#y’all probably won’t get to see this fic for a long time but it’ll happen one day :3

[hangesfavles]

Kitties and Compromises

4.3k words. nonbinary hange x fem reader, but readers gender is only mentioned twice.

Summary: Hange really wants a cat, and you don’t. On your way to work one day, you hear a distant meowing in a sewer drain.

No warnings btw! This is sfw and just fluffy <3

a/n!: hi! i don’t usually write fanfics. this is actually my first time seriously sitting down and trying to write a fic, but i was inspired by an experience that happened to me fairly recently!! i’m not sure if i’ll write any more fanfiction, but if y’all like my writing you can send in a request, but i can’t promise it’ll be done quickly 😓 i’ll probably only write wlw, nblw, or nblnb! as for characters, i’d be interested in writing for hange, yelena (from aot), moira o’deorain, junker queen, chloe price, or hazel callahan! also ik not that many people will probably see this, but if you like hange fanfics puh LEASE check out @abbyslev on tumblr and @sweetgirl_r on ao3! bc i love their works and they’ve both indirectly inspired me so much! pls read their work its amazing <3 cross posted on tumblr and ao3, pls don’t steal my writing btw :3

What were the odds of something like this happening to you? ​​Hange simply must’ve been manifesting this into the universe. The day started just like any other, waking up in the morning next to your spouse, Hange. You always wake up before them, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of Hange’s embrace. Even when they’re asleep they find ways to be clingy, whether that be trapping your body against their own as they cage you with their arms or simply latching onto your back and nuzzling your hair, it always makes mornings that much harder. You always admire their sleeping face before leaving your shared bed; Their peaceful expression and lack of their usual eyepatch reminds you how much they trust you. You groggily slip out of their arms, eliciting their normal whimpers and sleepy pleas for you to rejoin them. You kiss their cheek, not even bothering to respond to their words. You know they won’t remember their words or your own regardless. You get yourself dressed in your boring, formal work attire required for your office job. After fixing your hair in the mirror, you head to the bathroom first. You grab your toothbrush from the holder, smiling as you do so. The sight of Hange’s toothbrush next to your own always makes your heart flutter. Despite having lived with them for quite some time, you always fall victim to the butterflies in your stomach when you see your items mixed with their own. Simple things, like their “Best teacher” mug gifted to them by one of their students next to your plastic and faded Hello Kitty cup you’ve had since childhood, or your coat hanging on the same rack as theirs.

Your next stop is the kitchen. You always make lunch for yourself as well as Hange the night before, otherwise they’ll skip lunch entirely or on rare occasion buy fast food. It never bothers you, though. You love being able to do nice things for them. You know they appreciate it, because they send sweet ‘thank you’ messages along with a photo of them eating it every day without fail. Seeing their smile while eating the food you prepared specifically for them makes your effort completely worth it. You grab your food, placing it into your bag.

The third and final place you head towards is the living room. You grab your laptop- previously discarded- from the coffee table and place it in your bag as well. You groan softly with annoyance as you remember how Hange had distracted you last night from finishing a particularly long assignment from your boss. You had been working diligently for a few hours before Hange arrived home, demanding attention from you. You can’t even blame yourself, because how could you say no to your loving spouse’s puppy eyes? Not to mention the fact they had also enticed you by offering to watch a new movie with you until it was time to make dinner. That’s another action that never fails to make your heart beat faster in your chest. They make dinner while you prepare tomorrow’s lunch, always on the counter closest to them. You sigh as you think about the fact you’ll have a little bit of extra work to do while you leave the house and enter your car to drive to work.

Hange loves you. Everything about you, and anything that comes with you. They love your day-to-day routine, never growing bored even when doing monotonous tasks and chores. Things they had hated previously have magically become more interesting, like grocery shopping or doing laundry. But even so, something felt… missing. They were 100% sure this feeling has nothing to do with the love they have for you, or the love you have for them. They undeniably and unconditionally love you, otherwise they wouldn’t have proposed to you. They knew early on into your relationship that they wanted to spend the rest of their life with you by their side. Because of this, they want to have a family with you. Neither of you had been particularly fond of the idea of having children- at least, not yet. Having a child is a lot of work, as well as an incredibly big time and financial commitment. They want a cat. They knew that they wanted a pet cat before they had even moved out of their parents’ house… However, they also knew that you were against the idea. They’ve been begging for the past few months about how badly they want to adopt one, only to be shut down by you, saying how expensive it would be to buy one, as well as the essentials for it: a collar, carrier, grooming supplies, litter box, litter, a scooper, toys, food bowls, food in general, as well as occasional vet visits. Between both of your jobs, you and Hange live comfortably. If the two of you agreed to cut back on recreational spending, they were sure buying a pet was within reason, but they knew you didn’t want to. You enjoyed being able to go on nice dates with them on occasion, to the movies, aquarium, dinner, art museums, and sometimes you even do escape rooms together. They also savor the dates you go on together, but that doesn’t stop them from asking you at least twice a week if you’ve warmed up to the idea of owning a cat. Spoiler alert, you haven’t. So imagine their surprise when they receive a video call from you in the middle of class, revealing you holding a dirty, gray kitten with one hand.

Really, what were the odds of this happening? After getting out of your car when you arrived at the office building, you hear loud, high-pitched cries coming out of a nearby sewer. Your kind heart wouldn’t and couldn’t ignore it. You follow the sound, crouching in front of the drain, that’s when you see it. The tiniest kitten you’ve ever laid eyes on, seemingly trapped at the bottom of a sewer drain. You jog as fast as your heels can take you, alerting your boss about the situation, telling him you’ll clock in as soon as you can help the poor thing. He graciously allows you to do so, a perk of being a dedicated manager. You jog back towards the drain, kneeling down to look at the kitten again. You were sure if you called the cops that they would take hours to show up, if at all. Instead, you search for the phone number of your local fire department.

Saving this goddamn cat was a long process. Who knew removing the cover of a drain would take so long? It had taken over two hours to remove the cover, and then another forty five minutes to lure the kitten close enough for the firefighter to grab. The kitten was left in your care after it was safely removed from the drain. Luckily, it was dry except for its paws. You were considering what you should do at this moment. The kitten doesn’t seem to have a collar, and you can see a few fleas crawling around on its back. You realize that you simply can’t place it on the ground to roam free once more, what if it’s hungry? What if it gets hurt or stuck again? You’re not sure you would be able to sleep at night knowing you abandoned the cat. You figure you should first and foremost take it to the vet to see if it possibly has an owner who microchipped it. Before doing so, you decide to do what any rational person would do, call Hange. You feel bad for bothering Hange when you know that they’re working, but you wanted to tell them what you’ve dealt with for the past three hours.

When Hange feels the vibration of their phone in their pocket, illuminating from your call, they know that they should answer. They hold their phone in their hand before glancing around their classroom, the eyes of their students peering at them curiously. They chuckle nervously. “...Ah, pardon me for a minute! My wife is calling me. Feel free to chatter while I’m away, just be sure to keep it down, okay?” They give the class an awkward thumbs up and a matching smile. They aren’t sure if you’ve ever called them while they were working, and they feel a pang of worry as they step out of their classroom and into the hallway to answer the call.

The look on their face was priceless. Their eye widens a little with confusion, their lips parting as if they wanted to say something, but they clearly have trouble finding the words. You speak before they do, explaining briefly how you heard the kitten crying, the amount of time it took to save the small creature, and how you plan to take it to a vet to see if it has an owner. After you’re finished speaking, Hange is quick to ask you “Can we keep it if it doesn’t have a chip? C’mon, pretty please? This opportunity is perfect! We won’t have to pay hundreds of dollars to adopt one, we just gotta cover the essentials!” They beg you, barely even stopping for breath as they plead quickly. “I don’t know, Han… Let me take it to the vet first. I’ll let you know what happens from there.���

Hange has been on the edge of their seat all day. You’ve been sending them updates, albeit slowly, considering the kitten is being tested for multiple things, like parasites, ear and eye infections, and other long term health conditions like feline leukemia. What they know so far is that the kitten is- according to the vet- probably a girl, not microchipped, and the poor thing is infested with fleas. You had mentioned to Hange that the vet said it’s a little bit early to tell if she’s really a girl, but that she currently looks like one. Hange has never been so attached to their phone at work before. They can’t help but glance at it between sentences, hoping to see their screen lit up by a message from you.

Today has been tiring, despite not even truly having gone into work. You’re stressed, nervous, and worst of all, bored. Your boredom doesn’t help your running thoughts. Instagram can only distract your brain so much when all you can think about is this kitten you’ve unwillingly bonded with. The longer you sit in the waiting room, the more you realize how worried you really are about being able to keep the kitten, despite your initial reservations about keeping a stray animal. She was just that cute. Throughout the whole car ride to the vet, she sat in your lap obediently, even curling up into a ball and purring. Not once did she cry or try to escape your lap. She had only started crying once you left her alone with the vet, and that broke your heart more than you’re willing to admit. You already feel like you have a bond with her, and it would be devastating if she happened to be sick or injured. What you’re waiting for right now is for her to use the bathroom. Number two is preferable, but they would work with number one if that’s all she could do. You silently thank yourself for stopping by a grocery store to get her some canned cat food, which she had eaten in the car on the way here. After waiting in the vet for a whopping 4 more hours, they had concluded all of the proper tests. The vet calls you back into the exam room, ready to talk about the results. Apparently, she ended up doing number 2 when she was left alone in a kennel. “Hello Mrs. Zoe!” He says with a friendly smile. “So, I’ll start with the bad news. Our little friend here has plenty of fleas, which I’m sure you saw already, and after running tests on her stool, I found that she does indeed have a parasite.” After hearing his words, you feel your nervousness festering more than ever. You nod at his words, urging him to continue. “But, there’s plenty of good news. The parasite is nothing life-threatening. She just needs to be medicated every day for a week. Other than that, she is entirely healthy. Do you plan on keeping her?” You think about your answer for a moment, but inside, you knew your mind was already made up. You had plenty of time to think about it in the waiting room, and you can’t deny the fact you’re already smitten with the small animal. You nod at him, a small smile appearing on your face as well. “Well, that’s great! You’ll have to come back tomorrow or the day after to pick up her medicine. We’ll give you a call when it’s ready to be picked up.” He flashes you another award-winning smile before leaving the room to retrieve the kitten. “Congratulations, she’s very well behaved.” He comments as he hands her back to you carefully. “Thank you, doctor. My spouse is going to be absolutely over the moon.” You giggle softly as you hold her once more and leave the office. You hold the kitten in one hand, and reach into your pocket to check the time on your phone. By now, it was almost time for Hange to get off of work. You sit in the car, the kitten once more making herself comfortable on your lap. You try not to think about her fleas as you take a moment to video call Hange once more.

Hange had just finished their last class of the day when you called. They were sitting at their desk, grading some old assignments before they officially left school. This was typical for them, because they absolutely hated dealing with the traffic caused by all of the other teachers, as well as students and school buses leaving the area at once. They see your call and immediately answer with a huge, dopey smile on their face. “Hi, love!” They exclaim, evidently excited for whatever updates you’re going to give them. When the video loads, they aren’t met with your dazzling beauty, but another small, adorable face. You can’t help but giggle as you look down at your phone, the angle making the kitten look funny. She paws the screen in front of her. “D'aww!! She’s so cuteee!” Hange squeals with excitement at the view. You giggle lightheartedly at Hange’s childish excitement. Their enthusiasm for the world around them was something that drew you in immediately about them, and it is still a trait that you adore. “Isn’t she? She’s so sweet and well behaved.” You move the phone away from the kitty, instead showing Hange your face. “Has she melted your cold heart already?” They tease with a soft chuckle. “Oh, shut up Hange!” You giggle at their joke anyways. “I’m just teasing, love. Soooo… Is she ours? Is she healthy?” They ask excitedly, but they already assume that the answer is yes, considering how happy you seem to be. “I just got done speaking with the vet, apparently she has a parasite.” You notice Hange’s lips part into an ‘o’ shape as you say this. You can also notice the concern morphing its way into their features. “But he said that after being medicated for… like… a week or so, she should be perfectly fine.” Hange’s earlier excitement makes a comeback, the worry melting off their features as they squeal a bit. “C’mon, we have to keep her!” They whine and plead. “You love her already, it’s obvious. Stop avoiding the question.” A pout forms on Hange’s lips as they try to convince you for the umpteenth time to have a pet. You sigh softly at their cute expression, giggling breathily at their antics. “I do love her. And you’re right, this is a perfect chance for us to have a pet since we didn’t have to buy her. I guess love is about compromise, or whatever… And since I know how much you’ve always wanted a cat, we can keep her.”

Hange had rushed home in record speed. It’s shocking that they got home in one piece without any tickets or crashes. You were right in the assumption that they would be over the moon about this perfect coincidence, Hange wanted to meet her more than anything. You have been home for a bit by the time Hange arrives at your shared home. They practically launch through the door, before realizing their excitement might startle the kitten. When you hear the door opening, you greet them at the door with your arms open wide. They quickly rush into your embrace, lifting you up and enthusiastically shaking you around. They place a chaste kiss on your lips before putting you on the floor once more. “Not that I’m not excited to see you, but where is she?” They ask with childlike excitement. They’re practically bouncing off the walls. As if on cue, a high pitched cry emits from the bathroom. “I have her in the bathroom right now and I put a blanket in there with her. We’re-” Your sentence is cut off by Hange making their way to the bathroom, carefully opening the door. You smile at their excitement, following after them. “Make sure she doesn’t get out. We’re gonna need to give her a flea bath before she can leave the bathroom.” Hange mumbles out a ‘mhm’ before kneeling beside the bathtub. The kitten is looking up at them with big doe eyes. Hange is doing all they can not to squeal and shout from how utterly adorable she is. You decide to take a seat on top of the closed toilet, simply content to see your partner so lively. Hange carefully outstretches their hand to the animal, who seems to back away the tiniest bit. “Heeeeyyyyyyy baby…” They whisper quietly. “Pspspsp…” The kitten sniffs Hange’s finger skeptically, but doesn’t react otherwise. They take this as a sign that it’s okay to pet her. Two of their lithe fingers scratch at the top of the kitten's head, much to her content. Hange mumbles sweet, hushed words to the animal that you can’t really hear. The world around you seems to grow blurry, as you tune out everything else that isn’t your partner and your newfound pet. There wasn’t anything else worth caring about at the moment. The tenderness Hange displays, a stark contrast from their typical erraticism, has your heart thumping in your chest. Hange has always been equally caring as they are observant. While Hange will probably always be excitable, they’re very aware of other’s emotions. They know when someone is overwhelmed or tired, or maybe shy and nervous, meaning they always know when they should turn it down a notch. Quiet moments with them were always your favorite moments. Moments where you two could simply be, without the need for conversation or action. Moments like this morning, where you can stare at their tired face without any ounce of uncomfort. Hange scoops up the kitten into their arms, holding her near their chest, seemingly unbothered by the fleas littering her body. They look up at you, smiling with their teeth and giggling. Their eyes are squinted shut by how much they’re smiling. Even as you’re lost in thought, not fully aware, you smile back at them unconsciously because it’s second nature. You snap out of your trance when you see a flea jump off of her body. “Yuck.” You say, squishing the bug with your shoe and picking it up with a piece of toilet paper. “I picked up some flea shampoo when I went to get her something to eat.” You say, holding up a purple bottle. “She won’t like this, but put her in the sink.”

The two of you have spent the better part of an hour picking the rest of the bugs out of the kitten's fur. The flea bath helped substantially, but there were still some that crawled around. Neither of you have spotted bugs for a few minutes, so you retire from your task, wrapping the small animal in a towel as Hange holds her, trying to transfer their own warmth to her. “She’s such a sweetie.” They coo softly, bouncing the kitty as if she’s a small child. “We should feed her soon. Did you get anything else from the pet store?” They ask, tilting their head at you as they ask. “No, she got really antsy when she was alone for too long, so I tried to run in and out as fast as possible. We’re gonna have to go back.” “Oh, but we can’t leave her to go out, what if she thinks we abandoned her!?” They ask you with puppy eyes. “We can’t take her out, she could still have fleas. I can ask someone to watch her while we go out.” You say, pulling out your phone to text one of your and Hange’s shared friends.

Levi and Erwin step into your home, the former appearing to be intensely displeased. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this on a weekday.” Levi grumbles, while Erwin smiles politely at you and Hange. “He’s being dramatic, it’s no trouble. You two will only be gone for an hour before we head home again.” Erwin chuckles, walking to the living room, where the now dried kitten sits on the couch. She runs and hides at the sight of so many people. “Thank you guys for doing this, I know it’s last minute.” You chuckle nervously at Levi’s obvious irritation. “We didn’t exactly have the luxury to give you notice, Shorty.” Hange teases, grinning as Levi rolls his eyes. “Whatever, three eyes. Get going so we can get home already.” Hange pouts, not only from the nickname, but also at the fact they’re being rushed out of their own home. You try not to burst out laughing at the nickname. “Three eyes is diabolical.” You choke out, opting to take their hand and head out, hopefully so Hange doesn’t feel embarrassed. “We’ll be back soon, thank you again!” You wave, before hopping in the car with a pouting Hange to get supplies for your currently unnamed pet.

Who knew shopping with Hange would take so long? You knew, actually. You were vaguely aware of the fact that Hange’s erraticism isn’t the best trait when trying to go shopping quickly. You’ve only been shopping with them a few times, and after an hour of bouncing around the store, it becomes a little bit tiring. This doesn’t even account for the many different random items they tend to pick up and insist they need. A similar thing happens when you attempt to shop for your cat. You asked Hange to find a decently sized litter box, and they come back to beg you for toys they think look funny, a bed shaped like a ramen cup, a hat for the kitten, and a matching onesie for her. You have to refrain from twitching your eye as they entirely forgot to get the litter box you tasked them to find. You end up putting the toys, bed, and hat in the basket, since you planned on buying her these things anyway. “Han... My beloved... You forgot the litter box.” You watch as they chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of their neck. “Right... Be right back.” They turn away, determined to get the litter box, (and only the litter box,) while you decide between two bundles of kitten food.

Hange finds you once more, looping their arms around your waist. You’re momentarily shocked, but you quickly recognize the scent of them surrounding you. They place their head on your shoulder, proud of the fact they managed not to pick up anything except the litter box. They poke your cheek, giving you a grin. When you turn your head towards them, they tap their finger against their cheek, silently asking to be rewarded for completing the task you gave them. You roll your eyes playfully and give them a soft peck.

You return home after an hour and a half, being slightly delayed by Hange’s typical short and ever-changing attention span. Erwin helps you and Hange bring in the bags of cat necessities. You and Hange tiredly plop down on your couch once you’ve finished, feeling tired from all the events of the day. Levi sighs from beside you. You and Hange look at him, seeing the cat curled up and sleeping on his lap. “This damn cat wouldn't leave me alone. Always craving attention, like it can't survive without constant petting. Needy little furball.” He grumbles. Despite his attitude, he still allows her to sleep in his lap, which you and Hange are both grateful for. He carefully picks her up, shifting her into Hange’s lap instead. They both try their best to ensure she isn’t disturbed by the transfer. You stand up as Levi does, seeing the couple out. “Thank you both again for doing this. We’ll see you guys on Sunday for dinner. It’s our turn to cook this week!” You giggle. Erwin pats your shoulder in a dad-like fashion. “Don’t mention it. Levi was loving the attention she gave him. See you Sunday.” He smiles. To this, Levi rolls his eyes, elbowing his lover lightly as you see them out.

Once again, you plop on the couch beside your own lover. They look at you with worry. “What are we going to do with her? She’s gonna be so scared if we leave her at home, all alone...” You raise your eyebrow, wondering where this conversation is leading. “I’m sure she’ll get used to it. It’s impossible for us to have someone watch her every day while we’re at work.” In response to your words, they cover the kitten's ears. “You’re evil! How could you talk about our daughter that way?” They pout, giving you puppy eyes. You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully at their joke. “You know...” They start. You look at them tiredly, knowing you probably won't like whatever comes next. “We could always get another to keep her company.”

[rkived]

year 22 (m) — jjk

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ 

Pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader 

Genre/Tags: angst!!!, drama, a lil fluff, f2l, e2l-ish, pining, slow burn, smut

Rating: M +18

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: time jumps, underage drinking, jk being a douchebag for most of the fic, reader can’t catch a mf break, mention of character death ((no major one tho)). smut in the form of oral (f. receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex ((wrap it b4 u tap it y’all)), my being called pretty kink making a brief appearance soz

A/N: i listened to cardigan for the first time n had it on replay the whole time i wrote this so ig u should do it too ! this is my first time posting smut on here but who would i be if i didn’t throw in some good angst ? also tysm to @periminkle​ for being my unofficial beta reader n checking it up for me, she knows i’m constantly looking for her validation n i def wouldn’t post this if she didn’t love it ilu vira thx for being the best ever mwah !!! 

You’re five, cowering behind his mother’s legs, sniffing as tears stream down your face. In front of you both stands Jungkook, there’s remorse written all over his face as his mother stares him down with hands on her hips and a look that just screams that this is only the beginning of his punishment. 

‘’Apologize to Y/N right now Jungkook, or I’ll have your father have a word with you,’’ she threatens with a stern tone, making her son quickly shake his head no. ‘‘You need to learn how to share your toys.’’ 

You peek behind her lanky leg and find the slightly older kid looking at you with narrowed eyes, ‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’’ He apologizes with a bow, but he’s obviously displeased with the whole ordeal. 

His mother sighs and Jungkook pouts at the look on her face. She urges you to come out from your not-so-secret hiding spot and to go back to playing with him, even though you seriously doubt that will do any good to what just happened. 

Jungkook’s bedroom door is kept open as he sits back down on his city patterned carpet, you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the Spiderman poster on his wall. There’s an awkward silence between you two until you feel a toy bump your crisscrossed legs. 

It’s the shiny red car he had refused to lend you before, provoking an argument between you two which eventually made you run out of his room in tears as you ratted him out to his mom. 

‘‘Wooow,’’ you whisper in awe, taking the car in your hands with so much care, treating it like it’s one of your newest dolls. 

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms as he looks at you with distaste and he’s forced to settle with other boring toys as you giggle to yourself, making the car follow the carpet’s tracks. He learns then to never trust his mother again. If she ever says she’ll bring a new friend for him to play with again, he’ll refuse wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t like sharing his toys, and it’ll probably take him a long time to learn how to.

You’re nine as you hand Jungkook one of the multiple Valentine’s Day cards you carefully crafted the night before with your mother, adding all kinds of pretty stickers and shiny glitter to make each one of them unique. His is different from the rest, though. 

You added hearts to the dots in the I’s, there’s a hint of your favorite body splash enveloping the pink construction paper and it fills Jungkook’s nostrils with so much force that he feels he could gag at the smell. 

‘‘What do you think?’’ You ask the fourth-grader with a big smile on your face, cheeks tinted with a light shade of red as you see him reading the little message you wrote inside the card.

Jungkook lets out a mocking chuckle, ‘‘Are you serious? You like me?’’ He asks you, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking for answers. Your smile slowly fades away, looking at him with glossy eyes, ‘‘I don’t like you, you’re just a dumb little girl.’’ 

His card was the one you had invested the most time in and yet it only took him a second to crumple it with his hand, and another five for him to toss it into the trash can near you before he goes back to his group of friends in the school’s playground.

You learn how to hold your tears in then, thinking it’s a great accomplishment and that maybe now he’ll stop calling you a crybaby.

