’s notifications, her hand quickly reached for the remote and pressed the power button.

She managed to flip through a few channels before her phone rang once more, and this time it was accompanied by a few knocks on her door.

Completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 11 at night and she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and being fueled by her now very obvious annoyance, it only took her a few strides to reach her door. In all honesty, she’d had no idea what she was going to say to whoever was on the other side of her door; but whatever had been ready to leave her lips died as soon as she opened the door.

“Shaun?”

She hadn’t been able to control the volume and surprise in her voice, and she saw his grimace in response. She couldn’t find it in herself to care if he didn’t like the volume in her voice; the very next emotions she felt surge through her body was...well, it was a cross between worry and anger. 

“Y/N...hey.” He had a sheepish smile on his face; one that showed off his dimple. One that she had to restrain from returning. But then she remembered the last time she had seen that same smile and the last time she had even heard from him. Her eyebrows raised incredulously.

“‘Hey?’ ‘Hey’?? That’s all...that’s all you have to say to me after being gone for...a month? And some weeks?” 

She could hear the hurt in her own voice, and it made her want to cringe at herself.

‘He could have been doing more important things than worrying about you’ is all that went through her mind.

Her arms crossed self-consciously in front of her.

“Please, let me explain. It’s… it’s actually crazier than you think.”

The hesitance on her part came from her nagging thoughts that flipped between “he was genuinely busy” and “he’s about to make up some absurd excuse for why he hasn’t spoken to you while also letting you down gently”.

“May I come in?” His eyebrows were raised as he gently asked for her permission. Y/N quickly nodded and stepped to the side before her thoughts could scare her too much.

His eyes stayed on her as he stepped past her, entering her apartment. She took a second to take a deep breath before closing the door behind him. 

She briefly wondered how her face looked as she turned to face him. Did she look as hurt and worried as she felt? Could he see her feelings on her face?

“I’m sorry for disappearing for...as long as I did. And I’m sorry for not reaching out at all during that time. But I can explain why.”

His eyes followed her figure as she walked slowly around her kitchen counter. He made no effort to hide the pleading look in his eyes, and he only began talking when Y/N raised her eyebrows from across the counter. 

“Okay. Just...bare with me.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed and more questions filled her mind as she watched him take a breath as if he were bracing himself. 

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect when he had started talking, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a story filled with martial arts, trained assassins, ancient organizations, soul-sucking demons, and dragons. 

Even after he had explained everything, his eyes watching and waiting for her reaction, she still couldn’t find the words to express herself.

Her body was frozen in its same position, and her eyes were wide and staring right at him. As the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t help grimacing slightly once again.

“Also, my name isn’t really Shaun. It’s Shangqi.”

That last piece of information seemed to finally shake Y/N out of her stupor, as she blinked quickly and let out a quick breath. 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” In all honesty, all of this was kind of making her head spin, and it was evident in the way her breathing picked in just the slightest. 

“W-What exactly do you say to someone who’s just saved the world? ‘Thank you’? ‘I owe you my life’- because, I guess, technically, I do owe you my life. Because of you, I still have my life- or my soul.”

At her rambling, Shangqi’s expression shifted from one of wariness to relief to a little worried. It had only just crossed his mind that he was worried that she wouldn’t believe him, and not worried about how she would receive the information.

She believed every word that had just come from his mouth, simply because she knew that he wouldn’t lie about something like this. She knew that he wouldn’t lie to her… at least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything. I...I just needed you to know why I was gone. The thought of letting you go one more second thinking I just...left you was driving me crazy.”

A humorless laugh forced its way through Y/N’s lips. 

“Yeah, thinking I had driven you away was driving me crazy too.”

Before she could even regret her words, her eyes were drawn to Shangqi, whose head was shaking quickly. In a few steps, he had walked around the counter, coming to a stop a few feet from her. 

“That was never the case, I swear. You could never drive me away, not even if you tried.”

At the minuscule smile that appeared on her face, he risked taking another step forward. 

From where he stood, he could smell faint traces of her favorite perfume that had slowly worn off during her day. Her favorite perfume had quickly become his favorite scent, simply because it reminded him of her. 

From where she stood, she could easily see the faint signs of exhaustion on his face. No doubt from the strains of the last month and a half. It made her want to reach out to him. 

“Every second, from the moment we left, all I could think about was coming back to you. Even while staring into the face of a-”

“A mega soul-sucking demon?”

The quiet laugh that left his mouth seemed to weigh on her body, but not with pressure. Instead, all she felt was warmth, and it coursed through her veins with the power of 11 suns.

“Yes,” there was laughter in his voice as he responded, “even while staring into the face of a mega soul-sucking demon.”

As he spoke, he had gradually moved forward until taking a deep breath would easily have their chests brushing against each other.

Y/N couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke, her eyes flickering between Shangqi’s.

“You...you really thought of me when you were saving the world?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand raised and gently cupped her cheek. Soon after, she felt pressure from his forehead connecting with hers. Without hesitation, her own hands lifted, coming to grasp at his sides, desperate to pull him closer.

His breath fanned across her face as he spoke, and it made her hands tighten.

“When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you always makes it right.”

His words were quickly swallowed by Y/N’s lips pressing against his with fervor. The hand that was on her cheek gently titled her head back as he kissed her back with just as much passion, while his other hand wound around her waist. They both pulled at the other, as if they couldn’t get close enough. 

The warmth that had been coursing through her veins quickly turned into leg-numbing electricity the longer their lips were connected. Her eyes were closed, and so were his, but they could both see the other’s face behind their lids, surrounded by the stars their presence created. 

The only thing that could pull them apart was the need for air, and even then, as their foreheads connected and their lips stayed hovering over each other’s, they breathed the same air.

Shangqi’s words were shaky as he spoke, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“You make everything right.”

**********

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this! I would take requests for this character, but I still have a ton of requests for LOK....

But maybe sometime in the near future!

In the meantime, I would appreciate it if y’all would interact in any way with this! Comments, criticism, questions, etc would be amazing, as would reblogs, but even just liking this helps!

Stay safe, y’all!

[luimagines]

He Accidentally Hurt You pt.2

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the group Part 1

Hyrule

Your blood was pounding as your feet carried you across the battle field.

Your hearing was rendered useless by the cause, you only thoughts were on Hyrule and getting to him before the hoard of monsters did. He had somehow gotten separated from the group in the struggle and was left to fend for himself.

You made contact.

The sword in your hand followed through your practiced movements, slicing all and any between you and your target.

You could hear him in the distance, you were close, you just had to get- just a little-

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and the air changed. The split second static was your only warning before lightning struck.

Monsters fell all around you but you failed to pay attention to that. Your attention was instead on the blinding, scalding twist in your arm that held your trusted blade. You couldn’t even find it in you to let go of the weapon, your muscles incapable to receiving orders.

The pain traveled through your arm and across your chest until it encompassed your whole being.

Screams tore through your throat without your knowledge and when the attack subsided, your whole body went rag doll and your vision went black.

“Please. Please. Please.” A voice whispered through the darkness. It was soft. Pleading. A blessed chill seemed deep into your bones and you found it within yourself to open your eyes.

Hyrule was crouched above you, tears in his eyes with shallow cuts across his tunic and exposed skin. Not a lot of blood though, your brain supplies. You take a relieved breath.

“Hey.” You croaked out in greeting. “Glad to see you’re ok. I was worried.”

“I didn’t know you were there.” He blurts as if he didn’t hear you. Maybe he didn’t. “I thought it was only monsters nearby. I don’t think I have enough magic to heal you completely. This is all my fault.”

“Fault?” You attempted to sit up. You succeed. Mostly.

A grunt leaves your mouth at the stiffness in your joints and you force yourself to power though to reach into your inventory.

A sniffle leaves your Traveler when you push his hands away when you find your target. The red liquid glints in the dying sunlight and you hand it out to him. “Think you can open it?”

He nods and pry's it open before you can even think about getting into a better sitting position.

You don’t think twice about taking the potion when he hands it back.

“Save your magic.” You say. “I’ll be fine.”

And you know you’re right....It’ll take a little more than that to convince the rest of the group when you get back though. Hyrule plans to smother you until not a single blemish is left. The others? Well... They’ll keep an eye on you.

Twilight

“Ten rupees says you can’t make that throw.” You hear Warriors say.

“Double it and I’ll gladly prove you wrong.” Twilight responds.

The book in your lap calls for attention more than whatever those two are doing for the sake of friendly competition. You don’t look up, trying to keep your eyes on the page but you can’t help the growing curiosity in the back of your head.

“What are we using to aim with?”

“That?”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes and keep your head down.

“I’ll be twenty rupees richer and it’ll shut your mouth. Just watch.” Twilight grumbles.

There’s a tap and a growl before something comes at your head full throttle. It’s dense but not enough to keep it from exploding all into your hair and it knocks you over slightly.

You closed your book to protect it from the falling matter and reach at the spot. By your feet laying the offending object.

An apple.

They threw an apple at your head. Correction. Twilight threw an apple at your head.

The thoughts in your head spin a bit. Your whole head is throbbing but you doubt there’s any blood. You look up just in time to see Warrior and Twilight running at you as fast as they can. Twilight reaches you first and kneels next to you. “By Ordana, are you ok?”

His hands hover over you, trying to take in the damage without actually touching you.

“Who are you?” You blurt out, very quickly realizing that it was the wrong thing to say.

His face drops and Warrior wears a similar expression.

“Kidding.” A pained grin covers your face. “Take me to Hyrule please.”

“I’m so sorry.” Twilight reaches for you and you comply. Once you’re on your feet he speaks again. “Warrior messed up my shot and it hit you by accident.”

“That’s a weird way to say you lost a bet.”

You kick Warrior as payback.

Sky

“So...” You sit next to Sky during the break. “What are you planning to make this time?”

The boy next to you already had his whittling knife out and a decent sized chunk of wood in his lap. He picked it up and spun it a few times, staring into it as if he could already see the form inside it. It was just his job to take it out.

“I don’t know yet.” He admits. “Maybe it’ll come to me.”

You nod and let him work in relative silence, the faint but consistent sounds of Sky working next to you create a blissful and serene atmosphere.

The others are off doing their own thing, each keeping to themselves for the most part.

It’s nice.

“Actually, can you help me with this real quick?”

Your attention is back on Sky. He’s trying to get his knife out of the wood block, the outline of the shape he’s making already starting to form.

You don’t recognize it.

Sky picks up the knife and the whole block follows. “It got stuck.”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow and try to keep the smile off of your face.

Your response is only a shrug and the wood being thrust in your direction.

You grab it and instinctively tighten your grip on it when you feel Sky pull.

You both use your strengths to your advantage and pull in different directions. You feel the knife begin to slip out and adjust your grip. Within seconds the blade is free and you feel it cross the tip of your finger.

Instantly, the wood is dropped and you cradle your hand close to you, putting pressure on the injured digit.

“Ok, got it, thank- What happened?” Sky scoots closer to you and pulls your hands out.

A thin red line follows the length of your finger and it only seems to grow as the moments pass. It doesn’t feel deep but it certainly won’t let you flex your finger for a while.

A quite hiss leaves Sky’s lips. “Well that could’ve gone better. Sorry about that.”

“It could’ve gone worse too.” You press a little on the injury, trying to will the pain away.

It doesn’t work, but hey, you try.

“Hold on. I think I have some bandages in my pack.” Sky gets up and jogs to where most of the others are sitting. He picks up his bag and looks inside for a minute or two before jogging back to you.

A small role of bandages sits in his hand and when he reach for your hand, you don’t hesitate to give it to him.

As he’s working on your finger, you feel mild irritation bubble up in your throat. “This better not scar.”

“Why’s that?” Sky replies.

“It’ll be the lamest story.”

He laughs and finishes his work.

Time

Sometimes it surprised you how short everyone in the group was. You weren’t sure if it was a Link thing or one of the biggest coincidences of the universe because it certainly wasn’t just because they were Hylian (but that probably didn’t help).

That being said, and what you could gather from The Captain, it boggled your mind further that Time was the biggest of everyone. Warrior made it seem like he’d stay small forever, implying that Time was smaller still when he first defeated Gannon.

That didn’t seem very fair.

For him and you....well everyone, only Twilight and Warrior were the ones exempt from having to look up at the old man. But you didn’t like the idea of someone so small fighting such a beast, so Time is included in your sympathy list.

Despite his size, he seemed to move as silent as a mouse. Only Wild would be quieter than him.

After some time of traveling with them all, you realized he was just as much as a gremlin as the rest.

He was not above pranking the living daylights out of poor unsuspecting teenagers.

And the thing is, no one could catch him. Somehow he managed to get them to in the blame on each other but you knew better. You swore it had to be him. There was no way. There was no way he could count as a Link and not get into this kind of stuff.

But no one believed you.

It definitely wasn’t fair.

With the stage set, it’s safe to say now that you were calmly, peacefully and quietly minding your own business. You weren’t bothering anyone.

You were writing in your journal under a tree with some low branches. Nothing too bad but in terms of shade and angle, you found it to be the perfect resting place.

You took a deep breath in and let it out.

Yes, it was nice.

“BOO!”

You jumped as high as your reflexes you take you and spun around, but you had forgotten where you were in the moment.

With a solid thunk, your head hit the branch above you and sat back down, with a curse.

While there was laughter in the your reaction, it was cut off abruptly at the first sign of pain. “Oh jeeze, I’m sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

A whimper escaped your mouth before you could stop it and you closed your journal, choosing to furiously rub your hands against the now tender spot on the top of your head. “Ow Time. Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d move like that.” He moved your hands away and inspected the area for himself. “No bleeding. Doesn’t look like it’ll need a potion...”

“I blame you.” You grumbled. “This is your fault.”

“I can accept that.” He nodded and stepped back. “There’s not much we can do about it in terms of healing, but perhaps Hyrule would be willing to lend a hand.”

“No way. He’d ask how it happened and I’m not going to lie to him.” You pouted. “No one will believe me if I told them the truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you!” You glared at him.

A tiny giggle escaped from the so called Old Man of the group, Mr. Stick in the Mud. Senor Buzzkill. “And why would that make a difference?”

“I cannot believe you... Actually yes I can, you were doing this on purpose the whole time.”

He laughed more fully this time and didn’t seem to let up.

With a pout, you picked up your book and marched away.

One day you’ll get back at him. You just had to figure out how and when.

Four

“So, how do we play this game again?” You picked up the ball one of your companions took out. It was almost the size of your head and had crisscrossing lines. It was white and weighed less than you originally thought.

It was a relatively slow day and no one felt in the mood to dampen it by looking for trouble.

While Twilight and Warrior set up the net that was supposed to go with it, the rest were waiting and going over the rules.

“Just hit the ball over the net. You can’t the ball twice in a row, someone else has to hit it and if it touches the ground you lose the point.”

“Seems simple enough.” Wild takes the ball from you and tosses it a few times.

It takes a while for all the appropriate moves to be demonstrated but you all play the game with ease.

You were having a good time with your friends. Everyone was actually getting along for a change. With a smile on your face, you waited for the moment that would inevitably change.

You swore you could almost pin point when it happened.

With Four right across from you, his sudden change in stance gave away the glint in his eyes.

The ball came to him and he jumped up, higher than you thought he could and spiked.

Next thing you knew, you were on the ground, stunned and slightly disoriented and your face was hurting.

Four ran to your side as the game was halted. “That... was not what I was intending.”

“You don’t say... Can I step out for a minute?” You asked, trying to get your feet. Four helped you get away from the battle field- I mean, the game area and helped you sit back down against a nearby tree.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically. “Anything I can do to help?”

You looked up at him hopefully. “Lose the game?”

“Not a chance.”

[engie-ivy]

For the request: "I was wondering if you could write one where Harry reveals that Sirius has a crush on Remus or vice versa? He could either be a toddler or big already but Lily and James are both alive cause screw canon!" from @tugabooos! So happy I got a request, hope you'll like it!😁

Five-year-old Harry overhears his uncle Pads say mean things about his uncle Moony, and he's gutted.

To Harry’s surprise, uncle Pads hides his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “Stupid Moony with his stupid smile! ‘You’re such a good friend, Pads.’ I don’t want to be his bloody friend!”

Such a good friend

Quietly, five-year-old Harry slips into the room.

He’s quite finished with playing outside, and wants to see what his uncle Pads is up to.

His parents are visiting aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, but Harry had begged if he could go play at uncle Pads’ instead. Last time they visited, his cousin Dudley had tried to push Harry in a mud pool. Harry isn’t sure what happened, but somehow, Dudley had ended up with his head buried in the mud. Aunt Petunia had screamed and called him a freak, and uncle Vernon had looked like his head was going to explode. His dad had been incredibly proud of his magic already showing so strong at only five years old, and had hugged him excitedly, which did nothing to ease aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon’s temper.

Needless to say, his parents were all in favour of him going to uncle Pads’ instead.

Harry can hear voices coming from the kitchen and realises uncle Moony is still here. Uncle Moony came to say goodbye to Harry because he had to leave like half an hour ago, but mum always says that when uncle Pads and uncle Moony get to talking, they completely lose track of time and can go on forever.

Curious what his uncles could be talking about, Harry crouches down in front on the kitchen door and spies through the crack.

Uncle Moony is standing with his coat on, and uncle Pads is leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at him with a smile.

“... check it out next time we’re in the area!” Uncle Moony just finishes his sentence.

“Yeah,” uncle Pads replies. “Definitely. That sounds great.”

“Oh, Merlin,” uncle Moony says. “Is that really the time? How have we been standing here for forty-five minutes already?”

“Story of our life, eh?”

Uncle Moony chuckles and moves to disapparate, but then turns back around again. “Oh, before I forget! Fabian’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to buy him a record or something. You have somewhat the same taste in music, mind helping me pick out something?”

“Oh,” uncle Pads says, staring at his feet. “Everything okay between you and Fabian, then?”

Uncle Moony shrugs. “I guess? I’ve kind of decided I should worry less about whether I feel like he could be ‘the one’, and just take it day by day. I mean, we’re still young, as long as we’re having fun, right?”

“Right.”

“So will you help me?” Uncle Moony urges. “Please, Pads? I need you! You know I’m pants at buying gifts,” he adds with a sheepish smile.

“That you are,” uncle Pads agrees with a tight smile. “Yeah, of course I help you, Moons. Anything for you.”

Uncle Moony beams at him. “Thanks, Pads! You’re the best! You’re such a good friend, I’d be lost without you.”

Uncle Moony disapparates with a loud crack, and uncle Pads drops down in the kitchen chair.

To Harry’s surprise, he hides his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “Stupid Moony with his stupid smile! ‘You’re such a good friend, Pads.’ I don’t want to be his bloody friend!”

Shocked, Harry steps away from the door. Half in panic, he flees back into the backyard. He can’t believe his uncle Pads would say such mean things about uncle Moony! He loves his uncle Pads to bits, and really looks up to him, but he also loves his uncle Moony! And now uncle Pads doesn’t want to be friends with uncle Moony anymore?

Harry has to bite his lip not to cry.

Of course his parents have to invite both uncle Pads and uncle Moony over for dinner that very evening.

Harry just sadly stares at his plate, picking at his food. His mum gives him a concerned look from time to time. “Harry, love, are you feeling okay?” She eventually asks.

Harry’s bottom lip starts to wobble, and now everyone is looking at him in concern.

“Hey, little man, what’s wrong?”

“Prongslet, you know you can tell us everything!”

“Oh Harry, what’s bothering you?”

“It’s...” Harry sniffs. “Uncle Pads...”

All eyes shift to uncle Pads, who’s eyes widen in surprise. “Harry if I did anything to upset you, please tell me. You know I’d never purposely make you sad!”

“You said uncle Moony was stupid!” Harry blurts out.

Everyone blinks at him in surprise.

“Harry,” his mum says carefully. “That’s not something you can just say. I’m sure uncle Pads would never-”

“Mum, I’m not telling lies!” Harry’s eyes widen in shock.

His mum looks doubtfully, but then uncle Pads scrapes his throat. “Ah, Lils, I think I can explain. Harry must’ve overheard me say something, and misunderstood.”

Uncle Moony raises an eyebrow. “Do explain, Padfoot. How did such a misunderstanding come to be?”

A blush creeps over Padfoot’s cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, ehm, you see... You asked me for a favour and when I see that smile of yours you know I can’t deny you anything.” He laughs awkwardly. “So I think said something like ‘Moony and his stupid smile’... In a joking manner!”

“Oh.” uncle Moony blushes as well.

“See, Harry?” His dad ruffles Harry’s hair. “Uncle Pads and uncle Moony have been friends for ages, and they’ll always like each other!”

Harry shakes his head. “But uncle Pads said he doesn’t want to be uncle Moony’s friend!”

“I’m sure he also has a good explanation for that?” His dad says, looking at uncle Pads pointedly.

“Yes,” his mum adds. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to teach our son those are the kind of jokes you should make about your friends?”

“And if he really doesn’t want to be my friend anymore,” Remus says in a rather cold voice. “Then I’m sure he can say it to my face?”

“Well, Padfoot?”

“Padfoot, care to explain?”

“Let’s hear it, Padfoot.”

“I meant I didn’t want to be just friends!” uncle Pads bursts out. “‘Such a good friend’, while sodding Fabian... Never mind. The point is, I don’t dislike Moony, of course I don’t. I like him so bloody much, I wish I could be something more than a friend!”

There’s a silence.

Uncle Padfoot’s face is bright red and he hides behind his hands. “Oh, Merlin.”

Uncle Moony looks flushed as well, staring disbelievingly at uncle Pads, his mouth opening and closing. Harry’s mum and dad’s eyes have widened. Harry looks from one person to the other, not really understanding what’s going on. Uncle Pads still likes uncle Moony, so that’s a good thing, right?