His friends receive him with high-fives and he smiles with gratefulness because they just saw how much of a badass he can be. Once recess is over and everyone’s going back to their classrooms, Jungkook nears the garbage bin where he had thrown the Valentine's card in, but finds it’s now dirty with yogurt someone tossed inside. 

He grimaces at the sight and sighs, there’s no way he can save it now.

You’re twelve and you’re the only girl in the treehouse who hasn’t gone through puberty yet. It wasn’t something that bothered you until just recently, when it became pretty evident why none of the boys would even give you a onceover compared to the other girls.

“I don’t know if I want to play,” you mumble after Kim Jihyo suggests playing spin the bottle. You’re the only one who opposes the idea, though you could count Jungkook in given as he just sat there without saying a word.

Park Yerim rolls her eyes, “You’re so boring, Y/N!” The comment makes the rest giggle as you pout at being the designated party pooper. 

It’s all fun and games of truth and dares to whoever the bottle lands on and you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the tip of the plastic Coca-Cola bottle to point at you, until it lands on Jungkook who has done a few funny dares so far.

“Alright, Jungkook, let’s make things even more fun!” Jihyo announces since she’s been the one who has assigned most of the embarrassing challenges and questions, “I dare you to kiss one of the girls here for ten seconds.” 

The dare makes the boys cheer with excitement and the girls gasp with anticipation, hoping one of them is the lucky chosen one. Your lips part slightly as you stare at him sitting across from you, he’s clearly not comfortable with the dare, but knowing him, he won’t express his current discomfort. 

His eyes land on you as you stare back at him with concern, hoping that he’ll speak up to avoid himself the embarrassment. Has he even kissed someone before? If this is his first kiss, you’ll witness it alongside everyone else and you can only imagine how terrifying that must be. Even though Jungkook’s always been a brave kid, you can always tell when he feels under pressure.

“Uhm, I’ll uh—“ Jungkook keeps staring at you and you feel your heart start to beat like you just ran the usual ten laps around the gym in P.E class. Are you about to have your first kiss? With him? 

You nod your head absentmindedly, a sign to let him know it’s okay for him to pick you from all the other developed girls who probably have more experience kissing than you do, but it’s okay because you’ve always been a quick learner. 

“Yeji,” Jungkook says after what feels like forever, though it’s only been a mere few seconds, “I’ll kiss Yeji.” He adds, removing his eyes from yours and settling them on the girl with the high ponytail and pink colored nails. 

You bite your bottom lip hard, breaking the dry skin as you feel yourself taste blood. It doesn’t matter because no one’s paying attention to you and instead they’re focused on Jungkook’s neverending kiss with Yeji. 

When you get home that night, you look at yourself in the mirror and frown at your lack of everything. Is this the reason as to why he hadn’t picked you? 

You’re fourteen and Kim Taehyung just sent you a message through MSN in which he confesses to have feelings for you. Your eyes widen, rereading the message several times, rubbing at your eyes just to make sure you’re seeing things correctly. 

You run off across the street to Jungkook’s house, ringing the doorbell quickly for someone to open up. You’re greeted by him looking at you with an annoyed expression, he had to pause his GTA game to come and open the door. 

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks harshly, crossing his arms as he stares into somewhere that’s not your face. He’s anxiously waiting for you to spit out whatever it is you’re there to say. 

You calm yourself down by breathing in deep and out, blowing the air right at him, “Does Taehyung like me?” You ask him, making Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise and his brows to raise. 

His reaction tells you that you might’ve just discovered a secret you weren’t supposed to and it only makes your heart beat even faster because if it’s true, then this is a pleasant surprise. Kim Taehyung is one of the hottest boys in the tenth grade and he happens to be one of Jungkook’s closest friends. You think he must know something since you see them hanging out at lunch.

“Uh—I don’t know, Y/N.” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, finally looking at you and he feels a gut wrenching punch in his stomach at the sight. “Taehyung isn’t a really good guy, you shouldn’t—“ 

“What are you saying?” You interrupt him with a question, confused as to why Jungkook was painting a negative picture of his friend. “He was really sweet with what he said, he thinks my eyes are pretty when they sparkle — I didn’t even know they did that!” 

Jungkook grimaces and sighs, there’s really not much he can do here. You’ve always been so stubborn, so relentless. No matter how many times life tries to tell you something’s not meant for you, you challenge each and every one of it’s obstacles until you take what’s yours. 

“Okay, then what are you gonna do? Date him? You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.” Jungkook reminds you with a mocking tone and you furrow your brows together because, how does he know that? 

You stammer, “I-I have! I had it at camp last summer, actually!” That’s a lie, but he wasn’t there so he can’t prove the veracity of your statement. “And what do you care? So what if I want to date him?” You add with anger, not understanding why couldn’t he just support you in search of true love. 

The thought of dating Kim Taehyung had never crossed your mind, thinking he was way too out of your league for him to ever notice you. But that confession sitting in your MSN chat now served as a nice feeling of knowing you aren’t as invisible as you think you are. 

Jungkook scoffs, “Taehyung would never date you, okay? He’s older than you, he’s cool, he goes to parties and has kissed almost every girl in his grade, do you think he’d really like someone as boring as you?” He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but you’re just so difficult and impossible to get through.

Jungkook’s used to the trembling bottom lip and the teary eyes that you give him everytime he says something that definitely strikes a nerve within you, but he’s always impressed on how you always refrain from crying in front of him. Last time you did that you were both kids and he probably took the last lollipop from your batch of collected halloween candy. 

“Screw you, Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead already. 

He looks at you quickly stomp your way back to your house, only heading back inside once you slam your front door shut. Jungkook enters his room to find two new messages in his MSN.

$$ kIm tAaEhyYyuNG $$: it worked! 

$$ kIm tAeEhyYyunGG $$: she fell for it xDxD where did u even come up with the sparkly eyes thing?? that’s gold bro rofl 

Jungkook sighs, ignoring the messages and shutting his computer down.

You’re sixteen and you’ve been invited to your first party. Granted, it was Jungkook’s, but he knew that if he didn’t ask you to come you’d probably tell on him with his mom. No matter what age he was, he’d always fear his mother’s scolding. 

“Drink this!” Park Jimin says with his beautiful smile and you’re starting to realize why they gave him that very same superlative on the school’s yearbook. You take the red solo cup without any second thought, placing the rim straight to your lips and choke once you feel the liquid burn your throat. 

“Ugh—What’s this?” You ask, cleaning the droplets of liquid around the corners of your mouth. 

He chuckles, “Fruit punch!” The liquid is indeed red like the familiar drink you’re used to, but there’s definitely something else mixed inside. “Oh, and vodka,” he adds with wiggly eyebrows as he shows off the small flask he was hiding in his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

You gasp and hand him the cup back, “No, I don’t drink alcohol, sorry.” Jimin rolls his eyes and it reminds you of the many times you’ve received this same reaction from your classmates before. Always a party pooper. He’s about to take the plastic red cup from you until you quickly drink the spiked punch in one go.

The boy howls in excitement, “Woo, go Y/N! Another one coming right up.” 

Jungkook knows he should be making sure everything’s alright downstairs. If his mother notices there’s at least one misplaced object, she’ll know right away something went down in her house while her husband and her were away for the weekend on an emergency trip to their hometown. Leaving him unsupervised only because they both believed their son was old enough to tend for himself.

But Jung Eunha had dragged him into his room with the excuse of wanting to see what it looked like, but the mini tour had turned into them kissing on his bed and Jungkook is thankful he changed his Spiderman sheets in exchange for some boring plain grey ones. Eunha smells like fresh mint and Jungkook is way into his head to focus on properly kissing her.

It’s not until his bedroom door is abruptly open, slamming against the wall that Jungkook literally jumps to his feet, making Eunha gasp as they both look at the person who has interrupted their awkward makeout session. 

“Guk-ah, what are you doin’?” You curiously wonder, a hiccup following right after which makes you giggle. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with quickness as he notices you look different from the last time he saw you twenty minutes ago when you were talking to Jimin. “Guk-ah, were you—you kissin’ Eunha?” You ask once more after not receiving an answer to your previous question.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks in concern, coming closer to analyze your weird state. You stretch your arm out to avoid him from nearing you, making him falter in his place as he studies your expression. 

You hum, “Guk-ah, you busy. Sorry,” you apologize in a shy tone, ready to head back down and have more of that fruity alcohol punch you now found tasty, but you stumble and only avoid yourself from falling by holding onto Jungkook's door frame, he’s already reaching out by then. 

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N? Get out!” Eunha complains with irritation, getting up from the bed and ready to kick you out of his room, but his free arm stops her from getting near you. “Whu—?”

“Eunha, go back down. I’ll deal with her myself.” Jungkook says as calmly as he can, thinking three’s a crowd and dealing with you wasn’t an easy thing in of itself. She’s about to argue, but he interrupts her again, “Go down, now.” 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against yours harshly once she steps out of his room, “Whatever, that kiss was shitty anyway.” 

He pretends he didn’t hear that and takes you in his arms instead, dragging you to lay on his bed as you cuddle into his favorite pillow and hug it close to your body. How much did you drink? Why did you even do it in the first place? Jungkook knows you’ve never tried alcohol before, which means he’ll be in big trouble if you show up back to your house like this. 

When you open your eyes hours later, your head hurts and it feels lightweight when you move it side to side. The room you’re in is familiar, that spiderman poster is still hung on the wall, but there are no more toys laying around the floor; they’ve probably been stored somewhere in his garage or sent off to a donation center under his mother’s demand.

The pillow that you’re hugging smells just like him and any other day you’d hold on to it tighter and inhale his scent like your life depended on it, but you abruptly sit on the bed as you’re reminded of how you got here. The action is not appreciated by your dizzy head, but you look around the room to notice how dark it is and there’s no more music playing downstairs. 

You quickly jump to the ground, only to hear a “Fuck, ouch!” from below, stepping on Jungkook’s leg unintentionally. It makes you gasp, looking down to notice the older friend laying on the cold floor, having gotten rid of that childhood carpet of his. His head’s laying on a makeshift pillow made out of a towel and he’s trying hard not to shiver. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” You quickly apologize, stepping away from his figure as he soothes the shin of his leg you stepped on. “Jungkook, what happened?” 

He sighs, “Someone decided to drink like five cups of spiked punch knowing damn well it was their first time drinking alcohol, stepped into my room like a crazy person, and then crashed on my bed like they—What’s with the face?”

“Bathroom.”

Jungkook grimaces while he holds your hair back, you’re throwing away all the liquid you had taken with a few additional snacks you had munched on earlier, “Are you done?” He asks in a tired mumble and you shake your head no.

He feels guilty that you’re in this position. He didn’t even want to kiss Eunha, but she was one of the most popular girls in his grade and he knew that if he turned her down she would most likely put a bad word in with the rest of the girls and the guys would make fun of him for being such a wuss.

That would’ve been better, because after laying you down on his bed he had to go down and tell everyone that the party was over, putting an excuse that the neighbors had warned him and threatened to call the cops. They all cleared pretty quickly, but he knew he was going to be the butt of the jokes come Monday. He even had to call your parents to let them know you had gone home to a friend’s house for a sleepover, which he knew wasn’t totally believable, but it had somehow gotten them convinced that their daughter was alright because they trusted Jungkook to never hurt you ever. 

Once you feel like you’ve puked your stomach out, Jungkook hands you a pill accompanied with a glass of water and hands you clothes of his that might be more comfortable to sleep in. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper once you’re laying back on his bed, still hugging the pillow he preferred to sleep with. He makes a sacrifice to make it up to you. 

His back is going to hurt by the time the sun comes out in a few hours, but it’s okay if it means you’ll sleep comfortably after the events of tonight. “Good night, Y/N.” 

He’s unable to sleep, but finds entertainment in your hanging hand beside his bed. The skin on your palm looks soft and there’s this strange urge inside of him that makes him want to grab your hand in his, but he refrains. 

To calm the current chaos in his head, Jungkook finds peace in the light snores coming from his bed.

You’re just about to turn eighteen and your date to the prom is Jeong Jaehyun, who had only asked you out a day before the event because the girl he had initially wanted to take had been asked and he didn’t have a plan B. 

Jaehyun is okay, at least he managed to get you a corsage that matched the color of your dress. He even smiles in the pictures your parents take of you both as you awkwardly try to look comfortable with his arms around you even though by then you had only exchanged a few sentences. 

The prom’s theme is Summer Nights and you think it’s fitting considering this is the very last event before the graduation ceremony, meaning that you’d most likely never see most of these people ever again. You had purposely applied to a college that was outside of your hometown for that same reason. You’re ready to live the life you’ve always wanted to live, without anyone judging or knowing you. 

Your date spends most of the night talking with his group of friends as you’re left alone on your table, looking at your well manicured nails. You knew you weren’t going to get the same prom experience the high school kids on T.V enjoyed, but you at least hoped it would’ve been a little more fun than this.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around to see Jungkook trying to loosen the tight tie around his neck. He looks incredibly handsome and you suppose his mother helped him pick the suit out, Jungkook rarely ever wore fitted clothing, so this is one of those once in a lifetime moments..

“Hey you,” you say and he gives you half a smile, wondering why you’re sitting by yourself at an empty table when everyone else was either mingling or dancing. “Where’s your date?” You ask with curiosity, you’re surprised that Jinsoul isn’t trailing alongside him given how she had behaved for the past week ever since he asked her to come with him. 

“Retouching her face or something,” he answers casually, “what are you doing sitting here? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jungkook asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t know, probably talking with the guys of the basketball team. He’s been gone for a while.” Not like you care, anyway. If your conversation with him inside his car on the way to the venue had been any indication of what it would’ve been like for the rest of the night, you’re glad he's not here trying to make any more small talk with you.

Jungkook huffs, thinking he’ll kick his ass if he sees him. He had asked him to invite you so you wouldn’t come alone, and yet here you are, sitting all by yourself while the douchebag’s making a social life somewhere in the crowd. He calms down once he notices how unbothered you are by it, though. You’re a big girl now, you’ve been through too much to be affected by something as simple as this.

“Is there something you wan—“

“Dance!” You interrupt with excitement and Jungkook chuckles.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted something to drink, but—alright, let’s dance.” Jungkook can’t dance for shit, but you took lessons when you were younger and he can still remember how you’d always show him the routines you learned in class. He’d always boo you, but in reality you were pretty good. He wonders why you stopped, he doesn’t recall you ever telling him.

It’s just his luck that once you both step into the dancefloor, the hired DJ stops the up-tempo song playing before and switches to a much slower romantic one, “Alright everyone, I want all the couples on the dancefloor for this one.” 

You step away from him with nervousness, it’s couples only after all. But Jungkook holds onto your lower back firmly, pulling you closer into his space. Your eyebrows raise as your lips part, “Uh, s-should we, uh—?” 

“It’s just a song, Y/N. You wanted to dance, then we’ll dance.” He tells you with such confidence it makes you feel like this is totally normal and something all friends do. All the known High School couples are dancing together, heads tenderly placed over chests and chins resting lovingly above them. You wait for Jungkook to take the lead because you have no clue of what you should be doing, you might’ve taken dance lessons years ago but you’ve never slowed danced in your life. 

Jungkook places his hand on your hip, the touch makes goosebumps crawl in your arms. He pretends he doesn’t notice it as he takes your right hand in his. You stare at the way he delicately holds it like it’s his mother’s fine china. “Place your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructs and you do as asked, your palm coming to rest on the strong muscle. 

He’s only slowed danced once before at a family member’s wedding where his mother taught him how to, with her as the teacher. Back then he thought it was incredibly ridiculous, but now he’s sort of glad that happened because he’s the teacher now and you’re now looking at him with your big eyes as you sway alongside him. 

You clear your throat, “This isn’t that hard.” Jungkook nods as he stares down at you, noticing how uneasy you are given that you’re looking at everything and not entirely immersed in the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says out of nowhere, making you look at him like a deer stuck in headlights, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had never called you that before. 

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, looking away from his intense gaze as you try not to take his words too literally, “Ha ha, that was a good one.” To you there’s no other explanation than this being one of his mean pranks on you.

But Jungkook doesn’t falter both his words and gaze, “I’m not laughing.” There’s seriousness in his voice and you have to look back at him again just to make sure he really isn’t, “You look beautiful, just take the compliment.” You nod and there’s silence between you two after that. You’re digesting the romantic lyrics that the singer is talking about and hope that the song ends soon, because you’ve never been this close to him and it’s starting to feel too crowded.

You clear your throat, “So…” 

“So…,” he repeats. 

“What are you doing for summer?” You ask him in an attempt to break the tension and wanting to take advantage of the little intimate moment since Jungkook rarely ever lets you pry into his private life. 

“I think I’ll train before heading off,” he answers. It was more than obvious he was going to earn that sports scholarship he had been aiming for, he was one of the best athletes on the school; though you considered him to be the number one between them all. “I’m kinda scared, not gonna lie.” 

You look at him with surprise, tilting your head to the side, “You’re scared?” You ask in disbelief because as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been scared of anything. This is the same kid who instilled your fear of monsters in a closet after watching Monster’s Inc. together, also the same kid who helped you get over it after he realized you had actually taken it seriously.

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, I’m just scared about starting over.” It’s interesting how his biggest fear is the one you’re looking forward to the most, but you suppose it’s fitting for someone who has never had to worry about what people think of him. In this town, Jungkook has swam freely without any concerns. Out there, he’s just another fish in the big and scary ocean. “Aren’t you?” He questions, hoping that you’re able to relate to what he’s feeling. 

“Honestly, I—“ 

You’re interrupted by Jaehyun clearing his voice in front of you two, making you both turn your heads towards his direction. You quickly separate from Jungkook and he feels his body lose the warmness you were providing. 

“If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked. I’m your date after all.” He says smugly and you chuckle awkwardly, nodding because he’s right. 

Jungkook wants to punch his stupid face, how dare he interrupt you both when he had been ignoring you the whole night? Why does he suddenly want to dance with you when he’s probably still upset at him for asking Jinsoul to the prom before he could?

“Your date’s looking for you, buddy. She doesn’t look too happy.” Jaehyun adds with a smirk as he takes your hand in his and drags you away from Jungkook towards another place on the dancefloor. 

He’s left to stare at the way he holds your hand, and he only hopes he’s doing it ever so carefully. 

You’re twenty when Jungkook sees you for the first time since you both left for college two and half a years ago. He’s rendered speechless when he spots you in the crowd, there’s a manly hand around your waist as you giggle into the stranger’s mouth before placing a kiss to his lips. 

There’s only so much social media can provide him, pictures and stories aren’t enough for Jungkook to keep up with you. He thinks you’ve changed, not only appearance wise but you seem way more outgoing, carefree, and happy. Did he miss the boyfriend announcement picture? He’s sure he didn’t, he checks your profile almost every day and he’s never even seen him in any of your stories. 

A gasp escapes your lips once you spot him, completely forgetting about the possibility of bumping into him given that both your schools were playing against each other that night. You tell Namjoon you’ll be right back and he nods, going back to a conversation with the group of college friends you had made. 

You surprise him by jumping into him, arms around his shoulders as you hug him from behind. You let out a shrill of excitement and he blushes as his friends chuckle at the unexpected approach from this unfamiliar girl. 

‘‘Jungkook! You didn’t tell me you’d be here,’’ you say once he turns around to face you and he’s able to see you better upfront. You look beautiful and he thinks the Instagram pictures are not doing you enough justice. You’re glowing, and it has nothing to do with the highlighter you applied on your face and collarbone area. 

The both of you aren’t able to properly talk until you suggest moving to a different area, Jungkook apologizing to his friends as he explained he needed to catch up with an old friend. They don’t complain and instead shoot him teasing looks and small pervy comments that go by unnoticed to you. 

Jungkook listens with intent to your ramble about what you’ve been up to. From your courses, to your roommates, the parties you’ve attended, and even the fact that you handle your alcohol better now. He’s happy that you seem so too, but it irks him that you hadn’t been capable of telling him that you had a boyfriend now. Is there a reason as to why you omitted that important piece of information? 

‘‘And what about you? How’s college?’’ You ask with curiosity. 

He blinks a few times, realizing you had stopped talking about yourself and was now wondering about him instead. ‘‘It’s fine,’’ he answers with a tight lipped smile, the lack of detail compared to you was astonishing, but even though you were still hungry for more you decided not to pry any further. 

There’s fear in revealing that he’s been having a hard time catching up with the rest of his peers. College was indeed fine, but it could be better. He’s settled with the idea that this is as good at it’ll get, some things just aren’t like you expect them to be. At least you’re happy, and that fact brings him comfort. 

‘‘Was that your, uhm─boyfriend?’’ He finally asks after a while, both about to head back to your respective group of friends. 

The question takes you by surprise, looking at him with raised eyebrows and mouth agape. ‘‘Who? Namjoon?’’ He nods, though he doesn’t know anything about the guy he had first seen you with. You let out a wholehearted laugh, ‘‘Hell no, too many commitment issues with that one,’’ you answer and Jungkook’s forehead creases with confusion. 

Why were you kissing him then? 

‘‘We’re friends with benefits,’’ you inform him as if you had read his mind. ‘‘He’s a nice guy, though. Also, super smart, he’s helped me with a few of my─’’ 

‘‘You’re not a virgin anymore?’’ He abruptly asks, disbelief in his tone as he internally screams to himself for thinking out loud. Jungkook expects you to berate him about such an imprudent question, but is surprised when he sees you giggling. 

‘‘Duh, silly. I think I lost it freshman year?’’ The carelessness in your voice makes him look at you like you’ve gone crazy. Why are you so lax about this? Why are you telling him about losing your virginity without a care in the world? ‘‘Anyway, are you going to be home for the─’’

Jungkook interrupts you once again, ‘‘Was it with your boyfriend at the time?’’ He asks in genuine curiosity and you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly at him. 

‘‘No, it was some random dude at this party I went to. Could you please─’’

‘‘Y/N, are you insane? Why would you give up your virginity to some fucking stranger like it’s nothing?’’ Jungkook’s voice raises as he scolds you about being so negligent about yourself, ‘‘You can’t do shit like that!’’ He fumed, making you let out a breathless chuckle. 

‘‘Could you stop treating me like a fucking child for once in your life? I’m perfectly fine, Jungkook. I’ve been doing pretty well for myself without you here, actually. I don’t know why you think you have a say on what I do, is it the entitlement you have of me that you still carry around because we grew up together? Because if that’s it then you can drop it, I let go of my little girl who wanted a friend and was treated like pure shit in return complex a long time ago.’’ 

He knows you’re right, but he thinks he’ll always have this odd sense of protection over the five year old girl who cried to his mom about not lending her his favorite toy. He’ll always want to apologize to the eight year old girl who declared her love for him with a Valentine’s Day card while he ended up breaking her heart in exchange. He’ll always wish to look for help within the twelve year old girl who witnessed him give out his first kiss to another girl who he didn’t even like. He’ll always feel guilty towards the sixteen year old girl who had gotten tipsy on a spiked fruit punch and crashed on his bed. He’ll always hate himself for not asking the seventeen going on eighteen year old girl to prom when he knew he could’ve, but chose not to in fear of ruining your friendship. 

You only wanted someone to be there for you growing up and Jungkook had never been the brave boy you thought he was, always running from his fears in hopes he’d have a wide advantage margin from them. Yet here they are, standing right in front of him in the form of a twenty year old you, and they’re there to let him know that you’ve never needed him, yet he’s always needed you.

He can’t even apologize, he only looks at you with wide eyes as he fidgets in his place. Either you’re both too old now to understand each other or you just realized that you’ve outgrown Jungkook. 

Your mouth set in a hard line as you crossed your arms, the night’s breeze feeling colder than usual. ‘‘I miss you Jungkook, but I can’t keep playing this cat and mouse game with you any longer.’’ 

You leave him behind to go back to Namjoon’s arms, seeking refuge in his sweet embrace as you try your hardest to put on practice what you learned all those years ago when Jungkook broke your heart for the first time, you should be used to it by now.

You’re twenty-one when you’re back in your hometown to attend the funeral of the old lady down the street, the one that always scolded you and Jungkook growing up. 

You had been scared of her as a child, but always following along your friend’s footsteps when he proposed playing around her garden. It tugs at your heartstrings even if you hadn’t known the woman well. Her death was imminent seeing as she’d been ill for quite some time. 

A taller figure stands next to you as you both stand way in the back of the ceremony. He looks tired and you figure that it’s because of the fact he arrived late into the night, you heard his car’s engine from your bedroom window. Dressing in all black, you notice he bought a new suit. You’re sure that the one he wore for prom no longer fits considering he’s bigger now. 

You haven’t talked to each other since last year when you both left off on a sour note. The hurt you felt was no longer present, though. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought of a way you could talk to him again without making things awkward, but you let out a small gasp once he placed his arm around your shoulders, giving it a small squeeze as he sighed and kept his focus on the service. 

Watching the casket be lowered into the ground felt weird. She was a human being just like you, but her existence was a reminder of your childhood. Would it be okay to say that her death meant a part of you leaving with her too? 

Once it hits you, it’s Jungkook who consoles you by hugging you tight. Your eyes are too blurry with tears for you to realize this is one of those rare moments where he’s holding you close without hesitation. He lets you ruin his tuxedo’s jacket with your mascara covered tears as he brushes your hair as a sign of comfort. 

You know things are back in order when he proposes the idea to go back to the old lady’s porch, for old times sake. ‘‘Will we ever let her rest?’’ You ask him with a small laugh as Jungkook sits on the doorsteps of the old lady’s empty home, opening the bag of candy worms he bought at the grocery store. 

He shrugs, ‘‘She loved us, always told my mom how much she missed us running around the street.’’ The revelation makes you smile, hoping it was true. He pats the empty space next to him, indicating for you to fill it up with your presence. Once you do, you feel the familiar warmth of his proximity. 

Jungkook seems different and you only hope he’s changed for the best. 

‘‘When are you going back?’’ You ask him with curiosity, hoping that he’ll be in town for a few more days so you can catch up with him on a better note this time around. 

He munches on one of the snacks, ‘‘Tomorrow morning, I have training camp and can’t miss it.’’ His answer makes you sigh with disappointment, but you nod nonetheless. ‘‘What about you?’’ He asks in return, and you inform him that you’ll stay for a few more days to spend time with your family. There’s silence after that and Jungkook can only offer you the gummy worms in the bag, you take one with a small thanks.  

‘‘College fucking sucks,’’ he says out of nowhere and it makes you look at him in bewilderement, ‘‘I hate it there, I wanna drop out so bad. But I’m a year away from graduating so it’s too late now.’’ You see his shoulders visibly relax, like a weight had been lifted off them. ‘‘Plus my mom would kill me if I do so,’’ he adds with a chuckle. 

Last time you asked everything was fine. Had things changed or had they always been this way and he was just now being honest with you?

You rest your head on his shoulder and focus all of your undivided attention on him as he keeps rambling about what his life has been ever since he left this town. He’s had bad games, bad grades, and bad girls. But he’s also had incredible games, good grades, and a couple great hookups, and yet he still feels empty, it’s not enough. 

‘‘I miss you,’’ he mumbles as he faces you, ‘‘I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, you deserved better.’’ His apology is genuine and you can feel it in the way his voice trembles, sincerity has always scared him after all. 

Jungkook’s never known when the time is right, and he misjudges the look on your face. When he leans down to press his lips against yours, he’s blinded for a mere moment into believing that you wanted to kiss him just as much as he had been waiting. 

You abruptly separate from him with wide eyes and parted lips, ‘‘Jungkook, I’m─I’m dating Namjoon now.’’ He can physically feel his heart shatter, the revelation coming out like an old newspaper headline he should’ve read a long time ago. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle, ‘‘He got over the commitment issues?’’ The rhetorical question is bitter. 

You scoff, ‘‘And what about it? I preferred to wait than to rush into getting my heart broken.’’ Plus it’s not like you were expecting Namjoon to grow feelings for you, the whole no strings attached arrangement was named that way for a reason. 

Jungkook looks at you with narrowed eyes and he shakes his head sightly. Old habits never die down, still so stubborn and challenging as ever. 

He’s startled as you stand abruptly, fuming as you look at him, ‘‘I don’t even know why you care! Did you forget that you threw my Valentine’s Day card into the trash? Or that you kissed Yeji in front of my face? Or that you let Taehyung date me as prank between your friends? Or that you were making out with Eunha while Jimin kept giving me alcohol? Or that you asked Jaehyun to take me to the stupid prom even though I was perfectly fine going without him or anyone for that matter?’’

‘‘We were just kids!’’ Jungkook argues back at you.

‘‘It still fucking hurt,’’ you counter, ‘‘still hurts, actually. You think that by giving me a measly apology and kissing it better I’ll suddenly forget about all of it?’’ Jungkook knows it won’t ever make up for all those years, but he had at least hoped you’d be willing to give him a chance. 

He wishes he could say something else. Explain that he had just tried to protect you in his own shitty way from everyone else or himself maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. He wants to speak up again, but there’s disappointment written all over your face, you’re not angry at him...just saddened. 

‘‘Hope you have fun at your training camp.’’

Jungkook watches as you leave him sitting by himself on the old lady’s doorstep. A hand runs through his hair as he feels his eyes water, and he can almost hear a whisper in the wind that asks him why he didn’t stop you when he could’ve. 

Jungkook didn’t think that his family coming together with yours for Christmas dinner would’ve been a great idea. You’re cold to him at first and it’s fitting for the winter weather, but as always it only takes for him to sit next to you for things to warm up again. 

It’s with the excuse that you’ll run over to your house to grab a new bottle of wine from the kitchen counter that Jungkook trails behind you, both slightly tipsy on the different alcohols your families had offered each other. 

Years have passed since he last stepped foot inside your home, you used to visit him more often than he did anyway. It still smells and looks the same; the only difference is that there’s new pictures of you hung up on the walls, updated accordingly to the changes you’ve made ever since you left off for college.

You’re sporting a big smile in all of them, which in exchange makes him copy the action as well. His lack of presence in your life has done you better than compared to when he was around, and if that’s the case, then at least he did something right. 

There hasn’t been much said since the beginning of the night, just a simple hey out of courtesy. There’s so much he wants to say, but with no clue where to begin. Another apology is due, though he thinks it’s a little too late for that. He also wants to ask about what you’ve been up to since he last saw you, are you still dating the Namjoon guy you had told him about after he kissed you? If he’s still there, Jungkook rather keep quiet and not wonder out loud to you, he’s sure that it’ll hurt if it’s true. 

Growing up Jungkook always mistook your bravery with stubbornness and your courage with relentlessness. You’ve always been challenging, but only because you wanted him to do so too. It’s moments like this that prove him that you’ve always been the stronger between the two.

‘‘So, we’re just gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong between us?’’ You ask, speaking directly to him for the first time that night. It makes him look at you like a deer stuck in headlights, surprised by the sudden question and out of all the years of knowing each other, he feels small under your gaze for once. ‘‘How much time is it going to pass until you want to finally talk things like adults?’’ 

Jungkook gulps the lump in his throat, his brain quickly thinking of the right thing to say, ‘‘I just wanted to protect you from─’’

‘‘From what? From you? Everytime you’ve done that I end up getting hurt in the end. I’m left to pick the pieces up by myself,’’ you interject with anger in your voice. ‘‘It fucking pisses me off that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and─’’ A sigh, you close your eyes to center yourself again as Jungkook waits for the final blow, ‘‘and you look like none of this has ever bothered you in the slightest because, you don’t really care about me do you?’’

‘‘I do care about you.’’ He’s sure about it, even though he’s been extremely bad at showing it. 

Even though your eyes are threatening to spill tears, you still muster up the last bit of what’s left of your courage to step closer to him until you’re a few inches away. ‘‘Prove it, then. Show me that you care.’’ 

His brain is sent into quick overdrive due to your close proximity. There’s a slight hesitation because he only hopes that what he’s about to do is what you’re demanding him to prove. He doesn’t care if you’re still dating the Namjoon guy because he’s settled with the idea that it’s okay if you don’t correspond, it’s not like he did the same to you when you were both younger. 

Once his lips press against yours, there’s no turning back. He’s waiting for you to push him back and let him know that your heart’s still taken, but you kiss him with such fervor that he knows in that moment that you’re right, it’s better to wait than to rush right in. 

It’s no fairytale kiss, though. There’s desperation in the way you chase his lips, as if you were to slow down he’d find a way to escape from you. You grip the cotton material of his crewneck into your small fists, holding on to the fabric like your life depended on it. The small kiss you had both shared last year was nothing compared to this, and Jungkook’s taken aback by your neediness. 

He doesn’t know how you manage to drag him to your childhood bedroom without missing a beat, only separating once you both realize you need to catch your breaths, and even then Jungkook can’t have a minute to take just happened in because your lips attach to his neck to get more of a taste. His fingers curled around your arm, sighing at the way your kisses felt like electricity on his skin. 

‘‘Y/N,’’ he calls your name out in a breathy tone, but you’re too immersed in your little bubble to even realize it. 

Jungkook groans when you bite into the skin of his neck, then blowing over the red mark as you kissed it better. It’s going to be bruise and he doesn’t like when that happens, but he’s not bothered at all if it comes from you. He forcibly grabs your chin so you can face him, looking at him with big eyes, a small pout, and with your chin messed with drool. 

It’s then that Jungkook kisses you hungrily, making you feel like you’re in a dream-like state,  though you could partially blame the Christmas eggnog for that. The way he bites at your lips and how your tongues clash together is an extreme juxtaposition as to how you could describe this moment. It’s as if you’re floating on air, clouds surrounding you in a heavenly embrace, angels singing in the background every time his hands touch, grab, hold and caress every part of your body. And yet, even with such a difference, it’s perfect because it’s Jungkook. You’ve been waiting for this too long, which is why your hands creep beneath his crewneck, touching his tonified abdomen tentatively and enjoying the way goosebumps arise on his skin at the sensation of your fingers trailing patterns wherever they caress.  

It’s only fair that he pays attention to yours as well. Jungkook’s lips trail from your mouth onto your jawline, planting wet kisses on each space until he begins sucking on the skin of your neck, making you moan in the process. He chooses then that his new favorite sound is the way you voice out the pleasure he gives you. ‘‘Hurry up,’’ you say, ridding the bottom of the crewneck higher over his stomach, making him shiver at the sudden change of temperature. 

Jungkook chuckles before completely getting rid of the material, ‘‘Calm down,’’ he sighs as he gives you a sweet smile, ‘‘You know our moms could talk forever.’’ 

You ogle his chest, admiring the way his training camps have obviously done wonders to his body. ‘‘It’s not them I’m talking about,’’ you correct him with a teasing smile that only makes his grin grow wider, chuckling at your impatience. Jungkook lets out a small gasp of surprise when your hands grasp at his shoulder blades, turning him around so you can back him until the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. It’s funny how he lets himself be bossed around by someone who’s way smaller compared to his frame.

Jungkook finds leverage on his elbows splayed against the mattress, your knees resting on each side of his hips as you leaned into him and kissing him just as widely as you had done before. Jungkook could fill just how quick things were escalating, especially the way his crotch area was beginning to become a problem he couldn’t possibly control at the moment, not with your own being directly on top of it. In any other situation he would’ve apologized with an awkward laugh, but his breath hitches once your hips start grinding over him.  

His hands make their way on the inside of your knitted sweater, provoking goosebumps on the exposed skin. You let out a shaky laugh, halting your movements so you can quickly get rid of the fabric as Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in surprise at your haste and then at the sight of your bra covered breasts. His hands are still steadily placed on each side of your waist, only brought up because your own had redirected them over your breasts, hoping he gets the message on what you want him to do now.   

Jungkook hesitantly squeezed one of the round globes, provoking a small moan to come from out of your lips. He wishes to hold you as close as he possibly can because the idea of ever being away from you again has been his main fear as of lately. But he refrains, you look so delicate and he feels like you could easily break. He stares at your body lovingly and your cheeks heat up at the way his eyes ogle your chest like a kid in a candy story. You give his arm a light slap and he chuckles, leaning over you to place a passionate kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says frankly. It doesn’t help to dissipate the flush on your face, but the compliment doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Jungkook leans in to trail kisses past your collarbones and into the swell of your breasts, making you bite your lip with anticipation. He looks at you asking for permission and you nod quickly with parted lips as you start to become impatient for him to make his next move. Jungkook lowers the cups of your breasts, freeing your hardened nipples and immediately envelopes one of them with his lips. “Mph—!” A sigh escapes your lips as you try to memorize the way his tongue traces over your tit. He pays attention to your other one, fingers rolling over the bud and pinching ever so often. 

You can feel your panties damp by then, trespassing into the fabric of the black leggings you’re wearing over them. Reaching behind your back, you fumble in unclasping the hooks of the now uncomfortable bra. Jungkook’s forced to stop the undivided attention he had places on your breasts to look at you like he’s lost, why are you going so fast? 

Once your hands delve with the buckle of his belt, he has to hold on to your wrists with a firm grasp, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks with quick breath, you blink stoically towards him. 

‘‘Uh─getting you naked?’’ You answer with a nonchalant tone, but his hands don’t let go and your demeanor changes, ‘‘D-Did you not want this?’’ Your voice turns smaller, embarrassed that maybe you had pressured him into something he didn’t want to participate in. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘No, I-I do want this! It’s just─you’re going so fast,’’ he tries to explain, ‘‘I’ve been waiting for this for too long, I don’t wanna rush.’’ Your eyes lit up at the revelation as he waits for you to answer back, only for his back to hit the comforter with a small thud, giggling at the way you urgently kiss him again, but this time with much more care. 

‘‘Why didn’t you say so before, stupid?’’ You mumble with a sheepish look, ‘‘I thought it was just going to be─nevermind, I need you right now.’’ You have to force yourself from spitting out any details that could possibly ruin the moment between you two, deciding to wait instead for any emotional confessions you want to make. 

He switches positions between the two, panting as he brings you down to the mattress and Jungkook can feel the goosebumps on your skin, whether from the coldness of the room or because of the sheer electricity of his hands caressing your body like it was molded just right for him. He dips his hand lower, cupping your clothed heat on his hand. It makes you tremble and you whine, encouraging him to keep going. 

“Baby, you’re really wet,” he comments with a teasing tone and you pout at him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and he pulls them down as he travels with them, greeted by the sight of the damp cloth of your panties. He exhales with content, caressing your thighs in an up and down motion. You twist underneath him and he has to hold your hips down to calm you down, “Patience is a virtue.” 

“I’ve been too patient, do some—Ah!” Your whining is interrupted once Jungkook moves your underwear to the side holding it with his free hand, fingers coming to trace the slick covering your pussy lips. He becomes entranced with the transparent gooey liquid, bringing them close to his face as he separates his fingers and sees a strand connecting between them. “Guk-ah, p-please…” Your needy voice brings him back to reality, delving his fingers back into your exposed heat but this time with intent. 

Jungkook’s thumb lifts the hood covering your clit, mouth coming down to give it a small tentative kiss. That action alone has you writhing above him, it makes him chuckle to himself as he dives back in. The moans you let out are loud and clear inside your bedroom, thankful that it’s only you and him inside your house. Your hand pulls at his hair, making him groan against you and the vibrations are felt throughout your body, only adding to the euphoric pleasure you already possess. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs until they reach your entrance, circling the fluttering hole which makes you pull at his hair harder and with your other you hold on to the bedsheets of the comforter tightly into your fist. 

Jungkook’s tongue is still working your engorged bud, but he focuses his eyes on you as he dips the first finger inside you. “Oh—fuck,” you let out in a breathy moan. He tries to maintain a rhythm between his two ministrations, but it’s hard when he wants to focus on all of them at once. “‘Nother, please,” you begged once he let your clit rest, quickly following your request by adding another into your warm heat. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he notices how easy it is to thrust both fingers inside of you, your whole crotch area is covered in slick and his wet chin is a dead giveaway to where he was seconds ago. 

He watches you unravel over him with such adoration, not even his wettest dreams or dirtiest fantasies could prepare him for this. Seven minutes in heaven he plans to stay in forever. “Guk-ah, I wan’ you. I-Inside, please.” You plead with teary eyes, and he slowly stops, removing his arousal covered fingers from inside you as he makes you sigh in the process. He kisses you again and again, your hazy brain is probably hallucinating all of this right now, but damn is it good. You tug at the crewneck he’s wearing, he’s too overdressed for this occasion. He tends to your demands, quickly getting rid of all the layers of clothing that stop him from being inside of you fully. 

“I don’t have a—“ 

“I’m on the pill.”

You both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle. Jungkook gulps at the idea of taking you raw as the first time together, and you salivate at his hardened length; the head already oozing precum out and you want nothing more than to wrap your lips around it and lick the tip up. You’re just about to when Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching him, you look up at him with the big sparkly eyes he has loved for too long. 

“I just—I wanna be inside you right now,” he sheepishly admits, and you smile with a nod; sharing the sentiment. You back up until your head rests on the pillows comfortably, relaxing into the mattress as you wait for Jungkook to ready himself. He places a kiss on your lips before placing a hand next to your head, using it as leverage above you. His free hand takes his cock and rubs the tip along your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. Jungkook chuckles, “Are you ready?” He asks with a sweet smile. 

“I’ve always been,” you whisper, your hand tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. 

A caress to his cheek as he nods, slowly pushing the head of his dick into you. You bite into your lip hard, it’s been a while since you had sex with someone and Jungkook’s size and girth was different from the rest. Your walls are tight around him and he has a tough time trying to reach the hilt with you squeezing him so hard, “Baby, relax for me.” He pleads and you nod apologetically, breathing in deep as you feel him reach parts inside of you, you didn’t know existed. Once he’s all the way in, he waits for you to give him the go ahead while he presses kisses into your heated cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and give him a nod, letting him know he was allowed to start thrusting.

Jungkook manages to hit all the right places, keeping a steady pace as he enters and exits you each time. You’re left to moan and writhe underneath him, letting him take you as he pleases. Your kisses become messy, teeth biting into each other’s lips, teeth grazing against each other as you both tried to fight for the dominant position. It’s that heavy makeout that incites you to push at his shoulders, making him turn in his back, exiting you in the process. Jungkook pants, chest rising and falling with quickness as you straddle his lap, arms connecting behind his neck. 

“You always want to win, right?” He chuckles with half lidded eyes, enjoying the way your pussy lips grinded over his twitching length. You bat your eyelashes at him, offering him an innocent smile. The same technique that used to get you everything you wanted when you were younger. Same determination as you seek for what’s yours. He’s under you after all, still a victim to your charms.

Jungkook takes the bulbous head of his cock and teases it in your clit, if you weren’t holding on to him tight you would’ve collapsed into his chest. And by the way you moan his name out, he knows you’ll always look for him no matter the weather. “What a pretty girl,” he coos into your hair and you pinch his nipple in retaliation which only makes him groan in return. “My pretty girl.” He states before sinking himself deep into you again, sighing at the feeling of your hips circling over him. His rough hands guide them as you bounce up and down his length, moaning every time you rose and hissing when you came back down. 

He makes sure to keep this image engraved on his head forever. Your breasts bouncing over his face, your thighs working extra hard to keep up with his thrusts, and the way your sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom. 

“You’re doing s-so good, baby.” Jungkook praises you, kneading your ass cheek. “Taking my cock s-so well,” he falls into a trance of admiring the way his length would appear and disappear inside of you, covered in a thick layer of your arousal. It makes him drill into you faster, sitting properly against the bed’s headboard as he takes your hips with force. He’s too turned on to keep treating you so delicately, and the way you moan and pant at the increase in speed only lets him know you enjoy him like this way more. “I-Is it good, baby? Am I-I fucking you well?” He asks in between rapid thrusts, your thighs had given out by then. 

You nod and a whimper escapes your lips, “Y-yes, Guk-Ah. S-so good, feels amazing.” Your praise is honest, the fucked out tone in your voice is a clear indicator of how well of a job he was doing. A minute longer and you’ll be right on cloud nine, never wanting to come back down. “Wanna cum Guk-Ah, plea—“ There’s no need for you to even finish your sentence because his thumb rubs your clit in figure eights, making you groan with the intensified feeling of his hips circling inside you deliciously. You can almost see the blinding white light ahead as Jungkook kisses you feverishly. You feel tears escape the corners of your high, the familiar feeling tickling inside you as Jungkook’s thrusts don’t let up. ‘‘Ah! Yes, yes, fuck,’’ you cry out once your orgasm hits. Jungkook holds you close to his chest, trying to soothe your shaking body with his arms. Your walls squeeze and relax continuously around him, it serves him as the impulse he needs to chase his own high. 

‘‘I love you, Jungkook,’’ you confess in between panting breaths, ‘‘so much.’’ 

His release shoots out and he groans, digging crescent moons into your hips. You hiss at the sensation, but giggle at how his eyes are screwed shut and brows still furrowed together, as if he was holding on to the last of his orgasm. In reality, Jungkook is just hoping that once he opens his eyes you’ll still be in his arms. Your fingers tilting his head to face you are very much real, he sees spots once he opens his eyes as they adjust to the room’s lighting. 

‘‘I love you too.’’ He says with a fixed gaze and you coo at how perfect this is.

You’re twenty-two when Jungkook’s finally yours.

You’re both twenty-three and it’s another weekend spent at his apartment, he’s been playing for three hours now and you’ve given up on having him pay attention to you. Deciding to switch your plan around and join him instead, if only he would let you play.

‘‘Jungkook, you said it was going to be my turn five rounds ago!’’ You complain with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest. 

His gaze is still stuck on the T.V screen, ‘‘Baby, shhh, you’re gonna make me lose.’’ He mumbles as he tries to remain concentrated on the game in hand, but he can hear your humph’s from behind him, ‘‘Patience is a─’’

‘‘Virtue, yeah, who cares.’’ You interrupt him with a roll of your eyes, familiar with the saying a little too well. ‘‘Hope you remember that for later tonight,’’ you add in a mumble, but he doesn’t hear it because of the loud sounds coming from the game on the screen. 

‘‘What did you say, babe?’’ He asks with a raised brow, hitting the buttons of the controller with expert ease. 

‘‘I’ll call your mom and tell her you don’t wanna share.’’ You joke with a threatening voice, but Jungkook knows better than to take your words so lightly. He pauses the game and turns to look at you with an are you serious? expression on his face, you giggle as you’ve finally got what you wanted. 

He apologizes by covering your face with kisses, pleading for you not to tell on him with his mom. You promise not to do so this time, knowing that the woman was probably tired of having to scold his son at his big age. 

Plus, ever since Jungkook surprised you with the almost exact replica of the Valentine’s Day card you gave him all those year back, you’ve taken advantage to tease him even more knowing he’s at your beck and call. You always remind him that he came close because the stickers he used were not like the ones you had, but he remembered to add the hearts on the I’s so that’s good enough. 