“Ehm, Harry,” his dad eventually says. “You see? There’s nothing to worry about,” but he sounds worried nonetheless. “Why don’t we go upstairs together with mum to read a story, eh? And give your uncles a moment to talk.”

Quietly, fourteen -year-old Harry slips into the room.

Uncle Pads looks up from where he’s standing in front of the dress mirror, trying to decide whether he should leave another button open or not. “Harry! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Harry grins as he lifts himself on top of the table next to the mirror, and starts swinging his legs back and forth. “Just hiding from dad. He’s gone full-on-crazy best man-mode.”

Uncle Pads chuckles. “Why do you think I sent him away? I hope he’s not bothering Moony, though?”

“Nah, last I saw him, he was yelling at uncle Wormy for wearing a red tie while the theme is silver and gold.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh, Merlin.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He has already sent aunt Marls home to change, as she was wearing a white dress. ‘For Godric’s sake, Marlene, you can’t wear white to a wedding!’” Harry gives a perfect imitation of his father. “Her protest that none of the grooms is very likely to be wearing a white dress to no avail.”

Uncle Pads shakes his head fondly. “Oh, Prongsie.”

Harry shrugs. “Mum says to be patient with him, as this is his big day, that he’s been dreaming of ever since he was a boy.”

“That’s true,” uncle Pads agrees.

“So we know my father is completely losing it as best man, but what about you?” Harry nudges uncle Pads with his foot. “Are you nervous?”

Uncle Pads thinks about it for a while. “No. I’m marrying my best friend, what’s there to be nervous about?”

Harry gasps in pretend-shock. “And I thought you didn’t want to be uncle Moony’s friend!”

“Watch out, you little rascal!” Uncle Pads laughs. “I haven’t forgotten what you put me through!”

Harry huffs. “I shall hope not! Thanks to me you finally confessed your feelings. I’m expecting a thank you in all speeches of today.”

“We’ll see, Prongslet,” uncle Pads says with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

“But siriusly,” Harry says in a more sincere tone of voice. “I’m really happy for you, uncle Pads. And for uncle Moony too.”

Uncle Pads smiles, and then wipes at his eyes. “Merlin, Harry, what are you doing to me? I thought I’d at least keep it dry until I saw Moony walk down the aisle.”

Suddenly, Harry’s dad’s voice sounds in the hall. “Harry! Where are you? I need somebody to sort through the rose petals, to make sure none of them have any brown spots!”

Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “I was never here,” he whispers, before slipping out of the room.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Sin or Salvation? (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: Song fic - My Ex’s Best Friend

Words: 1062

Warnings: None? Alcohol? Suggestive themes? I dunno. Surprisingly not NSFW.

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @marvels-writings @onlyafewfindtheway @captain-josslett​ @hayleyokami​

A/N: The last Valentine’s Day story should be seeing the light of day this week, I just had a lot to clean up from it after Tumblr kinda scrambled it and my birthday last week kinda pushed everything off because my girlfriend came to see me but here we are now!​​

-X-

Losing Pepper to Tony had always been a possibility. You'd always felt like a placeholder, simply waiting for him to replace you so when it finally happened, you plastered an understanding smile over the grimace threatening to overtake your face and bowed out of a relationship that was never meant to last.

He was your friend but she was his love and what could you say to that?

It was weird, staying with the company despite the awkward tension but you somehow managed it. Swallowing the ache bubbling in your chest whenever he kissed her cheek or did the little things you used to do. Going separate ways was hard when you were the only one ever invested.

But then Natalie Rushman - or, Natasha Romanoff, as it were - stepped back into your life.

The former assistant who turned out to be a former assassin with wild red hair and piercing eyes that had often left you enthralled, even when you were dating Pepper, walked into the dwindling office party looking for Tony but found you instead, slumped against the bar with silent tears pouring down your cheeks as the gravity of your failed relationship settled on your shoulders. It hurt, knowing you were the only one who'd cared - who suffered - about the months you'd spent with her.

"Hey, stranger," Natasha greeted, climbing into the stool beside you as she studied your face. "It's been a while."

"Stranger is pretty accurate, huh?" you teased, goofy grin sporting no animosity as you peered at the former assistant.

Startled by the obvious playful jab, Natasha's cheeks went hot as she tried to find an appropriate response. You'd been so nice to her during her time with Stark and she knew she owed you an apology or, at the very least, an explanation.

"Hey, no hard feelings," you chuckled, waving the bartender over and passing the tip she'd definitely earned. "You were doing your job and I have to respect that. Plus you looked very pretty doing it." You winked.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile across pink lips let you know she was pleased by the compliment.

"You just liked how short the dresses were," she laughed, catching the barest hint of desire darkening your eyes.

"I can't deny that," you replied huskily, letting your eyes skate along her lithe form for just a moment, remembering the pale flesh you'd often scolded yourself for staring at.

Natasha's brow arched, surprised by your bold admittance. It was no secret Pepper had broken your heart (she'd acknowledged it when she'd met with Natasha for coffee, the guilt weighing heavy on her mind) for Tony but Natasha hadn't expected such blatant flirting.

How much have you drank, (Y/N)?

Reading the hesitation in her gaze, you shrugged. "I'm not drunk, Nat. I wanted to be but someone in this place has to pretend to be professional. But I can't sit here and pretend you're not absolutely gorgeous. Someone would have to be blind not to see it."

The tension was thick as your eyes locked with Natasha's, hundreds of thoughts crashing about as you let yourself get lost in green.

"How about I give you a ride home?" Natasha finally offered, peering around the room. "It's late and I think everyone else is pretty much passed out."

Swallowing dryly, you nodded. Something about the innocuous statement left your belly in knots and your palms sweat but you ignored the butterflies trying to escape your throat. "Y-yeah. Okay."

-x-

The ride was nearly silent, aside from the occasional ding of the turn signal and the gentle music flowing from the radio. Natasha's movements behind the wheel were fluid but you barely noticed, far more intrigued by the woman than the late night traffic.

The glow of the lights left an angelic glimmer around the redhead despite you knowing fully well she was no angel. She was the ultimate temptation - the apple you weren't meant to eat - but how desperately you wanted take that bite. Would you damn yourself if you did?

Or would all be forgiven afterwards?

"You okay, (Y/N)?" Natasha murmured sweetly, soft lips turning upward as she peeked out of the corner of her eye. "You seem quiet."

"I'm fine," you whispered, letting your gaze drift lower as you wondered if they'd taste like the sin you compared them to.

Was it wrong, yearning for your ex's friend like this? She had already moved on with your friend, so why couldn't you move on with hers?

"Do you want to come up?" you asked as she parked in front of your apartment.

Natasha's eyes burned bright and you almost wanted to blame the question on what little alcohol was coursing through your veins but you'd been honest when you told her you weren't drunk. So you waited, accepting that you'll either be going upstairs with a gorgeous super spy or you'll be slinking upstairs to mope into the vodka stashed in the back of your fridge.

Natasha's gaze was steady on you as she reached out and turned the key slowly. The car went quiet and you remained still in the silence, awaiting her response.

"Yes," she finally breathed, eyes flickering to your mouth before she was shoving open the door and stepping out into the world.

Scrambling to follow after her, shaky fingers unlocked the building before ushering the beautiful woman inside. Your heart felt like it was pounding against your rib cage but you did your best to remain unfazed despite the sweat lingering on the palms of your hands.

The moment you stepped into the elevator, the air shifted into some heady and hot. Boiling, even.

You'd never really know who made the first move. The moment she shifted towards you, the tension snapped within and you found your hands tangling her locks as frantic mouths slotted together in a kiss that left you burning alive.

There was no way this could be sinful when it brought you so close to salvation.

Whining as your tongue delved into her mouth, you crashed into the wall of the elevator, oblivious to the ever-rising floors. Sharp nails dug into your neck but you didn't care, tasting the fruit that had haunted your darkest dreams.

You'd been a placeholder for Tony but maybe Pepper had been one too.

[intheticklecloset]

Say Mercy (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Summary: When Deku bets Shinsou that he can win in a tickle fight against him, Shinsou takes him up on the offer to find out.

A/N: YES YES YES!! This isn't officially ShinDeku but it's those two boys tickling each other and I liiiiive for this! I was so excited to finally write for them again! Enjoy! ^^