‘‘Alright you can play, but━!’’ He says after he finishes his attack of kisses, ‘‘I’ll be your guide, I can’t risk you messing my record up, no offense baby.’’ None taken as you nod excitedly, you’ll always take whatever chance he gives you. 

Jungkook’s finally learned how to share his toys after all.

[heartbreakgrill]

hi bb! could I get a cute zach x reader fic? you can take this in whichever way you like but I was thinking some fluff like a movie night at Zach's or he teaches the reader to play video games? you can do it either way/come up with something of your own too! xxx

Slow Down; Zach Herron

a/n: hope you like it, queen!! 💘

You knocked gently on your boyfriend’s front door, feeling insecure in your leggings, your sweatshirt, and sneakers. You’d been to the boy’s house before, but this was still only your second time, and you’d never dressed so casually in front of Zach. Your relationship was still fresh- only 8 dates had happened so far- so you were still holding back parts of yourself you were afraid of him seeing. The lazy, messy part of you that some guys were turned off by.

You wrung the sleeve of your sweatshirt between your fingers. The door opened a moment after you knocked, drawing your eyes from your feet. Jonah, tall as a tree, stared down at you, a sleepy smile growing to his dark features.

“Hey, Y/N, good to see you.” Jonah swept an arm through the air and you walked into it’s path.

The house was noisy, as per usual. Lights were on all over, Corbyn and Jack were shouting over the shooting noises of a video game on the tv, music was streaming from the Bluetooth speakers, Tessa sat at the kitchen island. Daniel was probably out in his studio, and his brothers were strewn around the living room, watching Corbyn and Jack beat each other.

You felt so out of place in the group’s familiar Friday routine. Jonah could tell, harboring the same feeling of social anxiety, and gently touched your elbow.

“I’ll go get him, okay?” You’d been in Zach’s room, he must’ve not have been in there, because Jonah walked outside after you nodded.

You busied yourself with removing your sneakers. You squatted and gently set them beside somebody else’s shoes on the rack. You peaked around at the door and shut it all the way. Somebody finally spoke up when you turned back around.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! Come sit,” Corbyn patted the spot next to him on the couch.

“Shit, sorry, we just completely ignored your existence,” Jack added on, laughing into his headset.

“No worries,” you smiled at everybody, carefully stepping over Christian’s legs to sit next to Corbyn.

“How ya doing, Y/N?” Corbyn glanced at you.

You folded your hands. “I’m okay, thanks. How are you?”

Corbyn went to answer when something happened in the video game and everybody yelled. That’s when you noticed Zach making his way across the room. He pushed Christian’s legs out of the way, earning a playful punch to the thigh. You stood up as he did, giggling at the laughter the two boys exchanged.

Zach threw his arms up when he laughed, one of his cutesy quirks that you had learned yet. His hands landed on you- shoulder and hip. He gently pulled you into his chest, your hands moving to his back.

“Hey,” he laughed in your ear, fingers moving to your back, but landing on your mini backpack.

“Hi,” you leaned away. His fingers slid down your shoulder and gently held your fingers.

He tugged you behind him, guiding the two of you to his room. “Sorry I didn’t answer the door. Daniel was having me record something.”

You shrugged, “No worries. I got a warm welcome from everybody.”

Zach sighed, letting go of you to shut the door. You sat on the edge of his bed. He said, “Yeah, they can be overwhelming at first.”

“No!” You disagreed. “They’re all really great. I like the energy.”

Zach smiled at you as he walked over to you. “You look very cuddly.”

Your anxiety settled in your subconscious, no longer a part of your worries. Instead, a blush painted your face. “We have never cuddled before.”

Zach sat beside you, setting a hand on your knee. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to,” you assured him, grabbing said hand and squeezing the knuckles. “I know you’re probably used to moving a little faster, but I’m just nervous. I’m sorry.”

Zach shook his head, carefully studying your eyes. He brushed the hair from your face, behind your ears, “I think I need to slow down anyways. With my career and looking back on my past relationships, I think it’ll keep me grounded. You’ll keep me grounded.”

Your stomach whirled with adoration. You found yourself leaning forward and kissing him. It wasn’t your first kiss- actually, it was your second. But it felt like the first. You hoped that feeling would stay.

Zach cupped your cheek, thumb just barely pushing your chin up into him. Your hands found his jaw, fingers molding between his hair. You kissed for a moment longer, and intended to keep going, but someone knocked at the door.

You jumped back from Zach, laughing from your naive fright at the sound. Zach pecked your lips and went to the door.

“Hello?” He opened it towards him, leaning against the door frame.

That was hot.

Jack waved from his side of the door. “Can y’all go pick up the pizza?”

Zach rolled his eyes, huffing. “Really? There’s, like, 10 other people here. Why can’t they?”

“Thought maybe you wanted alone time with your girl,” Jack shrugged. “Also, Jonah and Tessa just left, Daniel is busy, the rest of us are playing a game. Please?”

Zach obviously wasn’t going to argue with his band mate in front of his girl, as jack had put it. So he agreed.

Zach went to the closet as you waited on the bed, picking out a hoodie. He slung it over his head and sat beside you again to put on his shoes. As he did, you told him about something you did earlier that day. He was a good listener and conversation came so well between you two.

Zach stood up, offering you his hand. He pulled you up, purposefully tugging you close to his chest. He held you by the back and kissed you again. You giggled into his mouth, feeling his fingers squirm against your sweatshirt. He pulled away, to your disappointment, and looked at your sweatshirt with furrowed brows.

“No, this won’t do,” he tugged at the hem of your sweatshirt.

You looked at him with utter confusion, “Huh?”

He walked back to his closet, voice echoing from inside. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you gotta wear my sweatshirt.”

He settled back in front of you, holding out the hoodie.

You carefully grabbed it. “Is that you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Zach tipped his head at the sweatshirt, “Is that you saying yes?”

You answered by taking off what you had on and replacing it with a hoodie that the The Invitation Tour logo on it. You followed Zach out the living room again and sat down on the floor to put on your sneakers while he found his keys. He helped you off the floor, like in his room, and led you to the garage.

He opened your door for you like a gentleman, passing by with a sweet kiss. You let out a deep breath once you were settled in the seat, feeling a weight of emotions in your stomach.

Zach got in and then you guys were gone. The pizza place was ten minutes away, but they didn’t offer delivery because of COVID. And, of course, you forgot your mask. Zach just shrugged it off while you felt bad he carried two pizzas and a bag of 2 liters to the car. He put it all in the back seat before joining you again.

On the way back, Zach told you to put on music. Meanwhile, his hand sneakily found it’s way to your knee. He didn’t want to automatically place it upon your thigh, genuinely meaning what he had said earlier.

You wrapped your hand around his, letting your intertwined fingers rest in your lap. When you got back to the house, Zach didn’t allow you to carry anything again. As soon as the pizzas hit the kitchen counter, the boys went ravenous. Even Daniel appeared from his cave to get food.

You stood off to the side, feeling rude just diving in. Corbyn noticed you and automatically spoke up over the crowd of men.

“Hey! Guys, we should probably let Y/N go first,” he motioned to you.

Your face flushed and you felt your neck started to clam up. “Oh, I’m okay.”

Zach, who was caught up getting cups for everyone, sighed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told them to wait.”

“No, it’s no worries, guys. Please, go ahead,” you insisted again.

Daniel shook his head and handed you a plate, “No, Y/N, go ahead.”

You carefully took it and joined the hoard at the island. You took a single slice of cheese pizza and circled back to your spot.

Christian disagreed with your sad plate, “Oh, cmon. Get another slice, and some chips and a drink.”

You began to protest when they all spoke over each other, insisting. Daniel slapped another slice onto your plate, Corbyn held up two bags of chips in your face, and Zach had already poured your favorite soda into a glass. You tapped on the Dorito’s in Corbyn’s right hand and he poured some on your plate.

You had a restless, wide grin on your face the entire time. “Thank you so much.”

Everybody went back to being savages. Zach quickly got in and got out, leading you back to his room. He crawled across the bed and leaned back on his headboard. You carefully sat beside him as he turned on the television.

“You wanna watch that movie you told me about the other day?” He held out the remote to you.

Your mouth fell agape for a moment and then you nodded. “Yeah- uh, yeah.”

How was he such a good listener?

You found the movie on Netflix and put it on. Zach finished his food quickly, but you ate carefully and slowly. Zach simply layed out on the bed, waiting for you to finish. Once you were done, you stood up from the bed.

Zach paused the movie, “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wanna give me your plate?” You held out your hand.

Zach jumped up suddenly, grabbing his plate and yours before walking out.. You caught up to his long-legged strides with protests.

“Zach!” You called after him, tugging on the back of his sweatshirt.

He finally turned around after he set everything in the sink. “Yes?”

You tried to glare at him, but his smile was so sweet, you broke into a grin. “I was gonna take them!”

Zach shrugged. “I got it, babe.”

You lifted a finger to point in his face, but froze when the pet name registered. Your face went red again.

Zach’s innocent smile turned even cheekier- if possible. He kissed your cheek and left you standing there. You followed him to his room, stopping him in the middle of the hallway. You tugged him around to face him, practically launching yourself into his arms as you cupped his jaw and kissed him. He held the curve of your back, leaning into the kiss.

You broke off, breathless, with matching smiles. “Wanna finish the movie?” You jerked your head in the direction of his room.

Zach nodded in a less than calm manner and followed you inside. He shut the door, splaying back in his spot on the bed. You carefully lay beside him, resting your head on his bicep, which he extended out beside him. His hand clasped around your shoulder and tugged you into his side. You got comfortable over the span of a few minutes, at first slightly stiff. When you were in position, your leg was tossed over his, your hands on his chest.

The movie ended and you began another before your breathing evened and your eyes couldn’t keep themselves open. Zach noticed and carefully shut off the lights and tv with the remote. He pulled the blanket at the end of the bed over you.

“Want me to take you home?” He whispered into your ear.

You hummed a disagreement back, curling further into him. “Is that okay?” You sleepily said.

Zach responded by kissing your forehead and mumbling a goodnight.

[aminiatureworld]

Debris

Characters: Jaehee, Yoosung, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,755

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: In which Rika’s apartment blows up and the reader’s s/o evaluates their emotions.

Author’s Note: I haven’t played Yoosung’s and Jaehee’s routes in about a year so this probably won’t be too canon compliant. That being said it felt great to get back to my fic roots. I Hope y’all enjoyed this nostalgic journey! I especially tried to distinguish their personalities in writing style.

Also, if a whole apartment blew up the building would collapse and most likely everyone inside it and immediately around it would die but we’re going to pretend certain laws of physics and stuff don’t work. Idk maybe Mint Eye used a low explosive like gunpowder.

Jaehee

She hadn’t meant to forget about it, she really hadn’t. It was only, well, life was so complicated at the moment. Work, contemplating what she wanted to do with her life, surely it was enough for one person; even more so for an overworked secretary. Besides, she didn’t want to think about the terrors of the world when she thought of you. Indeed, what did she want to think of when she thought of you?

All these questions swirled around her head. Earlier Jaehee might’ve dismissed such foolish questions. After all, thinking about such things didn’t get meetings done or stop Mr. Han from doing something idiotic again. Jaehee didn’t have the time or the privilege to think about what she wanted in life. It was enough to be here, to have a good paying job and a roof over her head and some semblance of freedom from what she’d left behind.

Maybe it was for that reason that she had forgotten about the apartment situation. Her horizons had already been broadened so much, perhaps there simply wasn’t room for anything else. Even if that anything else included your own safety.

Getting calls from Seven wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar, but nevertheless Jaehee still felt a sense of unease at the number that suddenly appeared right as a company meeting was about to begin. Luciel knew the RFA members’ schedules like the back of his computer, more than the members themselves in the case of Yoosung most likely. Besides, Jaehee had told him this coffee situation was proving to be incredibly important. Why then was he calling her now?

“Luciel, I don’t know what you want, but I have urgent matters to attend to. Could you please call back in about an hour and fifteen minutes?”

“Jaehee, I think you’ll want to hear about this.”

“What, what is it?” Sometimes Seven’s tendency towards cryptic messages was truly too irritating. Still his voice was certainly more agitated than the normal, joking tone that he took. Already Jaehee could feel the familiar tendrils of anxiety.

“You know how I told you guys about the hacker, right?”

“Yes, the one that was trying to get into Rika’s apartment. Didn’t you say that you had taken care of it?”

“That one. Well, I thought I had, or at least, it certainly looked that way. I didn’t, damn, I didn’t think that the bastard would be able to hide what he was doing from me. Who on Earth is that man I don-”

“Luciel, please keep this short.”

“O-oh. I’m sorry. Well, apparently, he wasn’t done. I got a notification, or, well, more like I saw it on the news. The apartment complex, uhm, well, haha…”

“Seven!” Jaehee had the sneaking suspicion she knew what was about to be said. Still a distant part of her brain retained the calm of denial.

“Sorry! I, what I mean to say is, the apartment. The apartment got, set off.”

“Set off?”

“Blew up. Boom. The bomb, I don’t know how, but it was triggered. And now, yeah. The whole block is half covered under rubble, and we don’t, I don’t, have a lot of information about the people inside the apartment. I’m doing the best I can, trying to get into the CCTV footage outside. But, uh, yeah. I thought you should know. Since, y’know, I know that you seemed really close wi-”

Maybe it was unpardonably rude for Jaehee to hang up on Luciel, but in that moment she could think of nothing else to do. It was as if, in letting the line die, she was rewriting time, so that nothing had happened.

Jaehee made it as far as the doors of the conference room before turning around and dashing towards the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time she didn’t bother to clock out or tell Jumin about what was going on. It wasn’t important after all. How could it be? The explosion, that was what took precedence in her mind. More than work, more than these strange questions, all she could think about was you. She had to find out if you were okay, had to contact you in some ways. If not, if not. If not then what?

“Seven, I need the address to Rika’s apartment.”

“What? No are you crazy? You can’t just go to the place the hacker blew up. Besides, the location is confidential.”

“Not when it’ll be on every television station in Korea. I need to find out if they’re okay.”

“You can’t just go rummaging through wreckage on your own, you won’t even get past the yellow tape. It’s better to wait.”

“I’m going.”

“Wait! At least let me try to call them first, okay?”

“It would be faster if I went.”

“No. No it wouldn’t. Just give me a second. I’m already trying to figure out where their phone is. I’m almost done.”

For once Jaehee didn’t even question the legality, or morality, of Seven’s actions.

As it turns out you had been going grocery shopping – against Seven’s recommendations – and as such were at the tail end of the blast radius. Staring intently at the hospital address Seven had texted her, Jaehee quickly made her way over to the front desk. Having finally messaged Jumin, she made it through the entrance quite easily – sometimes being the secretary to a well-known CEO-to-be paid off.

Your room was in a quieter corner of the hospital, away from the groaning and shrieking of those who hadn’t been as lucky. The bomb had been a small sort of one, made up of a low explosive. Apparently V and Seven’s reservations truly hadn’t been feigned. Perhaps Jaehee should’ve felt grateful that they had made a bomb that was relatively ineffective. In that moment however she couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

The soft smile that illuminated your face as Jaehee walked into your room was enough to make her heart ache.

“Hey Jaehee. Hope I didn’t cause too much work for you.”

“Work for me? How could you think of something at this time? What about you? Are you too badly hurt? What happened? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Jaehee please! Calm down. I was basically fine. A few cuts and bruises are nothing to worry about.”

“Did they check and see if you inhaled anything? What about your head, did anything hit it?”

“Hey,” you replied softly. Taking Jaehee’s wildly fluttering hands in yours you smiled softly. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m fine. Really. Don’t make yourself sick over me. You already work too much.”

“I’ve informed Mr. Han I’m going to take a few days off. I want to make sure that there are no side effects to what just happened.”

“Well, I’m very flattered, happy even. But you have to take care of yourself too Jaehee. It’ll just make me unhappy if you get sick over me. Besides, there are other things to worry about. Like what you’re going to do about your work and what you love and stuff. Don’t bury that stuff, alright?”

“Think of me still, how odd you are,” Jaehee let out a sigh. Nevertheless, she said nothing more. It wouldn’t do to make you worry about her after all.

Though you couldn’t exactly call it nursing you back to health Jaehee was certainly attentive in the week and a half to come. All throughout the time she kept thinking, about you, about her, about what all this meant. In truth it was only after you were safe that Jaehee could acknowledge how terrified she had been, enough to consider diving through the wreckage of an apartment. You had opened up a whole new world to her, without you Jaehee would’ve never begun thinking about herself, about her own happiness. She had so much to thank you for. Even more, Jaehee had the sneaking suspicion that she would want to thank you even if you had done nothing.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh?” You smiled, puzzled by the sudden conversation.

“I’m going to attempt to start again, to start doing something I want to do. I hope that you’ll join me in this endeavor.”

Your smiled was blinding.

“Of course, I will!”

Perhaps now Jaehee could acknowledge the love that bloomed within her at your assent.

 Yoosung

He knew it was going to happen. He knew that there was no way of escaping it. Maybe that’s why he almost felt like a burden had been lifted when he finally heard that the inevitable had happened.

Ever since Seven had first revealed the bomb in Rika’s apartment Yoosung knew it was going to go off. It wasn’t some weird dream thing like Zen, or some calculation the way Jumin or Seven might do. Yoosung just knew, somehow, he really did just know it. He tried to put it off, tried to stop it even. If he could go with Seven to find out about the hacker, if he could stop this weird organization, if he could get V to finally tell the damn truth, then maybe, maybe he’d be able to prevent it.

Luck was never on his side though, this Yoosung had learned long ago. He wasn’t strong enough to stop the bomb from going off, he wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe. All these things that he wanted, needed to be, and he couldn’t do any of those things. You were the first person he had formed any sort of deep connection with since Rika. Maybe that’s why he kept mixing you up in the beginning; after all, it was the first time he even began to feel a similar amount of happiness since her death. And now you were in danger of going away as well. It haunted Yoosung. He never thought that he’d ever use that word to describe, he found it sort of pretentious, but really it was the only word he could think to describe the situation. Every text, every voice call, every reminder that you were alive, that you were somewhere on this Earth, it was like a lifeline, one he was desperately grabbing onto.

“Hey, Seven?”

“What?” Seven’s reply was muffled by the cheap sandwich shoved into his mouth. Secretly Yoosung found the convenience store sandwich bread disgusting, but right he wasn’t thinking about that.

“Something’s blinking.”

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“Something on the monitor, it just started blinking red in the corner, one of the tabs in the bottom, it might’ve just opened too I don’t know.”

“Let me check,” Seven replied, ambling his way over to the monitor. Once he saw the icon though he let out a loud series of curses. “Shit, shit, shit, shit. Yoosung?”

“What?” Yoosung already knew that something had gone wrong. Adrenaline began to race through him, and the world suddenly seemed both all too fast and all too slow.

“Grab my phone and go to the RFA app. My version has a tracker on all the RFA member’s phones. I want you to make sure that there’s one around Rika’s apartment.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yup and sleazy. Now look.”

Yoosung tapped on the app with trembling fingers. Seeing the icon, he paused. He needed to know. Before he looked, he needed to know.

“Hey, Seven.”

“What.”

“Did, did something happen to the apartment.”

“Yoosung, I need you to understand that it’s probably fine.”

“Probably, Seven what are you talking about?”

“It’s, it’s, something went wrong.”

“Went wrong? What went wrong? Seven, stop being so damn cryptic!” Yoosung’s voice was shaking by now, but he pressed forward.

“Fine.” Seven let out a long sigh, before breathing in deeply once more. “The apartment, it blew. I don’t know how or why or what but the bomb went off. And now we need to make sure that all the members of the RFA are safe.”

That they’re safe. Yoosung knew what Seven was trying to say, what he refused to say. Still the words seemed so odd. Of course Yoosung knew it was going to happen, knew that he wasn’t going to be that lucky, knew that V and Seven’s secrets would eventually fuck something up. But still, it was too soon, it was not right. Just because he had seen it coming didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt any less. Letting the phone drop from his hands Yoosung drifted down the hall towards the bathroom; where he promptly crumbled into a ball and let the tears flow.

Yoosung didn’t know how long it took to figure out you were alright, didn’t know how far away the hospital was or how much Seven stepped on the gas. His mind was surprisingly blank, wiped free of any sense of time or space. Even learning you had survived – by climbing on the neighboring fire escape and running like hell when the warnings started going off – didn’t clear the fog around his brain. Wandering down the hospital, half pushed by Seven, he wondered when this odd nightmare was ever going to end.

The moment he saw your face the world sped up again. Not realizing that Seven had decided to stand outside instead of watch the scene in front of him, and frankly not caring, Yoosung catapulted himself towards you. Crushing you in a hug he buried his face in your neck, trying to convince himself that you were real, that you were alive, that you weren’t going to be put in the ground and have dirt shoved upon you. That you were really, truly, still here.

“I should’ve been there to protect you.”

Night had fallen, and visiting hours were almost over at the hospital. At first Yoosung had been all smiles, all very teary smiles. Fussing about you, fluffing your pillow, yelling at Seven about what food would be appropriate to give you, Yoosung had ridden the wave of manic relief that kept him from thinking about everything that he’d been beating himself up about for the past, who knew how long. Now that things had slowed down however, he found himself thinking about them again.

Talking to you was the only way Yoosung knew how to make all the doubts and worries go away. He wasn’t cool like Zen or in control like Jumin. He desperately wanted to talk to you, wanted to know what you thought about everything and anything. And this was part of that. Now that he was here, in the quiet of the evening, Yoosung realized that he couldn’t bring himself not to talk to you about it.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that Yoosung,” you replied softly. “It wasn’t something you could predict. Besides, you could’ve gotten hurt, and then where would we be?”

“I know, but still! I, I really like you, I want to be your boyfriend when this is all over. But I can’t even protect you. I couldn’t save Rika, and now you almost died!”

“I didn’t almost die, Yoosung you’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not!” Frustration and fear combined in Yoosung’s voice, and he found his words cracking pathetically. “I’m not even mature enough to protect you, I’m not strong enough to be someone, someone worth something.”

“Yoosung, please listen to me,” your voice was soft but firm. Yoosung quieted, staring at your linked hands. “There are different kinds of maturity in the world,” you continued. “Sometimes being mature means not giving into emotions, or being really strong, or really good at doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you grow up. But you can be mature in other ways. Yoosung, I think you’re really matured when it comes to being kind. Not a lot of people are kind like you, or care about people a lot. And I really love that about you. So, I hate when you act like it’s a bad thing, or like you’re weak or something. You aren’t weak because you can’t control the world or because you aren’t ‘cool’ or something. In fact, you’re one of the strongest people I know!”

Yoosung was silent, trying to let your words sink in. He wasn’t good at accepting compliments, he never had been. Still, in that moment, he felt unbelievably light.

Smiling softly, finally letting himself look you in the face Yoosung felt his heart flutter as you smiled back. He didn’t quite believe in you, or himself, yet. But in that moment, he couldn’t deny how much he loved you.

And how much it meant to him that you loved him back.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars- Bad Batch) Snow Day - Intro

(Author’s Note:  Oyyyy, I wrote some fics for Mandalorian, and I was starting to miss the Bad Batch!  Well here is a new fic for them, and I hope y’all enjoy!

FYI, I intend to make a few different endings to this, so stay tuned.)

   Ever since you teamed up with the Bad Batch, you found yourself in a variety of interesting situations.  Sometimes it was a battalion of droids.  Other times it was encounters with aggressive creatures in the wilds of strange planets.  It was never a dull moment.  But you loved every single one with them..

   Even the one you were faced with right now.  

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, watching as the shadow steadily grew over your form.  It didn’t look like you could make your escape in time.  No.  The only option was to face your fate with dignity.  The tall figure in front of you raised his arms as you ducked.  He chucked the first snowball into your torso, knocking you straight off your feet.  “Wrecker!” you sputtered through the snow on your face.  “That snowball was literally bigger than a droid’s head!”  Your mouth opened in a wide grin nonetheless.

   He threw his head back and laughed.  “You had it coming!  You’re so petite.”

   “Yeah, and you’re strong,” you replied.  The largest Bad Batch member extended an arm, his hand covering yours.  The rush of cold air you felt as he lifted you to your feet made you giggle.  Wrecker leaned back, as if noticing something, and reached behind you to brush some snow off the back of your coat.  “Oh, thank you.”  The gesture warmed your heart.  He was so kind to the others and to you.

   You and the Bad Batch had some downtime on Hoth.  It was definitely not the most hospitable planet, but it was an interesting place if you were in the mood for some snow.  The harsh environment wasn’t nearly as bad in the day.  Nighttime was a different story, so the group planned to leave before then. 

   “So, what’s it going to be?” Hunter spoke up, hand on his hip in a casual stance.  His voice was muffled by the ski mask over his head that protected him from the cold.  The conditions were too poor for the crew to keep their armor on, so they donned winter gear instead. 

   “What do you mean?” you asked.

   “Well, you mentioned something about a snowball fight.  What does that entail, exactly?”

   Hunter gave a deep chuckle at the way your face lit up.  Crosshair rolled his eyes, as if to say, “here we go.”  Wrecker was already in the process of forming another gigantic snowball.  You stole a glance his way with a grimace, hoping you’d end up on his team.

   “We separate into two teams.  And then,” you deadpanned, “we throw snowballs at each other.”

   “And…?” Hunter prompted, tipping his head to one side.

   “And that’s it.”

   “How do you know who wins?” Crosshair questioned skeptically.

   “Whoever walks away with less frostbite, I guess.”  You gave a shrug, and Crosshair considered this for a moment.  He pulled the toothpick from between his teeth and tossed it in the snow.

   “I think you all should grow up” he muttered.  “But I don’t see that happening anytime soon, so I suppose I’ll join you.”  

   Hunter clasped his gloved hands together.  “We’ve got uneven teams, so how are we going to do this?” 

   “Wrecker is rather strong,” Tech piped up.  He had been rather quiet up to this point, taking the time to analyze the surroundings and watch the others.  “I say he should be on a team with one other person.”  You were about to raise your hand, but Tech was too quick.  “I’ll be on Wrecker’s team.” 

   That sly genius.  He was probably thinking the same thing as you.  He’d rather be on the team with the guy who throws snowballs the size of tauntauns and not be on the receiving end of said snowballs.  Your disappointment was short-lived, though, as Hunter summoned you and Crosshair to his side to discuss a quick strategy.  Tech went over to join Wrecker, and you gave a quick wave before turning your attention to the hushed discussion in front of you.  The three of you locked arms in a huddle of sorts.

   “Okay, so I don’t think any of us want to get hit by Wrecker,” Hunter said immediately, lifting a brow.  “Our best best is to be quick and to create as much confusion as possible so he can’t lock on a target.”

   “And how do we do that?” you asked.  “He’s got pretty good aim.”

   “Not as good as me,” Crosshair smirked.  “I’ll throw a snowball at his face.  It’ll blind him long enough for you two to get a few more shots in.”

   “Good,” Hunter nodded.  “Also, don’t underestimate Tech.  He doesn’t have Wrecker’s strength, but he’s probably cooked up a strategy as well over there.”  The three of you glanced up from the huddle briefly to see Tech talking to Wrecker. 

   “I think we can do this,” you said.  You threw your hand in the middle of the circle.  “Let’s go, team.”

   Hunter’s hand covered yours, and Crosshair’s covered Hunter’s.  When you broke the huddle, Wrecker was looking rather impatient.

   “Are we going to snowball fight, or what?”

   “Don’t worry,” Crosshair narrowed his eyes.  “We’re ready.”

   Tech opened up a holotimer that displayed numbers counting down.  “Snowball fight commencing in three...two...one...Fight!”

   The first thing you did was lay eyes on Wrecker.  You just had a funny feeling he’d go for you first.  To your dismay, you had been right in your suspicion.  He was already staring you down as he formed a snowball that could have easily been the bottom tier of a snowman.  As Wrecker readied himself to throw it, your first instinct was to find shelter.  Hunter was nearest, so you darted behind him.  The leader grunted when the giant snowball came hurling at him instead, and he fell back against you.

   “Thanks for the heads-up,” he growled sarcastically, straightening up.

   You held your hands up as he glanced at you over his shoulder.  “Sorry! I panicked.  Won’t happen again.”

   Meanwhile, Crosshair had prepared a small pile of snowballs, and he started launching a few of them at Wrecker.  Tech was approaching with a snowball in each hand, and Hunter leapt into action.  He quickly formed a snowball and pitched it right at his face.  He did a somersault out of the way as Wrecker chucked another snowball- large but not ridiculously so like the last one- in his direction.

   Crosshair fulfilled his strategy in throwing one directly at Wrecker’s face, and while he scrambled to wipe the snow off, you threw a few more.

   “I think we can win this,” you exclaimed with a laugh.

- - - - - - -  

   You pulled the shirt on over your head, reveling in the warmth of your pajamas.  The snow day was over when Tech alerted the crew that evening approached, and the drop in temperature would be damaging to the ship to the point where take-off most likely wouldn’t be possible.  A glance in the mirror turned into a steady gaze as you took in the way your eyes sparkled in the light of your quarters.

   It made you think back to what happened earlier… How a certain Bad Batcher in particular had paused to observe your face and complimented you on how pretty you looked in the snow.

   See, your team had lost the snowball fight.

   And it was because you were distracted by him.  He captivated you with the unexpected encounter.  The question was; what next?  How should you act around him?  Perhaps just keep going about things as you usually did?  It was difficult considering you were already crushing on him, and this situation didn’t help.

   Well the guys mentioned having a nice, hot beverage and kicking back for a while since the ship was traveling in hyperspace.  You wanted to join them, but part of you was still nervous.  

   “I’m definitely overthinking this,” you muttered aloud, turning away from the mirror.  With a sigh, you faced the door.  At the very least, you would be spending time with your favorite team, and that included him.

Wrecker ending: Here

Hunter ending: Here

Tech ending: Here

Crosshair ending: Here

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

k i woke up to thirteen unread messages, so let’s just do a fucking blanket text post covering everything so that i can go curl up by the fire with my aus and pussy eating fics in peace, yeah?

spoilers under the cut

hi, yes, hello, i’m still chill and hype

“but diz,” you say into my ask box. “how can you still be hype when kang has clearly demolished everything we’ve worked so hard for?”

because she hasn’t.

“but aren’t you tired of kang doing all this crazy, inconsistent writing? aren’t you sick of her doing everything for the shock value and not being true to the characters?”

sigh.

y’all.

don’t come for my girl like that.

call me delusional if you want, but to me all of this fits perfectly within the same narrative, which has been leading to canon from the day she took the helm. 

i have already done a thousand and one breakdowns as to why carol getting with zeke was caryl-positive, so i’m not gonna go there again, but the leah thing is too.

“but diz--”

shh, i’m still talking. 

picture this: you are a lonely, lonely man who has gone through hell and back, and it took you years to open up to your found family, only for your best friend to explode and the love of your life to go marry a guy who probably worked at medieval times to pay for college, and now you’re all alone in the woods trying to figure out wtf to do with yourself. 

you tell yourself you can keep visiting your niece and her mom now and then, but that kind of sucks bc of the aforementioned best friend exploding, and also you and your niece’s mom had to murder a bunch of small children and that tends to be kind of traumatizing to remember, so it’s not the ideal situation

but at least you still have your girl, even if she is in an indefinite LARP game for the rest of her life. 

but!

then she says, “actually, i can’t come visit you much anymore, what with the whole community, and husband, and child thing,” 

and then you are actually Alone.

and it’s for the first time, because every time before that you at least had your brother, who might have been a piece of shit, but at least he was there. 

so you meet some chick on the road. you’re sad, no longer feel like you have a family (after it took you so long to get one that you actually loved), and you’re more alone than you have ever been, and you meet this chick who is a loner like you, and you’re wary at first. the two of you don’t trust each other, bc you don’t trust easy. but over time you start to build that trust, and she offers you companionship that you are so desperately in need of, and maybe you wouldn’t usually be into it, but given the Literally Everything Else going on, it’s like, why the fuck not? you have N O T H I N G left.

so she gives you an ultimatum--her or what little is left of your family. well, your family is scattered to the wind and being around them only hurts you more, and this person is offering you a chance for something new (and when things get rly bad, hasn’t your go-to move always been to run anyway?) so you say okay. you say you’ll go.

except nvm, she ditched you, lol, you’re all alone again! sucks to suck.

skip ahead, you’re back with your family, and your og girl has dumped the LARPer, and maybe things can be good again, except there’s a bunch of people going full hannibal lecter wearing other people’s faces on their own and murdering everyone, and your og girl is actually insane rn due to years’ worth of unresolved trauma, and you’re suddenly a dad, and you’re being asked to make nice with the guy who literally tortured you, and honestly? it’d be hard enough as is to trust again, but this whole situation is NOT HELPING. 

so by the time the war ends you are tired, and you are hurt, and you are wary, because you keep losing things that matter. and you got back the one person in the world who mattered the most, except she did some super questionable shit, and you’re having a hard time reconciling it, and finally you just Lose It, bc goddamnit, you’ve earned it, mkay? you are entitled to a little blow up. if she gets to literally blow shit up then the least you can do is yell a little, like damn.

but. 

she’s the one person in the world who matters most. a rebound fling over the course of a few months =/= ten years of being soulmates. you’ll forgive her, she’ll forgive you, and the two of you will ride off into the sunset together, almost as if you were suddenly in your own spin-off show. 

what a concept?

/fin/

“alright, but diz--”

OH MY GOD HOW DO YOU STILL HAVE OBJECTIONS?

listen. here is what daryl/leah teaches us:

-daryl is willing and capable of having intimate relationships

-that being said, daryl being in a relationship has been a Big Thing for everyone, regardless of who they ship him with, since s1, so if it was supposed to be The Most Important Relationship Ever to him, the juicy parts would not happen off screen. there’s a reason the sex is only implied. they’re not showing it until it’s the Real Thing

-we now know daryl has had sex in the past ten years, so maybe he’ll actually last more than six seconds when he bones down with carol! very good!

-this also teaches us that hoo buddy, y’all have some mixed morals when it comes to these characters. the “daryl would only be in a relationship if he rly loved them, so how could he possibly love carol still?” thing is like. dude. carol is MARRIED during this, and he doesn’t get to see her much anymore. is he supposed to just walk around jacking it while crying for the rest of his life? the man tried to move on, and the tragic thing is that he got screwed over. i do not think this is out of character at all. i think daryl fell in love with carol, she got married, he was lonely, tried to move on and convince himself he could be happy with this other chick (who might be rly cool, who knows??), and then he got his heart broken again, before it ever really healed to being with. the boy is a giant bleeding heart who is getting stomped on constantly, and y’all better stop yelling at him for trying to feel better or i’ll come for you. this is like carol having rebound sex with zeke. if you want your characters to be realistic then you have to let them do human things, holy shit

this is getting excessive, let’s tie it up.

the main takeaways here are:

-no it’s not out of character

-yes it fits the narrative, kang isn’t just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks, it all has a purpose, which is why i’m totes fine with it

-leah might not actually die, which thank god, i thought it was douchey of them to kill off another woman for Man Pain. i’m glad i’ve been wrong about her and connie both

-oh yeah, connie...i have no new feelings on connie

-daryl now has sexual stamina, so we can all update our headcanons now

-“i can’t believe they end the episode on such a sore note! their friendship is almost destroyed, how will it ever recover??” ...how are you surprised? that was...that was literally the description of the episode, my dude. that one didn’t exactly come out of left-field. it’ll be okay, they’re gonna make up. hopefully through a bunch of hyperbolically tragic misadventures. it’ll be a good time, calm down

-there is a FUCKING SPIN-OFF coming, how can you think they won’t reconcile?

-actually it’d be super funny if they were just giving each other the silent treatment throughout the entire thing lmfao

-“have you seen that new caryl show?” “yeah, it’s fucking weird. there’s no dialogue??”

-anyway

-does it help if i said i secretly thought they might fuck the whole time, specifically for the reasons stated above, and i’ve been kinda into it since the promo but didn’t say so bc i didn’t want to get hanged? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-idk y’all, that’s all i got. drink up ig?

i just found out that i’m literally anemic, and y’all are still more exhausting than anything else. it’s okay to just like. enjoy things. i promise.

now if you’ll excuse me, i have aus to dive head-first into. i’m not gonna say a whole bunch else about shit unless it gets rly necessary. i think i will make this blog relentlessly positive out of spite, and will just post fics and shippy gifs. i have a photoshop free trial (thatigottomakeaberniememe), mb i’ll make sappy caryl gifs as practice and bombard you all with them. feel free to come by for cheering up, but i’m not gonna repeat myself six thousand times, either

stay hype, STAN KANG, and get daryl to call carol sweetheart 2k21,

-diz

[zedwards]

MOVIE DATES WITH STRAY KIDS

stray kids x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

warnings: intended for male reader, but can be read as gender neutral; my first fic 👉👈 im nervous; lowercase aesthetic; does “bastard” count as a swear word..?

i hope you enjoy this little gift :)

bang chan

he likes romantic comedies

tbh being chan’s s/o would feel like a romcom of its own

since he doesn’t like crowds, your movie dates together usually wouldn’t involve actually going to the movies

instead you’d probably both opt to stay in for the night and watch a movie on the couch

under multiple blankets

in each other’s arms

hugs and cuddles

with the occasional kiss on the top of your head

it’s so soft

it’s chan :)))

he does the little claps at the end of the movie

because happy endings ^–^

y’know those awkward scenes where the main couple meets for the first time?

he likes to point out which character you were most similar to when the two of you first met

“i didn’t know you were in this movie!”

“you look so different! i could hardly recognize you!”

he’s such a dork

all your movie nights would end in one of three ways:

1.) you falling asleep in his arms

2.) him falling asleep holding you close (yeah not really, this man doesn’t sleep that much T_T)

or 3.) you both make it through the movie, and one of you says something like

“this is nice...i wish we could just stay like this”

and so you both (in theory) fall asleep right where you are

either way, chan is the best boyfriend and neither of you know what you did to deserve each other

lee know

he’d get you to go see a horror movie

even if you protest, he’d manage to convince you somehow

pokes fun at you every time you get scared

during a suspenseful part in the movie, he’d suddenly put his hands on your shoulders and shake you (lightly) out of nowhere, just to startle you

and he’d have to stifle his giggles because your reaction is just too priceless

absolutely relishes in how you never let go of his arm

like ever

seriously, his arm might as well be an extension of your body at this point

he may act like he’s annoyed

but he loves it

cuz he knows it’s because you feel safe with him

and if you hide your face in the crook of his neck

he’d get this look on his face...

something between an evil smirk and an amused grin

why? because his plan is working

plot twist: the whole reason he chose to see a horror movie with you was so that you would cling to him

surprise!! >:]

but even if you catch on, he’ll never admit it

tsundere

“did you even see any of the movie?”

you just kinda grumble in response, still latched onto his arm

“i can’t believe it... i so generously paid for your ticket, only for you to hide your face the whole ti- OW!”

you jab him in the side with your elbow give him a “love tap” :)

but it’ll take more than that to get him to stop teasing you about it

he’s a cocky bastard but you love him to death for it

seo changbin

superhero movie!!!

like something from the mcu

seeing him get so excited/invested in the movie??

wholesome

but he might get a little too excited

in other words, going to the movies with changbin is an...interactive experience

meaning that he talks at the movie

not to the movie, but at the movie

like...he talks at the characters on screen

as if they can hear him

honestly it’s kinda cute

but occasionally you have to remind him to keep his voice down

“HE TRIED TO TELL YOU NOT TO TOUCH THE STONE”

“shhhh alright calm down a bit-”

“...AND NOW YOU DEAD”

“changbin i love you but please don’t get us kicked out of the theater”

10/10 would have his arm around you throughout the movie

even if his arm goes numb, he’d refuse to let anything stop him

“changbin, you don’t have t-”

“CUDDLES.”

lowkey feels like a pillow

bc he beefy

on very rare occasions he might fall asleep during the movie

if he does end up dozing off and you catch him in the act, he’d deny it profusely

he likes to spontaneously slip his hand into yours :)

and lace your fingers together :))

you’re holding hands now :)))

his presence is just so warm and fuzzy and you make each other so happy

hwang hyunjin

THIS MAN

the funnest(?) most fun bf in existence

he’s definitely the type to try and smuggle outside food into the theater

he insists that he’s inconspicuous about it

and he tries to be

but he’s not :)

“uh... hyunjin, why are you wearing two hoodies?”

“i uh... i’m... cold?”

“so you’re sticking bags of microwaveable popcorn in between your sweatshirts...to keep warm?”

*visibly sweating* “i can explain...”

ok ok

so y’all seeing a comedy

why?

because HIS LAUGH OMG

it’s so bubbly and contagious

so naturally, you’d both be laughing up a storm at the back of the theater

and sometimes it’s because of the movie

but most of the time it’s because of the side comments the two of you keep making to each other

and it doesn’t help that he keeps making these ridiculous observations about the characters in the movie

“what’s up with that guy?”

“what about him?”

“why is he built like a refrigerator?”

about halfway through the movie, you both reach that delirious state where literally anything and everything becomes funny

even if it’s not supposed to be funny

...especially if it’s not supposed to be funny

the two of you? lowkey hyenas

long story short, you’re both asked to leave the theater not even two hours into the film :)

han jisung

action!! movie!!

finishes the popcorn within the first ten minutes of the film

that is, if he doesn’t scarf it all down during the previews

he talks through the entIRE THING

he’s always got something to say

it’s like watching the director’s commentary version of a movie

but instead of the director talking about the film-making process

it’s jisung muttering nonsense in your ear

sometimes pertaining to the movie

and other times...

“hey did i ever tell you about the time i saw a seagull eating garbage?”

...yeah, other times it’s...not

either way, you don’t mind

because you aren’t really paying much attention to the movie anyways

you’re too busy admiring your boyfriend

how could you not?

the way he’s on the edge of his seat, giving the movie his full attention...

the light from the screen flickering dimly on his face, highlighting his gentle features...

you’re the luckiest person in the world, no doubt

his eyes light up whenever something particularly cool/badass happens in the movie

but he also gets startled by the explosions every now and then

when that happens, you just look at each other for a moment

and then burst into a fit of giggles

“stoooppp!! it was loud, ok??”

you just hum in response and rest your head on his shoulder

y’know that thing he does where like...

he’s giggling, but he has something he wants to say, so he keeps trying to talk?

but his words keep getting cut off by his own laughter?

yeah... that’s what he’s doing

he’s adorable

lee felix

animated movie

a firm believer that you’re never too old to enjoy cartoons

he never lost that child-like energy/enthusiasm, which is part of what makes him such a gem

so of course, when the new disney movie came out, he knew he had to go see it with you

he would definitely load up on snacks from concessions

if you don’t stop him, he’s gonna be buying two giant things of popcorn and at least five different kinds of candy

and when he walks back to you after paying, he’d just smile brightly from behind the mountain of junk food in his hands like

“snacks :D!!!!!”

seriously though, try to keep track of how much popcorn he eats

bc he might overeat and get a stomachache :((

obviously he can take care of him self, cuz he’s an adult

but like

he loves when you look out for him

because he knows just how much you care about him

sunshine boy :((

y’all already know how much of a cuddle bug this man is

so of course that means lots of cute, affectionate gestures during the movie

skinship

holding hands

you resting your head on his shoulder

and him resting his head on top of your head

and most importantly SNUGGLES

snuggles are a must

for him, movie dates are just an excuse to be extra touchy with you

even though he never needs an excuse to get cuddles whenever he wants

because c’mon

it’s felix

what are you gonna do, say no?

kim seungmin

murder mystery film

tends not to talk all that much during movies

he’d just be so completely engrossed in the movie that he’d forget about his surroundings

but that’s not to say he won’t hold your hand or drape his arm over your shoulders

every now and then you can catch him leaning forward in his seat

with his mouth slightly ajar

it’s so endearing

but if for whatever reason you want to get his attention...

heh...

yeah, good luck with that

you’d have to maybe give his hand a lil squeeze to get his attention

and at first he’d just turn his head in your direction, keeping his eyes glued to the movie

but if you gave his hand another squeeze, he’d snap out of it

“psst...seungmin”

“mm.”

“hey, seungmin?”

“huh? yeah?”

“i love you”

if that doesn’t make his heart SWELL—

his dazed expression would quickly shift into one of pure elation and fondness

he might not respond verbally

but he’d gently bring your hand up to his lips

press a soft kiss atop your knuckles

and then lower your hand again without letting go, turning his attention back to the movie

but that bright smile of his would never falter for even a moment

he loves you too

so so much :)

yang jeongin

another one for romantic comedies

he likes it when there’s a little less “rom” and slightly more “com”

and so do you

because it means you get to hear his laugh more

oh god...

his laugh

the little giggles in between the short gasps for air...

so cute

“no. i’m not cute.”

he is very cute

probably won’t initiate any skinship

but if you do, he will absolutely go along with it

sometimes he’ll nod off in the middle of a movie

and then wake up during the credits, completely disoriented

“where am i”

“you fell asleep”

“huh??”

“you drooled a little on my shoulder, you goof”

unlike hyunjin, he’s really good at sneaking food into the theaters

like really really good

almost to the point that it’s scary

usually people try to sneak in popcorn or candy or maybe soda

well not jeongin

“hey, you want some?”

“what the- HOW DID YOU GET A BUCKET OF FRIED CHICKEN IN HERE”

“:]”

he’s not telling

like or reblog if you enjoyed ^^ feedback is always welcome and very much appreciated!

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (2/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of bruising

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Y’all I’ve gotten really into writing this fic. I know for chapter one I said semi-slow burn but upon further consideration I’m upgrading this to just straight-up slow burn. I’m not sorry. Enjoy some Nestor banter xo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ (As always if you wanna be updated on future chapters of this, or notified about any of my other writing, let me know!)

(Threw together my own little fic header because why not?)

You woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. You smiled to yourself as you sat up and stretched in your bed, taking a few moments to collect yourself before you left your room to see what Nestor had gotten into. You padded down the hall and peeked into the kitchen to see a full pot of coffee sitting on the counter. You smiled as you walked over and poured yourself a cup before scooping an unhealthy amount of sugar and pouring creamer into it.

You heard Nestor from the living room, “You gonna have any coffee with all that cream and sugar?”

You looked over to him with a small smile, “I only drink it for the caffeine. Let me guess, you don’t put anything in yours.”

“That’s right,” he lifted his mug slightly.

You rolled your eyes, “You one of those guys who tries to protect the integrity of the coffee?”

He smirked, shaking his head, “No, I just hate creamer,” there was a pause before he asked, “So what’re you doing today?”