Word Count: 2,302

~~~

“Oh, give me a break,” Shinsou groaned, letting out a defeated sigh. His character spun off the track and had to be rescued, costing him precious seconds as Kaminari’s character whizzed by him into third place. “Dang it, I was actually doing well that time.”

Kami smirked, eyes glued to the screen. “Sorry, bro. Peach waits for no man!”

“She waits for Mario,” Deku pointed out.

“Details.”

The three of them were seated in the living room, having claimed the TV for the night in 1-A’s dorms. Deku was finally getting his wish to become better friends with the purple-haired boy. He’d been elated when his phone had buzzed with a text from him asking if he wanted to join in on some Mario Kart, and he nearly broke another bone in his haste to get to the living room. Kami had seemed concerned, but Shinsou looked amused.

Now they were on their final race in a four-race grand prix, and Kaminari was dominating them both. Deku was content to hang out in fourth and fifth place, but he did feel bad for Shinsou, who had gradually gotten better with each new track until he’d finally claimed third for the first two laps of the last race, only to be thwarted with a red shell.

Kami crossed the line in second, with Shinsou in fourth and Deku in seventh. The electric hero pumped his fists in the air. “Yeah, baby! Gold trophy!”

Deku and Shinsou exchanged amused glances.

“Just wait, Kaminari,” Deku said, grinning. “One of these days Shinsou is going to catch up to you and then you’ll be eating those words. And his dust.”

“Sure, sure.” Kami waved his hand, unbothered. “But I’m going to enjoy the moment while it lasts. I always lose against Bakugou; you gotta let me have this, Midoriya.” Just then his phone buzzed, and he let out a groan of his own. “Ah, crap. Speaking of Bakugou, I promised him and the others I’d study with them tonight. Stupid math, anyway.” He got to his feet and waved, heading out of the living room. “Night, guys. Have fun fighting for last place.”

“Rude!” Deku laughed, waving him out. “Go on. See you tomorrow.”

Then – for the first time – it was just Shinsou and Deku.

“Um,” Shinsou started, “perhaps I should head out, too. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“What? No! You’re more than welcome,” Deku said hurriedly, worried he wouldn’t get the opportunity to talk with his newest friend one-on-one. “Want to do another grand prix? We can knock it down from that 200cc insanity to something more manageable. I’m sure you can get first place if it’s a little easier.”

“With a handicap, you mean.”

“No!” Crap, think about your words, Deku! “No, I just mean that it might be smarter to start with something a little easier, that way you can work your way up. You can beat him on 200cc eventually, I just thought—”

“Midoriya,” Shinsou said, stopping his rambling with a smile. “I was kidding. Relax.”

“Oh. R-Right. Sorry.”

Shinsou chuckled, picking up his controller. “Let’s try 100cc. That way I’m not starting from the complete bottom of the Mario Kart ladder.”

“You know, you might be really good at Sonic racing instead,” Deku suggested, swapping out his player three controller for the player one controller Kami had left behind. “It’s a little more involved, but it’s also technique based more than just random luck. I think you’d be great at it.”

“Sonic has a racing game?”

“Well, yeah. It’s Sonic.”

“I suppose that’s a good point.”

From there the two of them settled into conversation with ease, discussing everything from video games to schoolwork to Shinsou’s latest run-in with Bakugou.

“I can’t believe Kacchan agreed to owe you a favor. He hates owing favors.”

“I got the sense that he was desperate, even if he wasn’t saying as much. It’s satisfying, honestly. I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyway, but it feels good to put that hothead in his place.”

Deku’s lips twitched in a small smile. “The only time I’ve ever really been able to ‘put him in his place’ is when we have tickle fights.”

“You have tickle fights with that maniac?”

“He’s my oldest friend, so it kind of comes with the territory. But it’s fun, too. I like it.”

Shinsou paused for a moment, not reacting at all to the fact that his character once again got knocked from first to fourth with a blue shell. “Sorry. I should be more sensitive. I didn’t know you two were such good friends.”

“Well…” Deku sighed. “We’re not good friends, really. But we’re not enemies either. It’s kind of weird.” He did his best to explain his current standing with Bakugou.

“I see.” Shinsou nodded. “Well, even so, I’ll try to be more delicate in the future. Despite my grievances, I know he does have friends in these dorms, as do I.”

Deku smiled at him, taking his eyes from the screen for a moment to observe his profile. “So you’re making friends after all, Mr. I’m-not-here-to-make-friends?”

“I wasn’t lying.” Shinsou smirked. “But you are nothing if not persistent individuals. You and Kaminari, especially. But…I’m grateful. It feels good to have people actually want to hang out with me.”

Deku went silent for a moment. He could only imagine the kind of social isolation Shinsou went through because of his quirk. He thought back to their fight at the sports festival. How genuinely angry and upset Shinsou had been. He wished he knew what to say, but before he could formulate a response, the boy from 1-C was changing the subject.

“So you and Bakugou have tickle fights, eh? Who wins those?”

“Um…m-mostly Kacchan.”

“I wonder why.”

Deku eyed him again. “Are you saying you don’t think I can win them?”

“Not against him, certainly.”

“I’ve won before! Once or twice…”

“How many times has he won?”

“Look, the number’s not important. What’s important is that we have fun.”

Shinsou laughed, and it was such a surprise the sound actually startled Deku for a moment. “I suppose that’s all that matters, right?”

Feeling emboldened by the conversation and that laugh, Deku challenged, “I bet I could win a tickle fight against you.”

“Oh?” Shinsou crossed the finish line, then turned to look at Deku, who suddenly grew nervous as he waited to cross a few places behind. “Bold words, Midoriya.”

Having finished the race, Deku turned to look at him, suddenly feeling flustered. “I-I mean…since I’ve tickled you before, and I know where your worst spot is already. I just feel like I’d have an advantage…” He trailed off. He knew where Bakugou’s worst spot was, too, but that rarely helped him win those tickle fights.

“I suppose I have been curious how ticklish you actually are, since I’ve never seen it for myself. I’ve only heard stories. Do you seriously get tickled almost every day in this class?”

“U-Um…y-yeah, I do. But I don’t mind.”

Shinsou smirked. “Which means you like it.”

Deku could feel himself blushing now. “Yeah.”

“All right, Midoriya,” Shinsou said, shifting in such a way that the green-haired boy instinctively scrambled back, blushing even harder when his friend chuckled. “I want in. You think you can win a tickle fight against me? How much are you willing to wager?”

“Um…” Deku scrambled to think of something. “I-I don’t know…what do you want?”

“A thousand yen says I win.”

“Oh, yeah? W-Well…two thousand says I win!”

“You’re that confident? Very well. Quirks or no quirks?”

Deku froze. “N-No quirks. It’s not because I’m afraid of you, I just—”

“It’s okay, Midoriya. No quirks is actually advantageous for me, since mine doesn’t help me physically.” Shinsou smirked, pushing his controller aside. “Ready?”

“Y-Yeah. Ready.”

Deku barely had the words out before Shinsou was on him, shoving him to the floor with surprising speed and strength, wiggling his fingers into his sides.

“Eeep! Ahahahahahahaha, nohohohohohoho!” Deku giggled, trying to bat Shinsou’s hands away. “No fahahahahahahair! There wasn’t eheheheheheven a countdohohohown!”

“I asked if you were ready, and you said yes,” Shinsou replied calmly, grinning at the mess he’d made of 1-A’s most promising student, all with just a couple of light scribbles. “If you were lying, that’s your own fault.”

“G-Gehehehehehet off!” Deku squealed, reaching up to squeeze Shinsou’s ribs, pleased with the bright smile he got in response. He squeezed harder, willing himself to reach both hands up despite the continuing tickle attack on his own sides. “Get ohohohohohohoff!”

“N-No,” Shinsou grunted, obviously fighting back giggles of his own. He was tempted to reach for what he knew was a good spot, but decided against it for the moment. There would be plenty of time for that later. Right now he wanted to get to know every weak spot he could. He darted his own fingers up to Deku’s ribs and vibrated. “Heh, h-how’s it feel, Midoriya?”

“Fihihihihihihihine!” Deku shoved his hands up under Shinsou’s arms in retaliation. The purple-haired boy retracted his hands to bring his arms in protectively, giving Deku the opening he needed to push him over and grab at every ticklish spot he could think of. Ribs, sides, belly. He went for them all in rapid succession. “W-What about you, Shinsou? A little ticklish, huh?”

“D-Don’t – you cahahahan’t act like y-yohohou don’t already knohohow!” Shinsou protested, curling up into the fetal position on the floor, chuckling into the carpet.

“Why? Does it fluster you when I do that?” Deku used the opportunity to grab at his friend’s knees and squeeze. Shinsou kicked his legs out so hard in response he almost took Deku out with them. “Whoa!”

“S-Sohohorry,” Shinsou giggled, batting at the hands that had returned to his sides.

“Bad spot?”

“Nohohot really. Just surprised mehehehehe.”

“You’re not really fighting back, you know~” Deku teased, amused by the realization. “Do you want to owe me two thousand yen?”

“Juhuhuhust indulging a lihihihihittle. Dohohohon’t worry…” Shinsou suddenly shot upright and dug into Deku’s underarms. “I’ll still win this tickle fight!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Deku screeched, falling back onto the floor with laughter bursting from his lungs. “NOHOHOHOHOHO!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IT!!”

“Ooh~ Bad spot?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“No? You sure? You seem like you’re lying.” Shinsou grabbed one of Deku’s wrists and pinned it above his head, drilling deep into his underarm with his free hand.

Deku shrieked, tossing his head back and laughing unabashedly. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! SHIHIHIHIHIHIHINSOU!!” He desperately tried to grab at any ticklish spot he could with his other arm. He managed to succeed in scribbling against Shinsou’s side, causing the taller boy to choke out a giggle and unpin him so he could fight back.

Without really thinking about it, Deku sat up and grabbed his hips, digging in deep.

Shinsou burst into his own round of laughter, grasping at Deku’s wrists and trying to push him away while also desperately trying to keep from falling over again. “NONONO – NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE YOU CHEHEHEHEHEATER!!”

“Cheater? There was no rule against worst spots, Shinsou.” Deku grinned, feeling a rush of happy satisfaction at having made Shinsou laugh so freely without even needing to pin him down first. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

“SHUT UP!! DOHOHOHOHOHON’T TEHEHEHEASE ME, MIDORIYAHAHAHA!!” Shinsou flailed for a few moments more before grabbing Deku’s hips as well. “TAKE THIS!!”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Now Deku was laughing hysterically as well, trying to fight his attacker off while still keeping up his own tickling assault. “YOU JEHEHEHEHEHEHERK!!”

“YOU STAHAHAHAHAHAHARTED IT!!”

It was a hilarious sight, the two of them tickling each other’s hips in the middle of the living room floor, Mario Kart long forgotten on the TV behind them, laughing loudly and desperately trying to push each other off. In the end, it came down to which of them was more ticklish, and soon the tides began to turn in Shinsou’s favor.

“HA!! CAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T LAHAHAHAHAST FOREVER, CAN YOHOHOHOHOU, MIDORIYA?!”

“NOHOHOHOHOOOOO!!” Deku whined as he finally relented his own attack to focus on defense, grabbing Shinsou’s wrists and trying to push him away. “NO FAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!!”

“I can’t help it if you’re just that ticklish,” Shinsou teased, still smiling uncontrollably as he finally managed to push Deku to the floor and straddle him, kneading into his hips deeply. “Much better. This is how I suspected this would end.”

Deku fought for a few more moments, then finally gave up and relented, kicking his legs wildly and holding onto Shinsou’s wrists weakly, feeling the muscles in his hands move as they tickled him, only making him more sensitive. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FIHIHIHIHIHIHIHINE!! FINE YOU WIHIHIHIHIHIHIN!! I GIHIHIHIHIHIVE UP!!”

Shinsou smirked, feeling a rush of satisfaction at his friend’s desperate cries. “Say mercy.”

“MEHEHEHEHEHEHERCY!! MERCY, MERCYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

For a long moment, Shinsou kept up his assault, not saying a word, making Deku shriek with ticklish panic at the fleeting thought that maybe he wouldn’t stop after all. But then, finally, it was all over, and he could breathe again. He gulped in large doses of oxygen greedily, reaching up to wipe the corners of his eyes where mirthful tears had started to form.