“Nothing until this afternoon. I work at the bar today,” you saw surprise cross his face for a brief moment and you laughed, “Some of us have to have regular day jobs, Nestor.”

He shook his head, “I know your father, I believe there is very little you have to do.”

“I have to have a personal security detail,” you shot back before taking another sip of your coffee.

He chuckled, “Well. That’s an upgrade from calling me your babysitter.”

“Well, I guess I should have asked first, am I still allowed to go to work?” you asked, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

He sighed, “I told you, I don’t make the rules. Your father didn’t say that you can’t. So, yes, until further notice.”

“How kind of him,” you shook your head slightly. You looked over at Nestor, wondering how he had the energy so early in the morning to put himself together so nicely, “You might as well sleep in your dress clothes.”

He shook his head, fighting back a smile, “No, they’d get wrinkled.”

For most of the morning, Nestor stayed quietly out of your way. He was on his laptop for a little while, and you were trying not to stare as you milled about your house cleaning and getting ready for work. Every now and then you could catch him glancing at you as you strolled around and you tried to ignore it.

Once it was time to leave, you snatched your keys off of the table and looked over at Nestor, who was pulling on his jacket. He looked at you, saw the keys dangling from your fingers, and let out a small sigh. He didn’t say anything as he headed towards the front door, holding it open for you.

“If you’re really that petrified after this drive, I won’t make you suffer through it anymore,” you laughed as you walked out the front door.

When the two of you pulled into the parking lot of the bar, Nestor wordlessly held out his hand for you to give him the keys. You laughed, shaking your head, “I was not that bad. Don’t be such a baby,” you opened your door, keeping the keys to yourself, “How am I supposed to trust you to protect me if you can’t even handle a little speeding?”

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head as he also got out of the car. You locked it and started walking towards the entrance, Nestor close behind you. Before you got to the door, though, you stopped and turned to him, “So, are you just going to lurk around for my entire shift?”

“I have to stay with you.”

You huffed, “That’s going to look so creepy though.”

He simply shrugged and gestured for you to walk inside. With a heavy sigh you complied. You walked to the back to get ready for your shift, leaving Nestor to his own devices. He took a seat at the bar and looked around, trying to get a decent grasp on his surroundings. He wasn’t quite sure what kind of bar you worked at, but he wasn’t expecting what he had walked into. It wasn’t a rough bar by any means, but it also wasn’t as upscale as he was probably used to after working with the Galindo family for so long. You were interested to see how he handled everything.

You came back out and set a glass of beer in front of him. He looked at you, confused, and you rolled your eyes with a small smile, “It’ll look less creepy if you’re sitting there and at least pretending that you’re here to drink.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a slight nod as he slid the glass closer to himself and taking a small sip out of it. You chuckled to yourself and shook your head as you walked away. The afternoon was starting off slow, as it usually did. That was fine by you, but it definitely made Nestor’s permanent presence a little more noticeable.

A couple hours into your shift, the owner of the bar pulled you into the back to talk to you, slight concern showing on her face, “You know that guy at the bar?”

You nodded, not sure how you were going to navigate the conversation, “Yea, he’s with me.”

“Do I get to know why he’s camping out in my bar?”

You sighed—the only upside being that your boss knew your father. She didn’t know a whole lot, but she knew enough to know that he was a powerful ally to have. “Family stuff,” you finally said, “My dad wants him around to keep me outta trouble.”

“Should I be worried?” she looked at the bruise on your cheek.

You shook your head, “No, I’m good. He’s overreacting. And to be fair, I told Nestor people were going to think he’s a creep if he just sits there all night,” you chuckled.

You saw some of the tension disappear from your boss’s face as she let out a laugh, “Least you tried to warn him,” she nudged your shoulder, “He’s cute. There are worse faces to get stuck looking at all the time, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, “He was hired to protect me, I’m not going to spend all of my time gawking at him.”

“Sure, he’s there to protect you, but who will protect you from falling in love with him?” she batted her eyelashes dramatically with a laugh, “You’re basically the star in a really niche romance movie.”

“Alright, I’m done with this conversation,” you laughed, but you could feel your face started to heat up, “Can I go back to doing my job?”

She smiled, “Sure. But if he starts scaring away customers, you’ll have to tell him to go and sit in the car or something.”

You raised one eyebrow, “You can be the one to have that conversation with him.”

“You think I won’t?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “I know you will, and I need to be there to see it when it happens.”

She gave you a gentle nudge back out onto the main floor of the bar and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at the mental image that you were conjuring up in your head of how it would look to see her get in Nestor’s face. Jade wasn’t a large woman, in fact she was a little shorter than you, but she carried herself with the confidence of a woman who had spent most of her adult life making sure drunk and belligerent men didn’t too out of hand. There weren’t many situations that scared her. She was older than you, but no one would’ve been able to tell at first glance—not letting little shit stress her out had definitely slowed her aging process. Between that and her long, wavy hair that cascaded down her back, she was the picture of youth. You had always admired the way that she carried herself, and you were almost hoping that she was going to have the opportunity to tell Nestor to hit the bricks.

As the night got busier, it was easier for Nestor to blend in. He mixed in well with the after-work crowd—it was a lot of men and women in their business attire. The later the night got, the more you could see him start to get antsy. A couple times you had walked over to him to tell him that he could wait outside if he was sick of being there, but he would just shake his head and wave you off. A couple times you reminded him that a little bit of a smile would go a long way in toning down the scary and creepy vibes he was giving off. He’d force one for you for a few moments before he went back to his usual passive expression, and you’d laugh every time the fake grin would fall from his face.

Jade had also gotten less annoyed with his presence as the night went on. You were fairly convinced it was only because she thought that he was attractive, not that you could blame her. You were still holding onto the hope that one of these nights she would tell him to get out. The amusement of that mental image made you smile every time it crossed your mind.

Once everyone had left except for Nestor, Jade told you both to head home. You reassured her that you could stay and help clean up, not wanting to leave her to close all by herself. She waved you off, reassuring you that her husband was already on his way to pick her up and she was definitely going to rope him into helping.

“I’ll help at least until he gets here,” you told her, not feeling comfortable leaving her alone.

“I’m letting you go early for your friend, not so much for you,” she laughed.

You smiled, shaking your head, “Listen, the man is being paid to spend time with me. He’s got it made—he can keep his spot at the bar for a little while longer.”

It only took her husband about twenty minutes to get there, and once he walked in, she all but pushed both you and Nestor out the door, “Bring a book, or sudoku or something next time,” she called after him. He didn’t say anything but he did smile and wave goodnight to her.

The two of you reached the car and Nestor looked at you, trying to figure out if you were going to let him drive home. You shook your head slightly before unlocking the doors and sliding into the driver’s seat. You could see it on his face that he wanted to argue with you, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he dropped into the passenger seat beside you.

“We can take turns,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

“Hm?”

You smiled as you pulled out onto the road, “Driving. I’ll drive my car and you can drive yours. We can take turns.”

He didn’t say anything as he rested his head back against the seat, keeping his eyes on the road. You had to assume, though, that the fact that he didn’t argue with you meant that he was fine with the new plan. At least it meant that he’d be able to drive some of the time.

“So,” you started as you unlocked the front door of your house, “How long do I have to go without an attempt on my life before you can be released back into Galindo Land?”

He chuckled as he walked in before you, wanting to check the house first, “It’s only been two days. My company really that bad?”

You hung by the door, allowing him to do his search, “Let’s be real, Nestor, this isn’t what either of us would really call company.”

He returned to the doorway and gestured for you to walk inside, satisfied with the safety level of your home. You walked over to the kitchen and opened the freezer, contemplating which pint of ice cream you were going to dig into. You grabbed a spoon and popped the top off your container of rocky road.

“Oh, that reminds me,” you pointed your spoon at him, “you don’t need to be doing chores around here, you know,” you gestured to the clean dishes.

He shrugged, “I was up…no point in not doing them.”

“I appreciate it, but still. You don’t have to,” you tilted the ice cream towards him, “Want a bite?”

He laughed and shook his head as he sat down on the couch, “I’m alright, thank you.”

You shrugged as you plopped down next to him, “Suit yourself.”

You could feel him staring at you, wondering why you felt the need to sit right next to him. You purposely ignored him as you scrolled, trying to find a TV show you felt like watching. He sighed, leaning away from you slightly and onto the arm rest of the couch. You smiled to yourself, spoon sticking out of your mouth. 

It was starting to get late when he looked over at you and asked, “Mind if I use your shower?”

For a moment you thought about making a smart remark about forcing him to live with you and not granting him access to the shower, but instead you settled on, “Had you pegged as more of a bubble bath guy,” you made yourself laugh, “But yea sure, go for it. Just don’t use the shampoo in the blue bottle, that’s just mine.”

He stood up and made his way down the hall, “I’ll be sure to avoid that.”

You peaked over the top of the couch and watched him disappear into the guest room, only to walk back out a few moments later with a change of clothes and a towel draped over his arm. He saw you looking at him and gave you a look that asked why you were staring.

“Water gets super hot super fast, so be careful,” you said without bothering to look away.

“Got it,” he slowly walked into the bathroom, waiting for you to look away but it didn’t happen. Once the door shut behind him you let out a laugh and returned your attention to the television.

When he came back out into the living room, he was back in the same set of clothes that you had seen him in the previous night. Maybe it was because you were so used to seeing him in dress shirts and slacks, but you definitely preferred the more comfortable aesthetic on Nestor. You bit back a laugh as he made a point to sit in the recliner instead of on the couch where he could get smothered by you again. He took his laptop out of his bag and began working on something, not that you would ever be able to figure out what.

“Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t look up from his laptop, “You can ask. Won’t promise I’ll answer.”

You smiled to yourself, “So do you, like, live with Miguel and Emily when you’re not being loaned out to me?”

He looked over at you, shaking his head slightly, “No. I only stay there if things are getting tense and he thinks he needs to have the extra support around the clock.”

You nod, “So you have your own place?”

He paused, searching your face for a moment before giving a simple, “Yes,” and going back to whatever he had been typing.

“Like a house? Or an apartment?”

He didn’t meet your gaze, instead keeping his eyes trained on his computer screen, “Why does that matter?”

You shrug despite the fact that he’s not looking at you, “I’m just nosey. Indulge me!” you laugh.

He shook his head but you can see it in his eyes that he’s trying not to smile, “That’s not information you need to know.”

“Oh come on,” you flopped onto the other end of the couch so you were closer to the chair that he was sitting in, “You get to know everything about my life. I can’t even know if you live in a house?”

He finally looked up at you, “I know everything about you because I have to. What need could you have for knowing that about me?”

“I’ll add it to my pile of Nestor Notes. It’ll go right on top of won’t listen to music in the car and doesn’t like not being the driver.”

He shook his head and went back to his work without another word. You sat there looking at him for a few moments before finally giving in and refocusing on your show. Every now and then you swore you could feel his eyes on you but you weren’t going to risk looking to see if you were right.

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas/The Signal Fic Recs

This is for @capttain-emo who saw me reblog this wonderful rec list by @stories-from-the-batcave , and asked if I knew any more. (I highly recommend those, btw, I love all the fics on that list! Yes, that includes the one I wrote in there) Duke Thomas is my favorite Batfam member, so I have a bunch! Unfortunately, there isn’t as much Duke content out there as I’d hope - people just don’t seem to like him as much for some reason? It’s sad. So, there are gonna be a couple here written by me. Rest assured, I have way more Duke content on the way - including a WIP coming out this week! (Ao3 linked out at the top of my blog)

I love recommending Fics, so hit me up in my inbox if there’s a trope or character or relationship (platonic or not) that you’d really love to read! I also write fan fiction, and my requests are always open!

1. Siblings: The Truth of the Matter by Me!

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & his siblings

Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.

So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two.

AKA Duke gets tied up and questioned by his siblings, all while drugged with Truth Serum!

2. Bliss by Me!

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian

Duke walks in on a sleeping assassin child in need of comfort, and takes a chance. Brotherly bonding ensues!

3. An ever growing family of birds and bats by alicecrow6

Rating: General Audiences/Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian

a series of Batkids Age Reversal fics where Damian comes first, then Harper, then Duke and so on.

4. look at me, all the things I can do by Aelig  

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Cass, Duke & Bruce

"Duke took a bite of his toast, gaze still on Bruce. His foster father was sipping at his coffee, eyebrows frowning. To an outsider, you would think he was reading the morning news on his tablet, like always; Duke knew better. Bruce's look was a little away from the screen, his lips downward.

It was almost funny, to watch Bruce internally panic."

OR: It's the morning, and Duke is going back to school for the first time since his injury.

5. The Batchair(s) Issue by NightFlier

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen w/ background ships Relationships: Duke & Cass, Duke & Steph, Steph/Cass Trio & Batfam

Duke Thomas feels like an outsider, and not just because he's part of the new Outsiders team roster. He's the newest member of the legendary Batclan and hasn't yet formed the close bonds that the others share. Not to mention, he's the only active Meta on the team. As if it wasn't hard enough to relate with people with such colorful, unique backgrounds.

But it's okay! Duke has a plan and it'll probably work for a while before crashing & burning. BatShenanigans ahead.

6. All That Glitters is Gold (Unfortunately) by IndefiniteIceCube

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Tim, Duke & Steph

The world is gold and Duke can't breathe.

He can't breathe.

He was sitting in AP World History just a minute ago.

Was it a minute ago? It seemed like a minute ago but it could have been hours because all he can focus on is that he can’t breathe. His lungs won’t fill and- and he’s trying he swears but he just. can’t. breathe.

And the gold—

-----

Duke's powers emerge.

It doesn't go well.

7. Be the Light that Helps Others See by Ace_Corvid @ace-corvid

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

Duke didn't really know what to expect from movie nights with the Bats.

He could only assume they approached this with the same determined intensity as they approached everything else. They were all so extra it was like their gauge for normal was completely broke. He wasn't really prepared for this.

And yet here he was. Surrounded.

(Alternatively; Batkid's have a movie night.)

8. I've Made a Million Mistakes by Sohotthateveryonedied

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

9. Children (All of Them) by TheFalconWarrior

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

In which Tim is not stupid but Jason might just be, Damian is furious, Dick kind of feels like he should be doing…something, Steph is ecstatic, and Duke wonders how long he can survive.

10. In the Dark of the Night by Aelig

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Jason, Batfam

"Duke was woken up by someone sliding into his bed. Someone big judging by how the mattress shifted.

Because Duke was a well-trained vigilante, his first reflex was obviously to kick whoever was being creepy right now and push them out of his bed.

It was only when the someone landed on the floor with a yelp that Duke realized that he was at Wayne Manor, which was incredibly secure – normally. He could recognize the voice, too."

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: none

OR: The Batfam and their way to deal with nightmares.

11. Welcome to the Family by angstyelephant

In which Duke Thomas goes back to the beginning.

12. Family-- by incorrectbatfam

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & batfam

“Your assignment over the weekend is to write a poem about your family.”

13. I'm Still Climbing(Even When the Rest Have Fallen) by anidear

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Dick, Duke & Damian

After his first exposure to the Fear Toxin, Dick checks in on Duke.

14. The cat and the newcomer by Fleur_de_Violette

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Alfred the Cat

Duke always found people talking to their pets about their problems silly. And yet here he was.

15. Duke-napped by NightOwl1600

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & batfam

The others don’t really bother Duke with his business. They all care about him, he knows, but outside of the vigilante business, they don’t really care to ask aside from the typical “How was school?” or “Can you buy me some chilidogs after you’re done with whatever you’re doing?” So he’s a bit concerned if they’ll even notice when he’s been kidnapped as Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne’s newest ward. But he’s not about to panic; as the others seem to be so determined that traumatizing new experiences are part of Bat-initiation.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family freaks out because “Did anyone go over the do’s and don’ts of getting kidnapped with Duke?!”

16. Nightmare/Hallucination by FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Jason

Duke found himself staring at the ceiling again. His heart was no longer racing, but he wouldn’t exactly say that he was calm either. This is the moment after the end of a race you lost, when all of the adrenaline is starting to wear off and the hopelessness sets in. That’s it. You’re out of the competition, buddy.

Except that this isn’t a race, and Duke hasn’t just lost his spot for the finals. He had simply lost sleep.

17. Jason Todd, Big Brother Part 8792 by Gemini_00

Rating: General Audiences Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Jason, Duke & Damian

Robin and the Signal sneak along the Outlaws mission in order to steal a bazooka and hang out with Kori. Jason has to deal with two little brothers and feeding a team of outlaws. He's putting this on Bruce's credit

18. "What's wrong? What's happening?" By FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: General Audiences Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Tim

Duke runs into trouble during his daytime patrol, and ends up needing some back up. The resident over-productive insomniac bat picks up the call.

(A little bit of and Duke interaction for a nice tumblr Anon :) I hope you like it!)

19. Nightmares by FearfulKitten @fearfulkittenwrites

Rating: Teen Category: Other Relationships: Duke & Dick

Filling the nightmare square on my bingo card with the help of an anon on tumblr who asked for a fic where Duke has a nightmare and asks for the help of one of the older batboys!

"Duke checked the time again. Two minutes had passed.

Time was ticking too slowly. He was tired, but sitting alone in the dark was definitely not a good idea right now.

He’d have to ask for help."

20. Brothers in Arms by TheFalconWarrior

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam

...possibly against each other. Batkid prank wars are the worst.

Duke is learning. Tim is evil. So is Damian. Dick is embarrassing. Jason is dramatic. Steph is brave. Babs is all-knowing. Cass wants in. Alfred is a little amused, and Bruce is so. Tired.

21. First rule of Robin, right? By ALzzza

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Damian,Duke & Dick

"Nothing’s going to hurt you—you got that, nothing.”

Duke doesn’t have anything better to do but it’s not like that matters. Hell, he’d drop everything and run—always in time to catch this little bird.

Or, Damian’s Been Having Nightmares, Duke To The Rescue—Dick Always With The Reassurance

22. Duke's Diary by fiery_day

 Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam,Duke & Dick

This is a couple of journal entries by Duke as he learns to become Signal. He relates his thoughts on the batfamily and aspects of the vigilante life he now leads.

23. Significance of a Gala by nxttime

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Batfam,Duke & Jason, Duke & Tim

This year’s Wayne Gala would be Duke’s first, and he had no clue how to feel about it.

 25. The cloud that looks after each other by Batmango

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Goliath

Duke wakes up the Bat cave after a fight with the Joker.

For MashpotatoeQueen5 as a thanks for using so many of my prompt in the excellent January Jot-Downs.

Prompt: a hurt comfort after an injury/illness? Or just cuddles. I love me some cuddles.

26. The One You’ll Know By by Redrikki

Rating: Teen Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Bruce & Alfred

After losing his memory, Bruce asked Alfred not to tell him about his vigilante life, but he's beginning to think his butler left a few other things out. Like, say, his kids.

27. Duke Thomas Hates Bullies by Gemini_00

Rating: Unrated Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Steph, Duke & Tim, Duke & Bruce, Duke & Damian

Everyone loves that Duke Thomas isn't like all those other crazy Waynes. Everyone loves that the Signal isn't trying to get himself killed. Duke may not see Bruce as his dad, but he is definitely part of the bat family. and nobody is going to bully his family. Or, Duke Thomas Kicks Ass.

28. batman is dancing to fortnight and this might as well happen because vigilante life is already so *Goddamn* weird (Duke Thomas: A Memoir) by MashpotatoeQueen5

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Batfam

You may not have time to unpack all that, but Duke Thomas does.

(He doesn't get it either.)

(He loves his new crazy family nonetheless.)

29. In a World Where You Can Be Anything, Be Kind by RedHoodie1723

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Bruce, Duke & Batfam

Day Six of Batfam Week 2020: Take Your Child To Work Day

It was Duke's first time visiting Wayne Enterprises, and he couldn't help but be intrigued by the Martha Wayne Foundation.

30. You’re My Brother by blackpercy

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Duke & Dick

Duke's missing his parents a lot and Dick comes in to help his little brother.

And that’s it for the list! I hope you enjoy these thirty works! Once again, send me an ask if you have requests for fics, recs, or if you have general questions!

[pedros-mustache-main]

i want your last name

summary: it’s only a year...

word count: 16k+ (holy crap i’m sorry)

warnings: idiot-strangers to lovers, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), frightening situations & suspense, alcohol consumption and drunkenness, language, innuendo, timeline inaccuracies

a/n: please bear with me as this is my first time writing rog and i’m relatively unsure about it. anyway, have a vaguely spooky fic just in time for halloween! xoxo! also: big thank you to @ineloqueent​ for helping with this fic! y’all, she literally held my hand and walked me through every paragraph what a saint

january, 1982.

“you’re off your rocker if you think i’m going to go through with this, jim.”

from his place on the couch, john snorts. “what? afraid she won’t be pretty enough for you, rog?”

roger levels john an uncharacteristically dark look, jabbing his finger through the air like a knight brandishing his sword or a cowboy his gun. “watch your mouth, deacon.” john holds his hands upwards in surrender, and roger returns his piercing gaze to jim. “i’m not getting married. that’s absolutely out of the question.”

long-suffering band manger and unofficial rockstar wrangler, jim beach drops his face to his hands with a harsh groan. roger cringes in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. he knows what this is about; they all know what this is about.

the end-of-tour party in montreal.

god, he’d gotten so wasted. even now, two months later, he can barely remember that night.

brian, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence. he leans forward from his place on the couch beside john and offers roger his most sympathetic look. it does nothing to ease the growing knot of dread in roger’s stomach. “maybe we should leave you and jim to talk, rog.”

jim lifts his head. “i think that might be best, yes.”

roger huffs and falls slack against his chair. he drops his head back, and the ceiling turns topsy-turvy. if jim and the rest of management get their way, his life is bound to feel the same: flipped upside down, all that he knows turned on its head.

john squeezes roger’s shoulder as he slides by, a silent expression of solidarity, but it doesn’t feel like much. john’s got a wife, a parcel of kids. he’s happy at home. roger—he’s never been that way, never seen the point in all the domestics. he isn’t about to join the bloody women’s institute just because a little fun upset a few highbrow jackasses who can’t tell a party from a funeral.

the door to jim’s office shuts with a soft click, and roger imagines the lid of his coffin closing with the same resolute noise. he sits up and runs a hand through his hair. from behind his tinted shades, jim stares across the expanse of his desk. he drums his fingers, worrying his lower lip. roger’s nose twitches to the side. jim isn’t playing around. the proposal typed and printed in the manila folder under jim’s hand is serious, deadly so.

roger removes his sunglasses.

“it was just a party, jim.”

there’s a heavy beat of silence. jim blinks once. “roger, you went streaking through a group of nuns and priests.”

roger squeezes his eyes shut against the words, thankful, for once, that he has no memory of the event. “did i?” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “honestly couldn’t tell you what i did or didn’t do that night.”

“you did.” jim opens the manila folder and reads from a crumbled newspaper article. “queen’s roger taylor bared all this evening after the explosive conclusion to the game tour, filmed before thousands in montreal’s biggest arena. in a rare display of vulnerability, taylor stripped naked and exposed himself in the hotel lobby where queen resided. he stood on a table and beat his chest like a wild gorilla, chanting about the success of the evening’s filmed concert. lookers-on included none other than a group of nuns and priests recently arrived to canada on special assignment from the vatican. john deacon, bassist for queen, could also be seen laughing in the background.”

jim’s hand thumps against the desk as he drops the article, his stare decidedly unimpressed. “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

running his tongue over his teeth, roger hesitates. not his best moment, he would give jim that. but if he remembers anything about that party, it’s that he wasn’t the only sinner present that evening. john had gotten into his fair share of antics; crystal, too. it seems arbitrary that he should be the one singled out for punishment—and with a strange, archaic, probably-unethical punishment at that.

he shrugs, tossing his hands up in defeat. “i’m not going to be able to say what you want me to say. it was just a party. it got a little out of control. that’s all. i’m sorry if i gave the nuns a little show. i’ll—i dunno—write a letter if you want me to.”

jim scoffs. “write a letter if you think it’ll make me feel better—which it won’t—but that’s not the issue here.”