“You okay?” Shinsou asked, chuckling a little at the sight.

Deku sputtered out some leftover giggles and sat up. “Y-Yeah. I’m good.”

“You owe me two thousand yen.”

“Jeez, you don’t waste any time, do you, Shin?”

Shin? The boy from 1-C smiled a little at the nickname. “Not if I can help it, no. Told you I’d take you down.”

“In a tickle fight, maybe,” Deku conceded, picking up his player one controller and brandishing it with a new kind of challenging spark in his eye. “But I bet you still can’t win gold even on 100cc!”

Shinsou laughed, grabbing his own controller and knocking it against Deku’s like they were doing a fist-bump. “You’re on.”

[yanagibayashi]

here's the lowdown on how i feel about the twenty-five twenty-one ending: art should have the grace to not be punitive towards its audience for reading the signs set up by the creator and reading them well. the idea that life is sometimes punitive / youth is fleeting / the times force us into change as an abstract concept belies the fact that these punishments, short of natural catastrophe and illness, are usually the result of decisions and systems that are inflicted upon us by each other. forcing an agenda so ripe with moralism about Adulthood and Time and RealismTM onto a story regardless of its organic development beyond your pen is just not good writing.

why do we write stories? is it to reinforce an idea or is it to create a narrative that demonstrates this idea and does it in a coherent fashion? either way, what is the narrative purpose of mimicking a realism which is itself forcibly wrought? you can say that "life doesn't have to make sense", yes, sure, alright, but fiction does!!!! it really does have to!!!

also, on a personal note, i adored every single microsecond of this show up until the middle of episode 15. thereon out it just felt like the most abjectly didactic narrative, where the tonal shifts did not match the character development. all that love, all that communication, all that perseverance, all of hee-do's commitment to her career, all of it just dissipated with a whimper. i don't really even think its necessary for us, as viewers living through the real horror of covid, which cut short so many lives and so many dreams and relationships and friendships and ambitions and desires, to be so patronizingly reminded that life is transient and fickle and fleeting. i wont even apologize for feeling that bitterness as though we were owed a better story. moralistic fiction is like the most patronizing genre ever. it felt like being back in elementary school with an old teacher who used to tell kids not to cry after making them cry because "real life will not pay attention to you crying". buddy you are the real life! constantly, every single day, we have the choice to make a different decision.

literally, i am not even as mad about baekdo not working out as much as i am about the terribly shallow and dismaying arcs we see the friendships in this drama go through. yes, friendships do dissolve irl, but at the very least they could have done a show instead of doing a tell. time jumps are lazy writing! time jumps are just plain lazy writing! show the dissolution of a relationship by setting up the dissolution for the viewer to experience instead of narrativizing it like a whiplash for no sensible reason. show a friendship trailing away instead of telling it like a bad, cynical story at the funeral of a character no one cares about because no one ever saw him exist. show hee-do's interest in fencing waning instead of just a random conversation with her coach in the old school building! literally everyone died at the end of mr. sunshine but the plot made it all make sense because that's how the story was set up. what we get here, instead, is the viewer being flung out of the tone of the drama almost as though in punishment for having the audacity to believe that a healthy, supportive, communicative love would overcome the ordinary barriers of distance and "the times". if this was going to be a drama about how "the times" broke them apart, like, again, how mr. sunshine went, they shouldve set it up from the start instead of the bulk of the present-day scenes resembling a quasi-reply 1997/1994/1988 plot!

that's it. that's all. i am so done with this particular brand of creators who insist upon reinforcing the fact that life will disappoint you in a perfectly good story that seems to be leading up to the idea that sometimes life also won't. buddy, ok, tell a world living through covid times that life will disapppint us, but you don't have to! they don't even have to end up together!!! but just write a story that makes sense!!!!

[heyitsyn]

Manager!Seijoh Part 3

a/n: yall i love seijoh so much like theyre my favorite school and my favorite boys and i know their names by heart and im just so SOFT for them !!!!!

also: yall will find out what other fandom ill be writing for in the future in this one

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

combined two anon requests:

- Could we get the boys reacting to finding out the seijoh manager is quite popular to both genders?? Maybe they over hear a confession?

- Why do I feel like half of the team would be all pouty when word comes around that a guy confessed to manager, the others would probably be annoyed/irritated. Oikawa being all bratty cause no matter what he tried,she never showed ant interest when he flirts. But now this boy comes alone ... (but like you said manager is too focused in school and the team)

MY HEART WAS RIPPED OUT OF MY CHEST AND THROWN INTO A BLENDER WHEN I SAW THIS PART OR JUST WHEN SEIJOH LOST IN GENERAL BC MY BABIES WORKED SO HARD AAAAAAA

oof girl the world is ending

so basically,,,,,

the entire just magically knew about what happened earlier and yahaba’s theory of team telepathy really does work bc not even a minute after it happened, they all spammed you messages and next thing you knew, oikawa was naruto-ing down from the 3rd floor to your class in the first floor

tbh, they shouldve seen this coming yanno?

you were ridiculously pretty and you carried yourself w such elegance and grace that it just seemed to hypnotize everyone into stopping what they were doing and watched you in awe doing the most mundane things like walking or sitting

lmao couldnt be me

your confessions usually happened over letters bc either tol boys kunimi or kindaichi are usually around you at all times so theyre too scared to do anything

hence why your locker was always filled with envelopes yet no upfront public confessions

it ranged from upperclassmen and upperclasswomen who expressed their interest in you and wanted to date you and get to know you better

but tf you dont even know them and you werent about to date a whole stranger

this made the boys a little peeved because you were popular with both the boys and the gals so they were constantly on edge on who was talking to you

it was like having an oikawa 2.0 but not indulging them and pretending theyre not even there

like when you walk to class and sit down, they would flock over and offer you drinks and snacks but you either turned them down or just flat-out ignored them

maybe this was what fueled others on more

your reserved attitude and your refusals made it look like you were playing hard to get and it was almost like a game on who could win the heart of the princess of seijoh

this was proven really difficult because not only do they have your dismissals, you also had guard dogs at every corner and would bite their head off at the slight indication of an interaction

however,,,,

today,,,

this morning,,,,

at 7:53 AM,,,,

they saw you walking down the hallway with a purple-haired boy holding your bag and you giggling at what he was saying

um EXCUSE ME MAAM WHAT

EVERYONE HAS BEEN TRYING TO GAIN YOUR AFFECTIONS FOR MONTHS YET YOU ARE HERE INTERACTING WITH A MALE WHO NO ONE EVEN KNOWS

ESPECIALLY SINCE HE WAS A MALE WHO WAS STANDING RIGHT THERE RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AND HE WASNT A MEMBER OF THE TEAM

!!!!!

and ofc, the boys would immediately know even though theyre spread all over the school

it was kyoken who saw you as he was leaning against your locker and his eyes narrowed before he secretly took a picture and sent it to yahaba, asking if there was a new guy who entered the team while he was away

when he replied with a panicked, ‘NO WHO IS THAT’

kyoken was already advancing to you

yahaba-san immediately sent the picture to the team group chat, that excluded you rood, and oikawa wasted no time and even pushed some fangirls so he could go to you

‘-and she destroyed my sheets’

you laughed at the story and hitoshi stared at you with awe in his eyes

how can someone laugh so beautifully?

like a snort should be considered ugly and gross but it was like cute little squeaks from you and he thought you were like a fairy

‘oh god, i wasnt-’

you were cut off with a hand that held your arm

you came face to face with the glaring face of one of your boys and you immediately turned to him in concern, immediately grasping an arm with the other hand on his cheek to look for any cuts

he rarely comes to you on a normal basis so you thought something was wrong

‘whats wrong, kyo-san? did you get into a fight? do you need me to patch you up?’

he didnt care what you were saying, instead heatedly glaring at this new guy, and grunted a response to agreeing with you going to the nurse

just anywhere to get you away from this,,,, stranger

‘toshi i have to-’

then you were cut off again

‘YYYYY/NNNNNNN-CHHHHHAAAANNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

‘OI SHITTYKAWA!’

‘OIKAWA-SAN!’

‘OIKAWA!’

‘CAPTAIN!’

from behind you, 5 tol looming figures were running towards you and next thing you knew, you were in the arms of your captain

‘oikawa-san! what are you doing?!’

oikawa held you tightly against his chest and had his arms tightly around your form to prevent you from being taken away

most of the volleyball team were now circling you and pointedly glaring at the poor boy who was so confused that he wasnt bothered by the death glares

‘oh, its you’

kunimi grumbled

‘kunimi, whats happening?’

hitoshi questioned

you fought away from the hold of oikawa and pushed mattsukawa and hanamaki to stand in front of shinsou hitoshi

‘so sorry about this, toshi. i’ll help you with your room later and ill text you when practice is finished, okay?’

you sheepishly smiled and he nodded, his own smile reassuring you

‘yep. ill see you later then’

‘bye’

you softly said and he turned to walk away

but as soon as he was out of sight, you turned around with a grim looking expression and your hands on your hips, a hard look in your eyes

‘boys, what was that?’

you gritted out

‘y/n-chan! don’t you see?! he was going to take you away! he was an intrude-OW!’

he yelped when you reached up and grabbed his ear before grabbing the other closest who was iwaizumi

they both whined and complained about the ear and slapped your hand but you didnt let up

‘he is a friend, oikawa-san. you have no right on who i can be friends and who i can hang out with because i still have a life outside the team!’

you scolded and the others hung their heads low like puppies

‘sorry, y/n-chan’

oikawa mumbled and iwaizumi also mumbled his apology so you let go of them, dusting off your hands

‘and the rest of you, hold back your captain and dont intimidate him like that!’

‘sorry’

you sighed but ruffled their hair before turning to go to class

‘now, be good boys and dont bother others like this again’

‘yes’

they chorused and you nodded, satisfied

‘ill hold you to it!’

you shouted as you walked down the hallway

when you turned a corner, oikawa grabbed kunimi by the arms

‘you know him, dont you? who is he? what class? address? mother’s name? father’s name? age-’

‘oi stop it, shittykawa’

but despite that, iwaizumi looked at the younger, expecting answers as well

kunimi sighed

‘thats shinsou hitoshi from class 1-3. we have gym together’

and ‘we’ was kunimi and you since you were both in the same class so you constantly saw this shinsou boy?

nuh uh, dont think so, francisco

from the looks of it, you were still single and there was a pining from shinso’s part, maybe yours they dont know

and they were going to do everything in their power to keep you away from him

this was excused to them as protecting their manager from someone else and they werent going to let you be taken by someone else

during practice, they grilled you over your relationship with him

‘i honestly dont know why this is your business but if you must know, his adoptive father, aizawa-san, is my mother’s co-worker and i usually catsit for them. dont worry, we’re not dating. just friends, that’s all’

but they know it wasnt just a friendship type of situation

so when the 4 third years saw you being confessed to by this ‘friend’ outside, they almost toppled out the window as they tried to listen to what was being said

‘shittykawa get off my back!’

‘nuh uh! i want to see clearly!’

‘everyone needs to know that code red is happening!’

yall what

mattsun took a picture and sent it to the gc about their princess being confessed to 

no one replied, possibly too upset or too busy sulking

kyoken actually had to be excused outside bc he was glaring at everyone and everything and the teacher and students were so scared that they had to take him out of class

they were even more peeved when you just walked in like nothing happened

you didnt mention the confession to anyone else the whole day and when you entered the gym, it was very tense

the coaches even looked confused

‘did you guys fight?’

you questioned but no one answered

kunimi and kindaichi were playing with a ball and glaring at it as it hit the floor

the 2nd years yes including kyobabie were pouting to the side

the 3rd years looked annoyed and pissed off 

overall just not seijoh babie vibes

i am uncomfortable with the energy we have created in the gym today🧚✨

‘hey’

you gently said and walked to the captain to figure out what was going on

‘oikawa-san, what happened?’

‘are you dating him now, y/n?’

the seriousness in his voice shocked you and you took a step back in surprise

your expression made him think that you did accept the confession and he scoffed before walking away and doing a jump serve that sounded like a canon blasting

but you were actually confused and surprised that they even knew bc you were sure it was a secluded area where no one could see you

‘dating,,,? dating who?’

you asked to them and the 3rd years just knitted their eyebrows

‘dont play coy, y/n-chan’

oikawa hissed

‘no matter how many times i flirted or asked you on dates, you never said yes. never agreed or even showed a little bit of interest. on me!! your captain!!! but now!!! this little grape boy comes along and you suddenly start dating just because he has cats! what kinda bias is this?!’

he started ranting and whining and being a brat that you pinched his nose shut

‘oi, oikawa-san, are you jumping to conclusions again? first the hickey accident and now this?’

he made a whining noise for you to let go and rubbed his nose when you finally let go

you turned around to face the others and you sighed, massaging your temples

‘everyone, who spread this misunderstanding?’

no one pointed to anyone but their gazes settled on the thick eyebrow boy that you were sure wouldnt have ratted you out

a noise of surprise and betrayal escaped from you as mattsun quickly scrambled to get everyone to stop staring at him

‘MATTSUN-SAN! YOU-!’

you pointed at him and mattsun rushed forward to grab your hands before holding them close to his chest

‘y/n-chan, we just saw you when we were passing! it was makki who wanted to tell the others!’

the betrayal made iwa laugh but makki ran up to kick mattsun to the side

‘youre the one who committed the deed! i was merely suggesting it! it was iwaizumi who wanted to watch them first!’

‘IWA-SAN!’

you gasped at the normally chill third year and you didnt expect him to be the one who started it first

iwa panicked and held his hands out cautiously

‘y/n-chan, understand that i was just worried and i didnt want you to be outside by yourself after what happened, okay? i didnt know he was confessing to you’

you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose tightly

‘again! whoever and whatever happens in my love life is my business! mine! and only mine! you cannot control it and get angry at ME because i do want a boyfriend and i do want to experience dating bc i want to know how it feels to be loved like that! so i wont let a bunch of children stop me from having that!’

the third years shared a look before they they gave up and nodded in defeat

but oikawa was the most offended

‘Y/N-CHAN! I ASK YOU ON DATES ALL THE TIME AND I ALWAYS OFFER TO GIVE YOU THAT LOVE SO WHY CAN’T IT BE ME?! WHAT DOES THAT GRAPE HUMANOID HAVE THAT I DONT?!’

he whined and stomped his foot after crossing his arms and a pout on his face

you shook your head, not even bothering to answer that, and went to the others

‘dont be mad and be upset, okay? i refused him bc i have no time for a relationship when im too busy looking after my own boys. i really dont want to add another’

kindaichi and yahaba’s face scrunched as they rushed forward to hug you 

‘we thought you would leave us y/n-chan!’

‘stay as ours forever, okay?’

you were so relieved that they werent as aggressive as the oldests and gave each player their own favorite hugs

but you stopped in front of kyo, not really knowing how to hug him since youve never exactly showed any type of affection like that

so you were just awkwardly standing there with raised arms but he patted your head, you smiling and leaning more to his touch

‘hm, kyo-san, ya finally warming up to me?’

you teased but he scoffed, gently headbutting you with his forehead against yours

‘now, everyone! dont misunderstand and know that for as long as i will be a manager, i wont be in a relationship bc my time as a manager is too crucial since i would probably have to look after you so you dont get yourself to jail. a boyfriend is adding more boys in to that list and i dont want that. you will be my boys forever and i wont be taken from you so please trust on me and stop being so overprotective bc i wont give them the affection or wishes they want!’

oikawa teared up and was about to go trample you but he was held back

‘no! i want a hug! i want a family hug! cmon, iwa-chan!’

practice went by quickly but you demanded them to do 10 diving laps in punishment for all the misunderstandings theyve created 

but they gladly did it bc it meant that you wont be taken from them and you would be theirs forever and their cute manager is going to pay attention to them and them only

i got serious yandere vibes from this but its so heartwarming that theyre so overprotective and lowkey you got yourself a harem

after practice, they all wanted to walk home with you but you told them that shinsou’s house was the other direction

‘y/n-chan! you said you wouldn’t-’

you rolled your eyes

‘oikawa-san, just because i refused that confession doesnt mean i will stop earning money. i still have to catsit for his family and earn my money!’

they only agreed when kyo said that he was walking that way too but they were still weary and jealous bc he got to spend more time with you than them

as you were both walking, you looked up at him

‘kyo-san, what type of hug do you like?’

‘hah?’

he looked down at you bc we short with wide eyes and flushed cheeks

you smiled and looked forward, skipping slightly

‘everyone in the team has their own special hugs. i want everyone to have one bc you all are individually special to me so-’

but he stopped walking and pulled arm before he lifted you up, making you squeak and wrap your legs around his waist

thank god you were wearing your tracksuit and not your skirt

‘k-kyo-san?’

bruh is it obv that kyoken is one of my favorite seijoh boys like bls love on him

he didnt want you to see his flustered expression bc he still has a reputation to uphold, yanno?

so he tucked it in your neck and you softly smiled before playing with the baby hairs at the base of his neck

‘you like this kind then, kyo-san? kinda aggressive but perfectly suits you, yanno?’

he just grunted and you laughed

he wasnt about to tell you that he liked holding you on his arms bc you were so tiny and so you that holding you like this makes him feel like he was protecting you and feel good about himself bc he gets to be the one who shields you from the world

yuhhhhh get it kyo

‘so yahaba-san told me that you got kicked out of class bc you scared the teacher and kids?’

you questioned and he left his spot on your neck and pulled his face back so you could clearly see his face

it was red and possibly flustered but you just snickered

he still held you by his strong arms so you were able to move your small hands to his face where he flinched at first but relaxed when you touched his cheeks

your fingers gently pulled the sides of his lips and you tilted your head to the side

‘you,,, look really handsome when you smile, kyo-san’

you whispered and he was so surprised that his tough mask fell and was replaced by wide eyes and his eyebrows rose up, the intimidating look disappearing from his eyes

‘i-i do?’

you bit your lip bc this was so different from the aggressive kyo you knew and you didnt expect this type of innocence that he just showed you

maybe he wasnt so innocent from the fights and arguments he has started or been in 

but he was so innocent to soft touches and compliments bc he wasnt exposed to it, only used to the ones that were said due to the aura he exuded or his looks

‘yep, you do. so keep smiling for me, kay? dont have to be around the others or all the time, but i,,, want to see it sometimes’

he blinked at you but quickly went back to your neck to hide the big smile that was threatening to come out

you felt his lips move and you laughed

‘noooo! kyo-san!!! i want to see your smilee!!! dont hide it!!!’

but it was cut short when a familiar shout was heard from the other side of the street that was near the school

it seemed that oikawa was worried about you walking alone with kyoken so he followed you both with the other third years

‘kyoken-chan! y/n-chan!’

he shouted in betrayal

you were about to get away from kyo’s hold but he tightened his grip and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, still staring straight at the captain

‘mine’

again, do you know what happened next?

oikawa screamed

this was actually pretty funny to write bc wowza oikawa is so oikawa and hes just so oikawa-like, yanno? and im still simping over kyoken and shinsou is my ult fave in bnha and i really love him like ugghhhh :’)

[abluescarfonwaston]

I’d know him blind

It didn’t come all at once. He’d really thought they’d made it out unscathed. That the box he’d opened in that mage’s abandoned laboratory hadn’t worked.

As they walked back thick fog rolled in. Obscuring the sky. The path ahead. The trees aside them. Even dimming Geralt and Roach a few paces ahead into off grey.

He jogged closer to them. Geralt gave him a look.

“What? Sorry I don’t want to get lost.”

“Why would you get lost?”

“Because?” He waved at the thick grey mist around them. “The fog Geralt? Not all of us can follow a scent trail. Even if it’s yours.” He fanned the thick smell of Geralt’s sweat away.

He stopped. Turned to him.

“Theirs’s no fog Jaskier.” Grabbed his face. Studying his eyes as the fog rolled in thicker. Obscuring even Roach right behind him. “It’s clear out.”

“Oh.” His hands started shaking and his eyes grew hot. “Then I suppose we have a problem.”

And Geralt’s face; hard and angry and concerned disappeared into the grey.

 “Ah Master Witcher! Master Bard! Haven’t touched your room!” Something wooshed past his ear. Jangled at his side as Geralt moved oddly next to him.

“Thanks.” Geralt grunted moving him through the bar.

“Ah! Master bard!” Footsteps. Creaking wood. People talking. It was. It was a lot and nothing at all because he had no idea where or what or who it was. “You’ll be playing for us tonight yes? Dinner and a bath as agreed?”

“No.” Geralt growled. “He won’t.”

“Of course!” He agreed over top him. “I will however need a stage,” He didn’t remember if the bar had one. He preferred not to use them anyway. Moving through the crowds instead. But he doubted it did. “Or a chair at least. Our little adventure has left me a bit short sighted.” He grinned at where he hoped the man was.

There was a lull. Where the only noise was the bar. He shifted his feet.

“He’s blind.” Geralt said finally. He leaned a little harder into his solid mass. Steady and warm and there.

“Temporarily!” He quickly assured. The arm not wrapped around Geralt’s flapped. Smacking sharply into something. “Ow.”

“Oh!” The barkeep Seemed startled. He was further to the left than he’d thought. “We’ll set something up then! I hope you make a hasty recovery Master bard!”

“Jaskier is fine.” He assured. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Geralt pulled him from the bar.

 “Why’d you agree to play!” Geralt snapped at him after he’d been deposited on the bed.

“I don’t need eyes to play and sing Geralt. What? Am I supposed to just sit in this tiny room and twiddle my thumbs all week?” He yelled into the darkness.

Geralt exhaled with a forced slowness. “I need to go return this.” Metal sliding on metal. The chain of the necklace they’d been sent to retrieve. That had been locked in the box he’d opened. Very cleverly he had thought. “Stay.”

“Stay!” He barked. “I’m not a fucking dog!” He yelled at after him as the door closed and his footsteps faded away.

Something creaked. He flinched away from it.

The bed was firm under him. The blanket decent but not soft.

He drummed his fingers on his leg.

Someone walked passed the room.

He grabbed the blanket and found the wall. Carefully followed it into the corner. Curled up there with the blanket around him.

He couldn’t read. Write. There was no one to talk to anymore. Just him and the grey darkness.

He hoped if someone came into their room they wouldn’t spot him. Because he couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight. Not that he was particularly good at that normally. But he couldn’t tell if he was hidden. Because he couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

Geralt was gone and he couldn’t see and every time something made a sound he couldn’t identify he flinched.

Temporary. Should only last a week. Geralt assured.

But Geralt didn’t know that much about magic. Or he might have been lying. To keep him from panicking.

He was panicking now. But there was no one there to see. So he let himself.

And when he was too exhausted to panic more he fell asleep and he hardly noticed the difference because everything was dark anyway.