“then what is the issue? and where the hell does marriage come into it? because i’m not seeing the connection.”

jim sighs. his desk chair creaks as he leans back. taking off his glasses, he pinches the bridge of his nose before meeting roger’s eyes again. “this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, rog. remember new orleans?”

roger holds up an accusatory finger. “you were in new orleans too, jim, so you can’t attack me on that front.”

jim leans forward, his glasses between his hands. he runs his finger back and forth across the top of the frames. “i’ll be blunt. some other people in the office think you’re becoming too—how shall i say it?—explicit for the band. you’re not twenty any more, and raucous parties don’t fit queen’s image. they’re concerned that if more incidents like this hit the press, there will be a drop in sales or concert attendance because nice, suburban families don’t want to go to a concert with a drummer who flashes nuns. do you get what i’m saying?”

roger itches his temple and pushes against the sudden pain behind his left eye. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“the marriage thing—that was barnaby potter’s idea. if you have beef with it, take it up with him.”

it’s roger’s turn to scoff. he throws his head back on the sound and curls his hands against the cool wooden arms of his chair. when he looks back at jim, he is surprised to see the older man rifling through a filing cabinet in the corner, his back turned.

roger surges forward with his ire anyway. “of course i have beef with it! slap my ass and scold me, sure, but hitch me to a woman i don’t even know for publicity? you’ve got to be joking.”

“personally, i think it’s an idea that will work if you give it a chance.” jim returns to chair and hands roger a sealed packet. “we’ve already got it all lined up, picked the lass and everything. it’s just for a year or so, until the tabloids calm down. then you can get divorced and go your separate ways.”

“wait, hold on—you picked her? without telling me? before even approaching me with the idea?”

“roger—” jim’s tone borders on a warning, but roger ignores his better judgement and cuts the other man off.

“you won’t even give me the option to choose the woman i have to shack up with? god, jim, i’m getting fuckin’ railroaded here!”

jim clenches his jaw. “i’m sure it feels that way, and i’m sorry for that. but it’s this—well, to be frank, it’s this or you’re out. the montreal party was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

roger can’t be sure but he thinks he sees red. never in his life has he so badly wanted to wring someone’s neck. it takes every fiber of his being, every molecule in his body, to keep from lunging across the room and tackling jim to the floor. he bites his tongue hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. it coats his mouth in a metallic taste, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in his stomach.

still, he knows what his answer must be. it’s this—a sham marriage, a year of hell—or losing the life he’s worked so hard to build.

he rips the envelope from jim’s hand as roughly as he can when he stands from his chair. he hopes he gave the man a papercut.

“i’ll do it, you bastard,” he mutters. “but i damn well won’t be happy about it.”

“you look beautiful, [y/n].”

with a playful roll of your eyes, you offer ivy a smile. “thanks, love, but you and i both know this is just part of the job.”

ivy laughs and steps closer to adjust the puffed sleeves of your dress. “it might be a job, but damn, if it isn’t a comfortable one. i just about fell out of my seat when you told me you were quitting the agency to marry roger fucking taylor.”

you slide ivy a bemused smirk in the reflection of the long, oval mirror before you. “we’re not really getting married, ivy. you know that, right?”

ivy frowns and jabs her thumb over her shoulder, confusion awash on her round face. “unless i’m mistaken, we’re at a church, you’re in a wedding dress, roger taylor is the groom, and there’s a priest waiting for you right outside. did you read the memo wrong or something? feels like a wedding to me.”

sighing, you turn away from the mirror and reach for your bouquet of flowers. the white roses interspersed with springs of green leaves smell sweet, their stems tied together with a long white ribbon. you adjust one of the wayward petals then sit on the edge of a cushioned chair to slip on your heels. ivy leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“are you happy?” she asks, her voice soft.

you look up and pause. the heel of your white mary janes squeezes around your achilles’ tendon, and you wince as you shove your foot into the shoe. “what do you mean—am i happy?”

“i dunno.” ivy shrugs. she picks at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of her blue bridesmaid gown. “when we were kids, you always used to talk about your wedding day. now it’s here and—”

“ivy.” you rise from the chair and cross the floor to grab her arm. when you speak, you keep your tone firm and stare into her wide, brown eyes. “i’m doing this for the money and nothing else. it’s not a big deal. i don’t even consider today my wedding day. when roger and i get divorced i’ll find some other chap and make my childhood dreams come true, but that’s not today, and i’m okay with it. so yes, i am happy. this is what i want.”

ivy doesn’t appear convinced what with the way she continues to gnaw at her lower lip and shift her concerned look about your face. but she relents when someone knocks on the door, moving to allow you to grab the doorknob.

“wait, [y/n].” you turn at the door, eyebrows lifted in expectation. “how much are you getting paid?”

you press your pointer finger to your lips. “handsomely,” you whisper, dipping your head as though you are about to spill a secret. ivy leans in. her eyes sparkle with interest, and you inwardly smirk. she’s always been a sucker for drama and intrigue, your cousin. “but,” you continue. “that’s for me to know and you not to know.”

before ivy can respond, you pull open the door to see none other than your future husband waiting for you in the vestibule of the chapel.

he stands poised to flee the premises. he’s half-turned toward the closed chapel door, his hands worrying before his waist, his gaze hinged on the flurry of life outside the chapel, visible through the windows on either side of the door. you realize he’s fiddling with an unlit cigarette, not merely rubbing his hands together in an external sign of nervousness. you can’t make out whether or not his eyes are wild with fear or anger or some other emotion; the black tint of his sunglasses obscures the majority of his eyes. he’s handsome in his suit, but, then again, he’s roger taylor. you would be surprised to find a time in which he isn’t handsome.

when you clear your throat, his head whips to face you, and his fingers stop fidgeting. “sorry,” he mutters. “i was just—” he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and sighs. “they’re ready for you.”

“okay.” you nod with a smile and hope the gesture will ease whatever consternation plagues him. “i’ll be up in a moment.”

“right.” he nods once.

from behind his shades, you see his eyes trail from the top of your head to the soles of your shoes. it’s not sexual, not lewd; he’s just inspecting you, and you don’t blame him. who are you to him other than the model pulled out of a catalog, prepared and willing to be his wife until his time served is complete? you’ve spoken only once before this moment, and that phone-call was terse at best. roger made it perfectly clear his opinions on the arrangement, and he wanted to be sure—no, he needed to be sure—you understood his feelings on the matter. you assured him you had heard him loud and clear; your ear had rung for the next hour if only to remind you of his extreme distaste.

“roger,” you say, pulling his attention back from wherever his mind has drifted off to, his stare gone vacant but hardly serene.

his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to focus. “hm?”

“i said i’ll be up in a moment. you can go in now.”

he nods again, this time his chin smacking his collarbone in his urgency. he rubs his jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and turns on his heel, slipping back into the chapel sanctuary with heavy footfalls. your brows rise on your forehead in the wake of his exit. ivy hovers behind your shoulder.

“that’s him?” she squeaks. “that’s roger taylor?”

“yes.” your mouth twists in pity. “poor dear. he really doesn’t want this.” after waiting the appropriate amount of time to be sure roger has made his way to the front of the church, you step towards the entryway, but not before you can ask ivy one last question. “do i look okay? the pictures taken today are bound to be published in the papers.”

ivy chuckles and shakes her head as she lightly pushes your shoulder. “you look gorgeous and you know it. now go get married to a rockstar, you lucky bitch.”

the actual wedding ceremony itself is a formality. truly, it cannot be called a ceremony. there’s no wedding march, no attendees gently dabbing their tear-filled eyes, no heartfelt vows or kiss to signal the joining of two souls. instead, there’s you and there’s roger and there’s a red-faced, balding priest who points to the solid lines on which you must affix your signature to make the marriage certificate valid. roger signs first, and his knuckles are white against the ballpoint pen. you sign second, and the pen feels overly-warm against your cool palms. the priest blesses you with a sign of the cross and promises the certificate will be notarized and sent to your home address within the week.

then it’s done. you’re married. you feel largely the same as you did this morning. if it weren’t for the giant rock on your ring finger and the recent transfer of seventy-five-thousand pounds into your bank account, you might wonder if this was all a product of your over-active imagination, run away with a plot stolen from a b-list film.

the most vital part of the day, the reason you’re here and dressed in a gown with your hair crimped and nails painted, comes right after the priest scurries away to tend to his more important duties. jim beach stands from his place in one of the pews and ushers a photographer forward. he points between you and roger.

“all right, get snug, you two.” jim chews on a large wad of gum, and his words are slurred with an excess of saliva. “just a few pictures and then we’ll go eat. we all know that’s the only reason john showed up today.”

lounged against a pew, john raises his finger in agreement, and his wife elbows him in the chest. he sputters, doubling over in pain, while freddie laughs in amusement. beside you, roger watches the interaction with a back as straight as the pew benches, his jaw tight. you push your arm around his elbow and tug lightly. he inhales before turning to meet your eyes.

“what?” his voice is not cruel or unkind; it’s just tired.

“try and look happy, yeah?” you say, offering him a gentle smile similar to the one you’d given him in the vestibule. it’s the only thing you have to give him other than your hand in marriage and a chance to salvage his reputation; yet, again, it does not alleviate the tension pinching his brow. “the faster we smile the faster we can eat.”

roger shifts, as though he wants to pull away from you, but knows he shouldn’t. his feet dance back and forth on the carpeted stairs leading to the sanctuary state. “i should be telling you to try and look happy. this is just as much an inconvenience for you.”

you shake your head with a chuckle. “hardly. i make my living pretending to be happy, or moody, or sultry. whatever the director wants. i’m a pro at this. and besides,” you add. “it’s my job to make you look good. though, to be honest, that’s not very hard. you look good all on your own.”

roger sniffs and rubs the underside of his nose. he ignores your compliment and keeps his eyes trained on the photographer setting up his equipment at the base of the stairs. “maybe i could use some tips…”

he’s being glib but you take the opportunity to try and break the ice—the rock solid, absolutely frigid, polar ice-cap style ice—between you both. holding up a finger to the photographer, you slide to stand in front of roger. he’s taller than you, not by much, but enough that you have to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye-contact. his blue eyes very much resemble the ice with which he’s surrounded himself. you can feel the chill on his shoulders, even as you smooth the wrinkles on his tailored dress-shirt.

“whenever i have to fake a smile,” you say, adjusting his thin tie. “i always think about the thing that makes me happiest.” he doesn’t ask you to expand, but you do anyway. “for me, it’s when my cousin ivy moved in with my mother and me. i was seven and she was six and it’s been one giant slumber party ever since.”

“is that your cousin?” roger’s eyes flick to the girl sitting across the aisle from the band and management. ivy has her hands beneath her thighs, her head dipped, her dark black hair covering a curtain over her face.

you nod. “mhmm.”

“she doesn’t look like you.”

you lift an eyebrow. “she’s adopted.”

“right, sorry.” roger exhales deeply, and the weight of the world slips from one of his shoulders to the other, tilting his body in a stiff hunch. “i’m feeling out of sorts today, as you can probably imagine.”

“just think about what makes you happy, roger.” you dare to lift a hand and press it against his cheek. his skin is smooth beneath your fingers. he must have shaved his morning. he looks boyish up close, and you wonder if, like you, he had ever dreamt of what his wedding day might look like. you wonder if, like you, he had given up those dreams to make today a reality.

the photographer takes a picture of your hand against roger’s cheek, and the sudden flash of light has you blinking in surprise. you look over your shoulder, mouth slightly parted and eyelashes fluttering to clear the white spots over your vision.

the photographer just shrugs. “ready now?”

the shrill of a ringing telephone wakes you the morning after the wedding, and you groan, pulled from a heavy slumber by the incessant and high-pitched tone. there’s a dull ache at the base of your skull, and your tongue feels like it’s coated with a fine layer of sand. beside you, a man snores softly, his face pink and eyelashes soft on his cheekbones.

oh yes, that’s right. you’re married to roger taylor, aren’t you? you’d drunk so much at the celebration supper that you’d nearly forgotten. the evening itself is but a hazy memory, but you think you recall freddie imitating a russian style jig atop a table, and phoebe going into great detail about all the fabulous dress-up parties you’ll be expected to attend now.

one thing you can’t remember is how you ended up in roger’s bed, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts. your hair is still stiff with sticky hairspray, your legs still encased in a pair of nylon tights, and you don’t feel… sated, for lack of a better word. it’s probably safe to assume that you did not sleep with roger; you merely slept beside him. why you didn’t take up residence in his guest room will be the first question out of your mouth once his day starts. 

you might be his wife and he might be your husband, but you don’t want him getting any funny ideas about the nature of your relationship.

this is a job for you. nothing more.

the phone continues ringing and, lest roger wake before he is ready, you move to reach across him for the phone on his bedside table. you speak into the receiver on a whisper, adjusting your fist on the mattress to keep from falling flat on roger’s stomach.

“hello?”

“uh—hi.” there’s a pause, as if the speaker is uncertain how to react to your voice on roger’s line. “is this [y/n]?”

“yes. who is this?”

“it’s brian. we met yesterday.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yes, i know who you are, brian.”

he chuckles softly. “sorry—i can’t remember much of last evening. it’s probably best i make a second introduction if i can’t recall the first.”

“well then, i’m [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n] taylor now, i suppose. pleased to meet you.”

“brian may. the pleasure is all mine. ours, really—me and the guys. what you’re doing is—we appreciate it, truly. you’ve saved the band, in a way.”

“that’s kind of you, brian.” you glance at roger out of the corner of your eye. he hasn’t moved a muscle, and his face is the most serene you’ve ever seen it. saved the band? you doubt it. smoothed a few ruffled feathers? that’s certainly more likely. “it’s no trouble, though. it’s just my job. what was it you called for?”

“roger was supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. we have a recording session today.”

“shit, really?” pressing the receiver to your shoulder, you twist your wrist upwards, but find your watch missing. you scan the unfamiliar room. a digital clock glows red on a built-in bookshelf. “is it really nearly one o’clock?!”

“afraid so.”

“shit, i’m sorry. i only just woke up. yesterday was hectic—to say the very least. i’ll have roger out the door in half an hour.”

“thanks, [y/n]. you’ll find this happens a lot after a night out. but, hey, at least you’re not shouting at me like rog does.”

after passing pleasantries a moment more—brian asks you about ivy, who you are surprised he remembers, and you ask him about his stargazing habits—you reassure brian that roger will be on his way as soon as possible. you drop the receiver on its base with more force than necessary, but the crack of plastic on plastic and the slight ring of the internal bell gets roger moving.

he grunts, twisting his head away from the noise.

you shake his shoulder gently. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. the day is already half gone.”

roger yawns as his eyes blink open. he rubs a hand down his face and arches his back like a cat as he stretches. slumping back against his pillows, he stares at you for a moment, his eyes roaming your face.

“are you an angel?”

you laugh at this, and he winces, holding the heel of his hand to his forehead. “no. i’m your wife. are you still drunk?”

“maybe a little.” his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he adjusts to the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. he waves his hand around your head, and you lean back slightly, away from the exposed skin of his chest and striking collarbones. “you look like an angel with the sun all around your head. ‘s like a halo.”

“that’s kind of you.”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “just sayin’.”

“i think you’re still drunk.”

as if to prove your point, he hiccups then falls to his side on the bed. “maybe.” his cheek is pressed firmly against the mattress, smushing half of his face flat. soft, steady breaths filter in and out of his parted lips, and his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he is dragged back to his dream world. he looks more tired child than grown man, but the sight is endearing. still, your current job is getting him out the door and on his way to the studio. you can’t let him be any later than he already is.

“oh no, you don’t.” grabbing his arm, you pull as you slide from the bed. roger resists your strength and moves to push his entire face against the mattress. he mumbles something against the sheets, but you can’t make out the words. “brian already called. you’re late, pretty boy.”

roger rolls over onto his back, and the movement causes you to lose your grip on his wrist. you stumble backwards then plant your hands on your hips.

“come on, roger. you’ve got to get up.”

“i don’t want to. yesterday was shit, and all i want to do is stay in bed.”

with a sigh, you gather your wedding dress from its heap on the floor. you lay it over your forearm and pull open the closet door. “nice to know you thought our wedding day was shit,” you say. 

you mean it only as a joke, but roger sits up fast, swaying slightly with the movement. he catches your eye as you exit the walk-in closet, and you pause, turning the light off slowly, held by his angry stare.

“fuck off,” he says. “i don’t want this. i don’t want you.”

to say his words don’t sting would be a falsehood. no one wants to hear such a thing, least of all from their spouse. the words make your heart clench painfully in your chest, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. he doesn’t look at you, though; he cradles his forehead in his hands, his back hunched where he sits on the edge of the bed.

inhaling deeply, you reach up and begin to remove some of the pins lost in your hair. you head for the bedroom door. “well, while you sit and sulk, i’ll pack you a lunch. you’d better shower, though. you reek.”

from your place puttering about the kitchen, you hear the shower start up a few moments later. good—at least he’s moving. you haven’t the foggiest idea where anything is in his kitchen, but you make do with what you can find in the poorly stocked fridge, and pack him a light lunch. you start a pot of coffee, too, and lean against the counter as you wait for the pot to fill.

the ancient coffee pot takes too long, and you can hear roger humming in the shower down the hall. 

your nails tap against the counter. 

you’re antsy, unsure of what to do with yourself now that the wedding is over. how do you be a wife to someone who doesn’t want a wife? how do you be a friend to someone who doesn’t want a friend?

it’s too big of a problem to solve in the span of time it takes for roger to finish his shower, so you slip into the bedroom and peel off your stockings and his tee-shirt. you put on a sweater, some jeans, and wipe the day-old makeup from your face with a wet-wipe. the movements are tried and true, and they calm your racing thoughts. 

you have an entire year to figure out how to live with roger taylor. you don’t need to have it all figured out this morning.

the coffee pot dings, its job complete, just as you and roger both enter the kitchen.

but he hesitates before taking another step, and so do you. 

his hair is wet from the shower. a white sweatshirt swallows his torso. part of the hem is tucked into his white-washed jeans, and you’re struck by the narrowness of his hips. the weariness is gone from his face, replaced with a youthful sort of glow and stubborn cheekiness. you aren’t sure how he’s managed it, but he looks well-rested. 

you lift a hand to your cheek. you must look a state. it takes a lot longer for you to put yourself back together after a night out.

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and crosses the kitchen to fill a travel mug with hot coffee. gnawing on your lower lip, you lean your hip bones against the kitchen island as he putters about the room, quiet as the grave.

it’s only your first day as husband and wife, and under such unique circumstances, you shouldn’t expect him to—what? make conversation? ask about you and your life?

“so… what do you think you’ll work on today? in the studio, i mean.”

he glances over his shoulder then shrugs. “not sure. probably something related to the rest of the tour.” bending at the waist, he pulls a drawer out from beneath the sink. his ass looks good in those jeans, but you doubt he’d like you staring, so you look away, mouth screwed to the side. “do you know where the sugar packets are?”

you frown and push away from the island, rounding it to stand beside him. “no?” he turns at the sound of your confused voice, and his head jolts backward to see you standing so close. “i don’t live here, remember?”

“well, you do now.” he swivels on his heel and pulls a small white jar across the counter. lifting the lid, he sighs. “i can’t find the sugar.”

“actually, about living here now...” you follow as he starts for the door, grabbing his keys from a small table in the foyer. “the bedroom situation? i figured we’d have separate bedrooms but last night—”

roger opens the front door and silences you with a hard stare. “the only other bedroom is my practice room.”

your shoulders slump. “oh.”

“i wasn’t going to make it a guest room if you’ll be gone in a year.”

“but where will i—”

“fuck it all, [y/n].” he curls his hand around the doorframe, hanging his head. a cold winter breeze sweeps through the hall, and you pull your jumper tight around your waist. “just sleep in my bed, okay? i don’t fuckin’ care.”

you swallow hard, nod. you’d been prepared for some measure of hostility, some measure of resentment. what you hadn’t been prepared for is the way his rebuffs settle like dead weight in your stomach. he alone can be blamed for this; it was his actions that drove management to force you upon him. yet, he seems to look at you with nothing more than dread and disgust. perhaps it is because you are the physical embodiment of his wrongdoing. his antics created you, and he is powerless to wipe you from his eyesight as he might a clump of dirt. you are a permanent stain—at least for the next year.

maybe you can’t begrudge him his disdainful attitude, then.

you come to when a car horn blares outside. 

roger is gone, the door open, void of his claustrophobic presence. leaning around the frame, you catch sight of him and his blond hair as he reaches his car parked on the side of the road. spinning on your heel, you grab his sacked lunch from the fridge and race after him.

“roger!”

he looks up from his car door, and you can’t help but note the way his shoulders lift, tensing at the sight of you running barefoot down the sidewalk. the winter air quickens your steps, and you’re out of breath and huffing when you reach his side. white plumes escape your mouth and drift towards the gray sky.

“you forgot this,” you say, pushing the brown paper sack against his chest. you curl your toes against the frigid bricks beneath your feet.

his brow pinches. “what is it?”

“a lunch. you haven’t eaten yet.”

for the first time since meeting him, the ghost of a true smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he stares down at the sacked lunch. he lifts a hand, and you are surprised by its warmth when he covers your knuckles with his palm. his eyes flick upwards, meeting yours.

“thanks, [y/n].” he tilts his head to the side. “i’m sorry i’ve been a prick. this is all… really new for me.”

you slip your hand from his grasp, sure that your smile is somewhere between girlish and shy. a sharp wind whips through the stitching of your sweater, and you shiver.   

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, and it’s a message to both him and yourself. you will figure this out.

“yeah.” he slides his key into the slot on the car door. “yeah, we will.”

“oh. rog, wait.” you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. when he twists at the waist, you wind your arms around his neck before he has time to react. you squeeze tight, your toes skimming the ground. he feels firm, stiff like a board. “hug me back,” you whisper against his ear. “there’s someone across the street taking photos.”

the sound he makes in your ear—a grumble, a low growl—sends your blood pumping into overdrive. he’s angry, but he dutifully embraces you as any newlywed husband might. his arms are strong around your lower back, and you melt into him.

god, he feels good. you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. he smells like the soap from his shower, and his sweatshirt is soft. his hair brushes against your cheek, and your eyelashes flutter in response. you should pull away; you’ve hugged him long enough to appear the besotted wife, desperate for her husband to stay home the day after their wedding. the paparazzi surely got what they wanted.

so, why is it so hard for you to let go?

you shake yourself free of the feeling, whether it be longing or desire or something else entirely.

sliding your hands across roger’s shoulders, you drop from your raised stance. you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and without hesitation. just in case.