 Someone was moving in the room.

He shoved himself into the corner tighter as the footsteps creaked the floorboards and he breathed in to scream-

His nose filled with the musk of onion and sweat.

He relaxed in a boneless heap. “You scared me Geralt. I thought you were a thief or something.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Unidentifiable ruffling joined his voice. “If you’re going to play you should go down soon.”

“Right.” He stood. Throwing the blanket in the direction of the bed. “Where’s my lute?”

There was the familiar sound of Geralt’s feet softly hitting the wood even in his boots. Far too delicate steps for a man of his size. He exhaled, the terror receding with the recognition of each step. It was gently placed in his outstretched hands.

He traced the wood. Her finish. Ran his fingers down her strings.

She was familiar. Safe. He didn’t need to see to know her.

“Alright. Help your best friend down the stairs will you?”

“We’re not friends.” He grumbled as he did exactly that.

 Playing was wonderful. Even if he couldn’t dance with the songs. Move with them. Smile and wink effectively to charm the audience of their earnings.

The after was less fun.

People approaching. There was too much random noise to figure out who they were or where exactly they were. Talking to him. He chatted back. He always loved a conversation.

It was harder when he couldn’t see them. Judge how he was coming off aside from their tone of voice and words.

Something touched his knee.

He leaped back. Knocking the chair out from under him. Tripping on it as he backed away.

There were people asking him all kinds of questions at once and reaching out to touch him and-

Geralt’s hand wrapped around his bicep. The exact shape and warmth and way he always did. Hauling him up and away from the crowded room.

“Show’s over.” He growled.

He clung to Geralt as he was hauled from the room. Thrown over his shoulder.

He couldn’t keep track of the room or the people in it or where they were going. His eyes searched the darkness uselessly.

But the leather was familiar under his fingers.

The movement of it steadying.

Something creaked.

“Stop grabbing my ass Jaskier.”

“Wha- is that what this is?” He moved his hands slightly to better feel the muscle moving under the leather. “It’s very lovely. A lovely bottom.”

The world spun and the bed creaked under him as he was roughly dropped into it.

There were several moments of silence. He wondered if Geralt was glaring at him since he clearly wasn’t putting his Lute away for him.

“I know this might come as a shock to you but I can’t actually see you right now so whatever lecture you’re trying to impart with a stern face,” He demonstrated the expected face, “and disappointed eyes I can’t actually see. So they’re actually even less effective than normal. So there.”

“I.” A pause. “You panicked. Why?”

He grimaced into the pillow. Schooled his face and rolled onto his side. Propped his face on his palm facing Geralt’s general direction.

“I didn’t panic.” He scoffed and shook his head. “You kidnapped me from my adoring fans! Very rude Geralt.”

“You fell out of your chair.”

“Sabotage!” He said too quickly. “I was knocked out of my chair!”

“No you weren’t.”

“Are you telling the story or am I?”

“Tell it right then.” He growled.

His smile partially collapsed. It was a silly thing to have panicked over. He knew that. People touched him all the time.

He raised and lowered a shoulder casually rebuilding the easy smile. “Someone touched me and I over reacted. What a shame too. I’ve heard having sex blindfolded really ups the thrill of it and-“

“Stop.” Geralt groaned.

He barreled on anyway. “If anything doing it blind has to be its own experience. Really maximizing the sensory deprivation.” He rolled onto his back. “Put my lute away and come to bed. What are you doing? Standing there like a statue all night? Is that the plan? You are no longer allowed to make plans if that’s the case.”

He heard the quiet thump of her being hung up by the doorway. The soft padding of Geralt’s feet on the wood. He scooched over on the bed for him.

Geralt didn’t get in.

He frowned and pat the mattress obligingly.

“I touched you without asking too.”

He turned to him. The grey was almost black. So it was likely dark out. “So?”

Unhelpful silence.

He patted the bed again. “Either talk or lie down you broody old man.”

The bed creaked slightly. “I’m getting in.”

He snorted. “Gathered that thank you.”

A short huff of frustration. “Don’t want you to panic again.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well excuse me for wanting to know who’s touching me before they do.”

“I wasn’t-“ The bed creaked forebodingly. Hopefully it would stay in one piece. That had been an issue at some of the cheaper inns they’d stayed at.

He popped off his doublet and loosened the drawstring of his pants. He waited to hear the familiar sound of Geralt shuffling out of his leathers.

His side remained eerily silent.

“What are you doing- Sleeping in your clothing tonight? We don’t do laundry enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.”

“I didn’t.” An irritated sigh. He stared judgingly in his direction. “Fine.”

The familiar sound of Geralt struggling out of his deliciously form fitting pants.

He wrangled the blankets over him as he tossed his trousers aside.

“Geralt?”

“What?” Came the grit out reply.

“Stop being weird. I’m blind not glass.”

“I don’t need you screaming bloody murder into my ear if I roll over.”

He reached out into the darkness and grabbed for the irritating bastard.

“That’s my pec Jaskier.”

“You certain?” He fondled it a bit more. “Damn I forget how muscular you are sometimes.”

His hand was knocked away as he laughed. Quickly grabbed the offending arm in his before it could escape.

“It’s fine Geralt. I know you in the dark just fine. It’s not like I can normally see you once the lights go out anyway.”

A quite inhale and exhale.

Geralt shuffled closer. He curled into Geralt’s chest.

“Besides.” He yawned and draped an arm over him. “I don’t need to see you to know it’s you.”

I knew you by the way your feet hit the ground and your hand felt around my arm. He didn’t say. I know you by the way the leather moves over your muscles and you exhale.

Geralt snorted disbelievingly.

“It’s true.” He tucked a leg between Geralt’s and nuzzled himself to a comfortable position. “You’ve got a pretty strong smell.”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Your Perfect Little Bubble

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: fluff, dad!sam fluff, minor angst

Request by anon: What about a Sam x reader where Sam and R are sleeping and their young child comes in because of a nightmare and wakes up reader wanting to sleep with their parents. With the lines “ ok, just don’t wake daddy up.” And Sam replies “Too late” Just domestic fluff! There just needs to be more Dad!Sam

Summary: Your little boy has a nightmare in the middle of the night and tells you about it.

nose kisses (2020 card) and child au (2021 card) for @spnfluffbingo​

family for @spntfwbingo​

domestic au for @spngenrebingo​

Author’s Note: I know this was requested a long time ago. Sorry this is just now coming out. This is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine. If you have any requests, please send them in!

Having kids was never something you saw for yourself until you met Sam. Being truly happy with your life was never possible for you until you met Sam. You never saw having the things you have now until you met Sam. Everything happened when you met him, and you owe him your life--to try and pay back everything he gave to you. Ten years ago, if someone asked you what you would be doing with your life, it would certainly not be this.

Your eccentric five-year-old baby boy is full of life and is curious about everything. He has an eye for the good, to see what others can’t. When you found out you were pregnant, you refused to raise him the way John did with his boys. John shut his kids out unless he needed them, and even then, it was touch-and-go. Not with Dylan, no, you wanted to be different than the rest.

Dean has always said hunters aren't kids, but you’re doing a pretty damn good job at allowing your baby boy be a kid for as long as he can. He knows what’s out there because you decided to have the talk with him in the form of stories. Instead of just shoving him into the life and forcing him to deal with it like John did, you tell stories of vampires, djinns, angels, demons, and everything in between. With stories, you can show him it’s not that scary, and with hunter parents like Sam and Dean, it’s not.

The Bunker isn’t an ideal place to raise a child, but Dylan made sure to turn this place into his own personal playground. The two rooms you merged to make his playroom is just covered with toys. Whenever he had a birthday, Sam, Dean, and even Castiel would spoil him with lots of presents, so the Bunker is just littered with them.

You don’t mind much since it makes him so happy to get gifts. He’s not spoiled in a bad way--he always says please and thank you, and he is very grateful for what he gets. You don’t think you could have raised a better son, and there are still thirteen more years to go. You let Dylan play in his playroom after dinner, so when you enter the room to get him, a smile grows on your face.

He fell asleep while playing with the present Jack gave him--Marvelous Marvin the Talking Teddy. He also has one, and they play a lot together with them. You think it’s sweet how much your son grew to love Jack. They are close in age, so it makes sense that they would get along the best.

You walk over to your little man and pick him up gently, careful not to wake him up. His head rolls to rest on your chest, and you carry him to his room. He decorated it all on his own with the help of his father. There are stars and planets painted on the wall since he loves Toy Story and Buzz Lightyear and everything that has to do with space. You lay him in his bed and tuck him up, kissing him on the head when you’re finished.

Sam and Dean had just gotten back from a tough hunt, so to give your husband some time to settle into bed and go to sleep, you figured you would clean Dylan’s playroom first. If you were to go to bed now, and Sam was only half-asleep, he would wake as soon as you got into the bed. Years of being a hunter made him accustomed to being a light sleeper.

You tidy up Dylan’s playroom, putting the toys where they belong. Inside the room is a little table in the corner that is used for arts and crafts that he loves using. Today, him and Jack were painting some of the Toy Story characters. Your son’s paintings aren’t that great with Jack not that far behind him, but they had fun while doing it. You take the pictures and hang them in the designated spot that’s used to hang all the pictures that Dylan makes. Once they dry, he picks his favorite ones and you throw the rest of them away. The ones he picks go into a big photo album that he can look through when he’s older.

Once the room is cleaner, you head back to your shared room with Sam. You can hear his soft snores from his side of the bed, so you know he is fast asleep. You’re quiet as you change into your pajamas, and you slide into bed gently. Sam turns over so he's facing you, and in his sleep, he reaches out for you. You cuddle into his side, acting as the “little spoon”. His big arms wrap around your waist as his head buries itself into the crook of your neck.

If you could stay like this forever, you would. Immediately, you drift off to sleep knowing everyone inside the Bunker is safe and sound. You’re not sure when you wake up next, but you know it’s not morning. It’s not your alarm telling you that you two needed to get up to do your morning run. It’s not the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen that Jack loves to make since he barely sleeps. No, something much more innocent and vulnerable wakes you.

“Mommy,” Dylan whispers, shaking your shoulder.

“What is it, baby? Are you okay?” you whisper and turn on the lamp next to your bed on the lowest setting so it doesn’t wake Sam up.

“I had a nightmare.”

“Come here,” you say and pat the area between you and Sam.

Sam had managed to scoot as far as possible away from you during the night, so there is plenty of room for Dylan to crawl in without waking his father. He settles in next to you, and you push his long hair away from his face. He is growing more to look like Sam every single day. He refuses to cut his hair claiming he wants to look like Daddy.

“Tell me about your nightmare, sweetheart. Just don’t wake Daddy up.”

“Too late,” Sam grumbles and flips to face you two. “What’s going on?”

“Dylan had a nightmare. He was just going to tell me about it.”

“Alright, buddy, we’re all ears. We’re listening,” Sam yawns.

“I had a nightmare about you and Daddy. You were killed by a monster and you left me all alone,” Dylan sighs.

You look at Sam knowingly, and that little story causes him to become more alert. You’re not a hunter anymore--not since you found out you were pregnant. You’re a stay-at-home mom while Sam and Dean go out and fight the monsters. You help when you can from the Bunker, but you don’t go out anymore. This isn’t your department anymore, so Sam takes over. He grabs Dylan by the waist and plops him on his elated legs so that he’s resting his back on them.

“Listen, Dylan, your mom and I aren’t going to die. I know it’s scary, okay? Believe me, I was once your age thinking the same thing about my dad. It was scary for me not knowing if he was ever going to come home, but it doesn’t have to be like that for you. Your uncle and I will always make it home to you and your mom. You have Uncle Jack and Cas here to protect you. They’re angels, so if I’m ever hurt, they can fix me right up. You won’t ever have to be alone.”

“Your daddy’s right, baby. Monsters are scary, okay? Monsters can hurt a lot of people, but your daddy and your uncle go out and kill the bad people so that the good people can be happy. Just like in your stories,” you add with a smile.

“Okay,” he nods, believing every word you and Sam say.

“You want to show your mom what we’ve been working on?” Sam asks with a smile, and that seems to brighten up your son.

“Yeah!”

He and Sam have been working on a secret handshake that only the two of them know. It puts a smile on your face to know that your son has this to fall back on. When he’s scared or alone, he can think back to times like these to feel better. When they are done, Dylan squeals in happiness when Sam bear-hugs him.

“That’s pretty cool,” you beam.

“Are you feeling much better?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dylan smiles widely.

“Do you want to sleep in here with us?” you ask.

Dylan nods, and Sam puts him back where he was before. Dylan snuggles underneath the blanket and passes the fuck out. When you know he is fast asleep, you look at Sam with a loving smile.

“We did a good job with this one,” you say.

“We should have another one,” Sam whispers.

“I’d love nothing more.”

You lean closer to him and rub your nose against him to give him some Eskimo kisses before kissing him on the lips. It’s slow and sensual, but nothing short of loving. You pull away and cuddle into him with Dylan in between you two.

Your perfect little family all wrapped up in a perfect little bow.

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[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

[heytherejulietx]

“Stop Trying” ~ George Weasley

Masterlists

Requests are OPEN

Notes - I finally got this written! You guys have no idea how long I procrastinated over this. But I’m really happy with how this turned out! I hope you all like it! 💜

Warnings - Mentions of death.

Word count - 2k.

When George first laid eyes on the Huffepuff girl in his potions class, he was shocked. He'd never seen a Hufflepuff so unhappy. It wasn't that she looked sad, she just didn't look happy. There was no smile or flush in her cheeks like basically the rest of the house. And when he got seated next to her, it started to worry him.

She was almost like an empty shell. Her body was slumped a little in her seat, leaning forwards on her forearms with her head down a little. Her hair was down, falling in front of her face a little so she couldn't be seen - and he couldn't help but wonder if that was on purpose or not. She didn't speak to him, not once that whole lesson. The only time they shared any sort of communication was when she held her hand out for the book he had so she could read it too.

"Your partner looks like fun." Fred chuckled as he met up with George after class, bumping his arm with his twin's.

"Yeah," George chuckled humourlessly, watching her walk away quicker than other people, still concerned. "Fun."

It took George three more classes of being sat beside the girl before he decided he wanted to help. The only problem was that he knew literally nothing about girls whatsoever. He couldn't go to Fred; he knew his brother would just tease him about wanting to help a girl, and he knew Fred also had no knowledge on what girls were like. So he went for the next best thing.

"Don't be mean," Ginny told him first of all.  "If she's actually upset you'll just make it worse. So don't try and prank her, either."

"Yeah, I know that one." George rolled his eyes, though he stopped sassing back when Ginny had shot him another look.

"George, just be nice to her. Help her with potions, give her a complement, say hi to her in the corridors." Ginny shrugged a little. "If it works it works, and if it doesn't then at least you tried."

George smiled and nodded, kissing his sister's cheek as he wrapped an arm around her smaller frame. "Thanks Gin, I owe you one."

When George stepped into the potions classroom the next day, he was determined to talk to her and make her smile. He strutted into the class confidently, a confident smile over his lips. This was George Weasley who we were on about. If George had enough courage to literally elbow a Slytherin in the face during a Quidditch game, then he could make a girl smile.

She was already there when he'd walked in, looking down at the potions book everyone had to have for class. So George sat beside her, noticing she didn't even spare a glance at him. Though he didn't take notice of that as he shifted in his seat a little to look at her. "Hey there."

The girl turned to look at him once he'd spoken, simply raising her eyebrows a little.

"I'm George. Weasley. George Weasley," he carried on a little nervously seeing as she'd said nothing. "Since we're partners this year, I kind of need to know your-"

"Y/N." She cut him off by simply stating her name. "I'm Y/N. Can I get back to my book now?"

"Yeah, yes, sorry." George nodded, watching as she simply rolled her eyes before casting her gaze back on her book.

Maybe other people would've been annoyed at how quickly she shut him down, or even irritated by her snappiness, but instead George was a little proud that at least he got her to talk, and now he knew her name. If he was being honest he thought it was a pretty name, and he would've told her that if he didn't want to leave her alone for a little while. Maybe she'd open up a little more as time went on.

She didn't. Five more potions lessons passed and their conversations were only short and snappy, always ended by her. He couldn't understand how someone could be in such a foul mood for such a long time. It was definitely worrying him, and he probably let it show a little, but if Y/N knew then she definitely didn't show it.

Seeing as talking to her in class clearly wasn't working, George had decided to catch her outside of it. So on Friday morning, when everyone was having breakfast before first period - which just happened to be potions - George left Fred sat at the Gryffindor table with Lee Jordan, giving him an excuse about wanting to talk to his potions partner about the work before heading over to the Hufflepuff table to find her. It wasn't any surprise to George that he found her seated alone at the end of the table, her nose in a book as she ate a slice of toast.

He pulled a smile onto his face as he took a seat beside her, causing her to look up from her book and stare at him in confusion.

"Hey Y/N." George greeted, only getting a small nod in return from the girl who still looked a little confused. "Mind if I sit?"

"Well, you're already here." She sighed, shrugging as she took another bite of toast.

"What're you reading?" George asked, trying to spark conversation with her.

Though the spark never lit into a fire, as she continued to shut his attempts of conversation down. It carried on like this all through breakfast, and all through potions. George didn't give up trying, but once class had finished he was even more confused and worried than he had been before. He couldn't fathom why she wouldn't just talk to him. Everyone talked to him and Fred if they weren't yelling at them, but she didn't even seem to dislike him. She just disliked conversation. 

But George was determined, so the next day he sat beside her at breakfast again. Only this time, she spoke first.

"Why do you keep trying to talk to me?" Y/N asked as soon as George had sat down, studying his features with a hard gaze.

George stumbled over his words for a moment. What was he meant to say? He couldn't say that she was interesting, because they barely had spoken properly. So after a moment he just sighed and decided to tell the truth. "Because you just seem a little down, and I want to help." He told her softly with a small smile.

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as she stared at George. It took a moment for her to process what George was saying, though once she had Y/N frowned. "Stop trying." She snapped almost venomously, grabbing her things quickly and abandoning her breakfast at the table to storm out of the Great Hall.

George watched her walk away for a moment before quickly getting out of his seat and following her against his better judgement.

He found her sat in the courtyard, her head in her hands as she sat underneath a huge oak tree.

Nothing was said as George took a seat beside her. She knew he was there, as she glanced up at him, though she didn't complain that he had followed her so he took it as a good thing.

"Have you ever heard about a boy called Nick Y/L/N?" She asked quietly.

Immediately George knew who she was on about. Nick had been on the quidditch team last year, so he'd seen him a few times. The last summer, word had gotten around that Nick had died after being hit by a car. Nick had been pretty popular, so a lot of people had been pretty sad over it.

"Yeah." George nodded, before frowning as he looked at Y/N. "Was he your boyfriend?"

"No." Y/N chuckled humourlessly, lifting a hand to wipe away tears that George only then noticed were running down her cheeks. "He was my brother.”

George frowned, his stomach immediately sinking. If he'd have known, he would have went around trying to make her talk to him a lot differently. He couldn't help but feel guilty about thinking she was just moody, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

"We were so close," Y/N started seeing as George hadn't said anything. "It was such a shock when he died and I-I just didn't know how to process it. I don't think it's quite hit me yet but.. but he's gone, and I'll- I'll never-" Y/N cut herself off as a sob wracked through her chest, many soon covering as her hands flew to cover her face.

George wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest as he held onto her tightly. He expected her to pull away or start yelling at him, but instead she just wrapped her arms around him and started crying into his chest. The ginger boy frowned, his own eyebrows furrowing as he rested his chin on top of her head.

He couldn't help but pick up on the fact that this was the first emotion he'd ever seen her show properly. Sadness.

After that, George carried on sticking with her. Only Y/N let him. She never spoke about what happened by the oak tree, though George could tell she was grateful. At first it was the same - Y/N didn't really respond to anything George said, and when she did it was just short and snappy replies. But after a while she started talking to him. They conversed through potions, and at breakfast when George had permanently started sitting with her, talking about the most random things. She smiled a little at a few of his jokes, and though it didn't quite meet her eyes, it made George smile twice as wide to know he'd made her smile.

George soon fell in love with the small things she did. Like the way she would fiddle with the ends of her robes in class if Snape was talking. Or how she would bite her lip whenever she was writing or focusing on potion brewing. Or the way she'd subtly smile at George because of a joke he'd said or a funny story. Along with it all, George fell in love with her.

Eventually, he made her laugh.

The two had been talking all breakfast, as usual, playfully bickering about one thing or another. They both knew there was no ill intent behind the words, as it was something they did all the time.

"Are you serious? No, George, pineapple does not belong on pizza." Y/N shook her head, smiling slightly as she spoke.

"When I find where I asked for your opinion I'll take it, but I haven't found it yet so I’ll stick with mine." George quipped back.

Instead of shooting back something else, Y/N couldn't help but break into entertained laughter. The sound was like music to George's ears, causing him to smile as he watched the beautiful girl in front of him laugh. Even after the spout of laughter had finished, there was still the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen painted across her lips.

George couldn't help himself. Without thinking he leaned forwards towards her, a hand lifting to her cheek as he let his lips collide with her's. It was short, as once he'd realised what he'd done the boy pulled away just as quickly with a shocked expression.

"Blimey I'm sorry!" He quickly apologised. "I shouldn't have-" Y/N cut him off by kissing him again.

When she'd pulled away, she had a soft smile across her lips that made George's heart melt with just about the rest of him.

"Thank you." Y/N said softly, looking down at their hands when George had grasped one of hers, lacing their fingers together.

George didn't have to ask what she was thanking him for, because he already knew. Instead he smiled back just as wide, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he nodded his head. "You're welcome, love."

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

  ��        “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2