“go on.” you hurry to step back, to allow him the space the leave. “you don’t want to keep the boys waiting any longer.”

roger’s eyes linger a moment more, his stare somewhere between searching and assessing. then he mumbles an oath beneath his breath, wrenches open his car door, and slips inside. the door slams behind him, and the engine roars to life. you retreat further at the sound, wrapping your arms around your stomach when the car tires squeal against gravel in his haste to get away.

some blissfully wed husband he makes.

biting the inside of your lip, you turn back to the house. the front door remains open wide, and it’s likely the heat has long since left the warmth of the halls. you pause long enough to lift the paper from the front stoop. what you see beneath the fold makes you hesitate all the longer.

there’s a photo of you and roger on the left side of the page beneath the headline, roger taylor marries model. the grainy, black and white image of your wedding day presents you, the smiling bride, and roger, the smiling husband, joined hand-in-hand beneath a heavy wooden cross. to the untrained eye, all is joy in the taylor household. the article describes the ceremony, though the details are patchy and entirely false, as intimate and “drenched with love.”

you scoff before you can stop yourself. clearly, the author of the article has encountered roger taylor under duress.

but it’s not the article which holds you frozen to the front stoop, your exposed toes and fingers sticking like icicles to the newspaper. rather, it’s the smear of red paint slashed over your picture. it’s the word slag scrawled over the article, an arrow pointed in the direction of the wedding photo.

still, in a one-on-one meeting you’d had with jim beach prior to the wedding, he’d warned you of something like this. though all four queen members are undeniably attractive, it is roger who makes the fans go gaga.

maybe it’s his boyish good looks contrasted with his raspy voice. maybe it’s the frenzy with which he plays, his easy charm and sunkissed skin. whatever it is—roger’s fans are a possessive lot.

jim had told you to prepared for a few nasty letters or scathing criticism in the papers. he had told you it wouldn’t last long, just until the initial shock of the marriage wore off, just until roger’s fans accepted the reality that they were not be his lawfully wedded wife.

so, truly, the first incident does not scare you. you just hadn’t realized the scrutiny would begin so soon. if anything, the painted paper makes you chuckle. roger’s fans certainly don’t like to waste time.

you toss the paper in the bin beside the stoop, and it’s forgotten before the day is over.

a week bleeds into a month, and you find yourself falling into some semblance of a life with roger.

you cohabitate for the most part. he does not outright rebuff your attempts at friendship, nor does he accept any olive branch you extend.

conversation is stilted, his contributions terse and monosyllabic. he prefers your home-cooked meals be eaten before the television, and not at the dinner table, where he would be forced to engage with you. he doesn’t even give in when you ask if there’s anything he’d like to rant about. he just shakes his head and bangs on his drums well into the evening, despite having banged on them the whole day at the studio.

yet he sleeps beside you, allows you to sleep beside him.

without fail, he appears more at ease come nightfall. he sheds whatever protective shell he wears throughout the day in favor of something softer, something more tender. you’re not sure what changes him when he walks over the threshold of the bedroom, but something does. perhaps it’s the soft lamplight or the hum of the fan he insists be kept on despite the chill of winter.

there’s a part of you that wonders if it might be your very presence that softens him, but you’ve taken to silencing that part as of late. he’s long-since proven that you hold no sway over him whatsoever, and that’s okay. your job is to be a buffer between his antics and the all-seeing eyes of the public. nothing more.

two months to the day after your wedding, you’re stood in the hallway, slipping on a pair of earrings, and brushing away roger’s hurried attempts to get you through the door. he has one hand on the doorknob, the other wrist tilted to expose his watch face.

“[y/n], please!”

“roger, the party doesn’t start until queen arrives. give me just a minute more.”

tonight, the savoy hotel, the first music industry party you’ll attend by roger’s side as his wife.

you’re nervous.

your hands shake as you press the earrings into your ears, and you rub your lips back and forth, feeling the slick lipstick rub over the flesh. you’re thankful the dress you chose is a gauzy sort of chiffon. if you sweat, no one will be able to tell, thanks to the pale blue of the fabric.

impatient as ever, roger drags himself from the door to stand behind you, as though prepared to throw you over his shoulder. however, a smirk pulls at your mouth when he pauses in his frustration long enough to primp and preen his hair in the mirror. you catch his eye, your fingers paused in snapping your clutch closed. he sees your smirk, and his own lips pull on a wry smile.

the moment hangs in the air, thick with—what? tension? no. something else. camaraderie comes to mind.

your eyes remain locked with his, and his grin spreads until he is shaking his head with amusement. he pushes your shoulder, but the touch is friendly, almost brotherly in nature.

“come on,” he says. “i don’t want to miss all the good wine.”

nodding, you start for the door, trailing behind him to flick the lights off. darkness engulfs the house, the only light the white glow of the moon spilling through the window above the kitchen sink and a night light plugged in along the hallway baseboard.

but then the phone rings.

roger stamps his foot against the floor, the door already half-open. “fuckin’ hell!”

“let me get it.” you’re halfway down the hall before he can stop you. “i’ll tell them to buzz off. hold on!”

“i’m going to get the car started,” he says. his voice echoes through the hall to meet you where the phone hangs in the kitchen. “you have two minutes, [y/n]. two minutes!”

lifting the phone from the receiver, you press it against your ear. “hello?”

at first, you hear nothing on the other end.

but you’re sure you heard the phone ring, so you lean closer to the receiver and plug your opposite ear in a piss poor attempt to hear better. “hello? this is [y/n] taylor speaking.”

the sound of heavy breathing—deep inhales, hard exhales—meets your ear. deep inhale, hard exhale. over and over and over.

your throat tightens, but you push past the lump. “hello? who’s there?”

a stuttering of breath on the inhale, a shaky exhale. a croak, voice poised to speak.

only you slam the phone back on the receiver before the person on the other end can say a word.

for a moment, you stand still, eyes glued to the phone, mouth parted in shock.

but then roger honks the car horn, and you shake yourself free of the unsettling feeling. a missed connection, you tell yourself. a wrong number. a mistake. that’s all it was—a mistake.

still, you are shaking when you slide into the passenger seat of roger’s car. he glances at you before pulling into the busy street.

“are you cold?” he asks. he turns the heat up, blasting the air against your face. “you’re shaking.”

“no,” you say, and, truly, you aren’t. he loaned you an ostentatious fur coat for the occasion, lined with a smooth brown fabric, and you are comfortably warm beneath the heavy material. “just nervous.”

roger snorts, his eyes sliding to you. “nervous? surely you’ve been to parties before. you’re a model, for god’s sake.”

“i’m not sure what kind of model you think i was, rog. i did mostly print, never runway. parties were never a part of my nine-to-five.”

“oh.” his mouth screws to the side. “i guess—well, to be honest, i kinda thought models all did the same kind of work.”

“most people do. that’s in the past now, though.” you shift, glance out the window, and watch the streetlights blur in a hazy streak of orange and yellow. he’s driving fast, and you grip the side of the door, willing your heart to stop racing.

the car slows to a stop beneath a red light. roger taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and the silence in the car is deafening.

you should strike up a conversation. he seems willing tonight, and maybe that’s due to the cramped nature of the car, but it’s an opportunity nonetheless.

only you can’t stop thinking about the phone call, about the heavy breathing and the unanswered questions. you shut your eyes and find yourself mirroring the caller’s breathing patterns.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“so, you’re done with modeling?”

you open your eyes and turn to look at his profile. why he insists on wearing sunglasses in the dead of night you will never understand, but the sight alone makes you smirk. he knows he’s attractive; you have to give him credit for embracing it.

“that’s why i married you,” you say.

roger laughs—and you realize it’s probably the first time you’ve heard the sound. his laugh aligns with the light timbre of his voice, and the anxiety in your chest eases to hear him sound something other than malcontent.

“i knew you were a gold digger!” it’s a joke—you can tell by the quirk of his mouth and the lines around his eyes—but you rush to defend yourself all the same.

“no, i’m not!” you hesitate before shrugging with a rueful chuckle. “well… maybe a little. i won’t deny that the money i get from this arrangement really helps. i was looking for a way out of modeling, anyway.”

“really?” roger’s eyebrow arches, and, as the car turns into the savoy, the wrap-around drive clogged with limousines, sport cars, and photographers jostling for a good spot, you catch a glimpse of admiration on his face. “what do you want to do now?”

“i’m not sure. go back to school. i’ve got a head for maths, so maybe accounting or something.”

roger twists his head to meet your eyes, and his smile is earnest. it steals the breath from your lungs.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

“you don’t strike me as an accountant, dove.”

“why not?”

“accountants are stuffy, greasy men. you’re… you know…” he waves a hand, inches the car forward as the line moves. camera bulbs flash in the world outside, but within the car, all you can focus on is roger and his next words.

“i’m…?” you’re fishing, but this is the first time he’s given you more than the time of day, and you’re eager to get something, anything, out of your husband.

he shrugs, and his hands curl around the steering wheel. a muscle in his jaw ticks. “you’re too nice.”

you look away. “ah—nice.” not what you’d been expecting him to say.

he pulls the car to a stop along the hotel’s entrance, and a sharply dressed attendant opens the door. sliding out after roger, you instinctively reach for his hand. he spares you a short glance and squeezes your fingers together in a gesture of encouragement.

a black—not red—carpet lines the walkway from the drive to the open hotel doors. velvet ropes hold back the crowd of photographers, reporters, and fans lucky enough to have squeezed their way to such a prime viewing spot. camera flashes paint the inside of your eyelids with bright, white spots. despite the chill of winter, the air is hot, heady with glitz and glamor. it’s hard to distinguish any one voice over the plethora of people vying for attention, and your head swims in the chaos of it all.

roger moves easily from one side of the rope to another. he is in his element, grinning for the cameras and joking with reporters who grab him long enough for a quote. his moments with the press are short, few and far between. he much prefers the fans—their simpering smiles, tear-stained cheeks, and waving slips of paper begging for a signature. you don’t blame him. who could ever resist such unfettered adoration?

near the end of the carpet, a reporter snags roger’s attention with his waving arm. palm still clasped in roger’s, you trail behind your husband, hovering just behind his shoulder. the cool smile you perfected in your modeling days remains fixed on your face, even as the reporter acknowledges you with a tilt of his head.

“is this your wife, roger?”

the reporter has to shout to be heard over the sudden surge of excitement as a new celebrity takes their first step on the carpet. it’s kate bush, if you aren’t mistaken. you could be wrong, though. the reporter’s query pricks your ears, dividing your focus between the cacophony around you and the question at hand. thus far, you’ve remained nameless by roger’s side. no one—fan or press alike—has asked after you, and you’re happy for it.

roger turns to look at you, and his grin spreads. he goes so far as to slip his arm around your waist, tugging you against his side, keeping his gaze on your profile. a sudden rush of blood floods your cheeks, and you duck your head beneath his watchful eyes. yet you find your own smile widening. the action is not one you have to force or fake, though. it’s easy to smile when roger is smiling.

“yes, this is my bride,” roger says. “[y/n].”

the hand he’s placed on your waist squeezes the flesh of your hip, pushing you further against him. to keep from tripping over your own legs, you press a hand against his chest to steady yourself. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers; his heart pulses to a steady rhythm. your own heart beats twice as fast.

the reporter checks something on his small pad of paper. “is it true that you used to be a model, [y/n]? there are rumors that this marriage is a publicity stunt.” he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as someone bumps his back, pushing him against the velvet rope. once righted, he continues. “there are rumors that you were hired to get the press to stop talking negatively about the montreal incident.”

you open your mouth to speak, but roger jumps in before you can utter a single syllable.

“are you joking?” he tosses his head back in an easy laugh and pulls you even tighter against his side. you’re afraid if he draws you any nearer you will absorb into him completely. but with the way the lights dance off his eyelashes and his hair looks perfectly tousled and his body feels strong against yours, you aren’t sure that would be a bad thing.

“i’m crazy about my wife!” he says, and the words go straight to your heart like a wildfire. “you should get yourself one, mate.” he playfully slaps the reporter’s upper arm. “they’re great fun!”

the reporter arches an eyebrow. “it’s just that i know you’ve gone on record as not exactly believing in marriage and—”

“what do you want me to do? kiss ‘er? would that make you happy?” a shit-eating grin rises on his face, indignant and cocky all at once. he shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye; you bite your lip. “will that get you off my back?”

“that’s not really—”

“here.” he taps the wrist of a bystanding photographer then points to you, twisting his body so that you stand face to face. “put this in your bloody paper!”

grabbing either side of your face, roger dips his head to capture your lips with his. for a moment, you remain unsure. you hold fast to his wrists, your mouth unmoving. the blood in your veins stands frozen in shock, and your heart presses painfully against your ribcage. somewhere in the back of your mind, your conscious screams for you to react, to play along, but it’s not until roger slides one hand from your cheek to the small of your back that you register what part you must play.

thank god it’s not a difficult role.

with a tilt of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold tight. he tastes faintly of cigarettes and the mints he uses to freshen his breath. his lips are soft, softer than you’d anticipated. you can hear the clicking of cameras, feel the blinding light of flashbulbs pierce your eyelids, sense the growing interest in your display of affection, but none of it penetrates the bubble—the bubble of you and roger, of his lips and your lips, of his arms holding you close, his very air becoming yours.

he pulls away entirely too soon, and his smile is all the more cheeky. you press your fingertips to your lips, lower your face, and draw in a sharp breath.

“there! that could enough for you?”

roger steers you away from the reporters and into the sanctuary of the hotel at last. a rush of cool air meets you and, though it is mid-winter, you sweat beneath roger’s fur coat. the gentle whoosh of air-conditioning is a blessing against your hot skin.

as you enter the ballroom transformed for the event, roger lowers his mouth to your ear. “sorry about that, poppet.” the low register of his voice and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck sends a shiver down your spine. “i’ve dealt with that tosser before, and he really grinds my gears.”

“‘s fine, roger,” you manage to say through your tight throat. “it’s what i’m here for, yeah?”

he stops walking, and his hand moves from your back to your wrist. his eyes drift over your face, calculating, searching. you let him look. you aren’t sure what he’s looking for, but you get the feeling that he’s truly seeing you for the first time. even in the manufactured blue light of the room, even with the myriad of tables surrounded by producers and singers and agents alike, his face visibly softens and his hand curls around your wrist.

“roger! [y/n]! over here!”

three tables away, freddie waves his hand, beckoning you over. roger drags you along, his fingers intertwining with yours as you sidestep people already lounging at their seats. once at the table set aside for queen and guests, roger pulls out your chair, and you sit, smoothing your hands over your skirt. he sits beside you and leans to his side to whisper something to john. on your right sits chrissie may, and you offer her a smile in greeting.

the function—a charity benefit organized to bring awareness to the falklands disagreement—comes and goes without issue. the dinner is bland, but the wine is good. chrissie is pleasant, and it’s your first chance to speak to another band member’s wife since the wedding. you appreciate her advice, laugh at her stories, and enjoy yourself without restraint. it doesn’t hurt that as roger drinks more, he more pays attention to you. you really shouldn’t encourage him, but when he slings an arm around your chair and pulls you closer, when he turns his head to whisper a joke in your ear at brian’s expense, when he plays with a loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger, it’s all you can do not to melt like the ice-sculpture in the center of the room.

come the end of the event, you find yourself walking between chrissie and veronica, your steps slow as the boys stumble through the hall. roger and john cannot stop laughing, though no one has said anything remotely funny for the last few minutes. they cling to one another like koalas to trees, as though the other might drop to the ground if released. brian and freddie aren’t any better. they sing off-key, their voices bouncing off the empty walls and laminate floors. you aren’t sure what part of the hotel you’ve wound up in, but it’s certainly less plush than the ballroom. still, you smile when roger slides his sunglasses over his eyes and snorts at one of john’s inane comments.

your smile falters when the sound of veronica’s labored breathing, pregnant as she is, reaches your ears.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

in the flurry of the evening—amidst the kiss and the dinner and the joking and the drinking—you’d forgotten about the phone call.

chrissie reaches out to grab your arm when your steps stutter. “are you okay?” she asks.

you stop walking. if the boys get into trouble around the corner, you’ll surely hear it.

meeting chrissie’s wide eyes, you frown. you hate the put a damper on the evening’s chipper mood, but the memory of the phone call crashes to the surface, bringing with it anxiety and unease. roger doesn’t need to know, but perhaps the other wives experienced a similar phenomenon. perhaps it’s all in your head. either way, you’d like a second opinion.

“this is going to sound weird, but… have either of you ever gotten a strange phone call?”

“phone call?” veronica rubs a hand over her swollen stomach. “what do you mean?”

you explain the events prior to your departure earlier in the evening, and the concerned looks that settle on chrissie and veronica’s faces stir the uncertainty in your stomach.

“that doesn’t sound good, [y/n],” chrissie says.

you gnaw at your lower lip. “no, i suppose it doesn’t.”

“have you told rog?”

you shake your head. “i don’t want to trouble him. not if it’s just some practical joke. it very well could be our kid neighbor having a lark.”

another memory drifts to the surface: the newspaper, the red paint dripping across your photograph. slag, they’d written.

you’d forgotten about that too.

veronica pulls you back to the present with her even tone. “i think you should tell him. if someone is harassing you, even if it’s just the once, don’t you think he should know?”

“i guess but—”

“hey, party people!” john sticks his head around the corner, breaking the conversation with his over-loud voice. “guess what we found?”

“judging by your wet trousers, i’d say a pool.”

john trips down the hall to grab veronica’s arm. “have i ever told you that you’re brilliant?” he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek, and even veronica isn’t capable of remaining firm under such affection.

like a child who has found an interesting twig, john crooks his arm in a follow-me motion, tugging his wife toward the pool. “come on. come see!”

veronica follows john around the corner, but before you can follow, chrissie presses her palm to your shoulder.

“you should tell roger,” she says. “before it gets serious.”

you nod, promise her you will, then make your way to the indoor swimming pool, knowing full well roger won’t hear a word of the incident.

the savoy’s pool room is understated in comparison with the rest of the hotel. though the ceiling stretches high, skylights allowing moonlight to shimmer over the undisturbed water, the room is just as hot, just as stuffy, as any other hotel pool. you drop your coat and rog’s to a plastic lounge chair as soon as you enter, swamped as you are by the thick air.

all nerves, all worries about the phone call, fade away as you slip your shoes off and watch roger and john’s poor poolside rendition of abbott and costello’s “who’s on first” routine. roger can’t keep up with john no matter how hard he tries, but their combined effort is valiant.

laughing, you clap as they take their theatrical bows and only laugh harder when john trips over the edge of the pool mid-bow. he lands belly-first in the clear water, rising a sputtering, drenched mess, his hair and clothes sodden to the bone, though his eyes are bright with mischief. he swims to where veronica sits with her ankles in the water and, before she can sternly admonish him, has her pulled into the churning pool beside him.

brian is next in. he cannonballs in the deep end, and chrissie follows of her own volition. the impact of their jump launches a tidal wave of water in your direction, and you screech, nearly falling in your attempt to avoid getting wet.

but then a pair of arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the cool, albeit slippery, floor.

“roger, no!” you twist in his tight hold. “no, roger, don’t!”

your voice echoes in the room, bouncing off the windows and walls; yet roger ignores your pleas for release. he shuffles to the edge of the pool at the behest and cheering of his friends, each treading water, watching as you struggle to break free.

the water beneath your feet rises and falls, sloshing this way and that. you can see the bottom of the pool from where roger holds you, and there’s a delicate, inlaid design of a turtle twelve feet down on the pool’s stone foundation.

you curl your nails in roger’s arm. “roger, i can’t—”

he tosses you in before you can finish the sentence.

you fall through the air with a scream, land on your back, and sink beneath the surface of the water. chemically-laced water fills your mouth, your nose, and your lungs scream for air.

for a moment, fear grips you, not unlike the way it gripped you in the hallway of your own home, the phone cradled against your ear. only this time, you know exactly what will happen if you don’t get help.

this is not a battle you can win yourself.

kicking to the top, you break through the water and cough, shaking your head. tears cloud your vision when you open your eyes, but the liquid that’s caught in your eyelashes disguises them, and for that you’re thankful. roger bobs beside you, a grin on his face, looking much too pleased with himself and his antics. without a second thought, you reach for him.

“roger, i can’t swim,” you say.

his face falls. “oh.” he blinks then, realization striking as you grab onto his shoulders. “fuck, [y/n]. i’m sorry.”

clinging to him, you wrap your arms around his chest, your legs around his waist. you rest your cheek against the back of his neck and sigh, inhaling deeply. “i tried to tell you,” you whisper.

beneath the water, his hand curls around the skin of your ankle. he squeezes, and it’s all the apology you need.

the band stays in the pool for entirely too long. freddie starts talking about the next album, and the other boys chime in, clamoring for their opinions to be heard over the others. despite their drunken state, music brings a sense of clarity to their speech and thought. it’s their life’s work and something about which they care deeply. there’s no denying that. even when brian tries his hand at a backwards flip and freddie challenges john to a diving contest, they are always thinking, always working, toward their next goal. you admire them for that.

roger remains steady where he stands. you cling to him like a barnacle, even though you just as easily could remove yourself and find a place where your feet touch solid ground. he feels nice, though. his body is a comfort against yours, and as the business talk continues, your head lolls to the side on his shoulder, a gentle smile on your lips.

you could get used to this.

at some point, veronica complains about her aching back and drags john from the pool. they are the first to leave, but brian and chrissie soon follow. you aren’t sure if you want to go, if you want the evening to end. if it means roger will go back to ignoring you, shoving you aside, you think you could stay in this pool until your skin wilted and dripped off your bones.

“we’d better go, love,” roger whispers.

you know he’s right.

“yeah.” you try to keep the disappointment from your voice.

he moves to the side of the pool, and you heave yourself over the edge. your dress is heavy, weighed down by the absorbed water. you wring out the skirt as best you can, but until you can give it a proper wash and dry, it’s really no use. gooseflesh breaks out on your arms where the cool air hits, and you shiver.

roger appears behind you, turns you gently with a hand to the shoulder, and lifts a fluffy white towel. “here. i found these.”

“oh!” you move to take the towel from his grasp. “thank you.”

“i’ve got it.” with a smile—a boyish, gentle sort of smile—roger unfurls the towel and wraps it around your shoulders. he tugs the corners beneath your chin and laughs through a short breath. “comfy?”

you nod, pressing your face against the warm fabric.

“you look like a marshmallow.”

lifting your mouth from behind the towel, you tilt your head with an impish grin. “you once told me i looked like an angel. so, which is it? angel or marshmallow?”

“oh, angel for sure.” he thumbs a finger over the end of your nose. “you always look like an angel.”

you roll your eyes and hope the action does not expose the sudden flutter in your chest. “you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean it.”

he looks at you for a long time. you look at him for just as long. the unease cadence of your breath, the way his breath whistles through his nose, the lap of the pool against the tiled walls—it all sounds so loud to your ears, though nothing can compare to the beating of your heart. it fills your entire body: bump bump, bump bump, bump bump. your cheeks feel hot with blush, and you finally look away, casting your eyes to the floor. you wiggle your bare feet against the tiled floor; roger wiggles his toes back.

“we should go home,” you say.

“yeah.”

roger pays an attendant to ferry you home, and the drive leaves your entire body close to overheating.

the back seat of his car feels strangely intimate compared to the front seat, but that might just be your imagination. surely, roger didn’t sit so close to you on purpose. surely, his hand isn’t pressed against your leg because he wants it to be. his car is just… cramped.

“did you have fun tonight?” you break the silence, but when you do, your voice sounds strange—slightly strangled, nervous, earthy—and you wish you’d remained quiet. you continue toying with a loose thread on your coat, ignoring the way roger’s eyes traverse your profile.

“mhm. did you?”

you nod, but don’t look up.

from the driver’s seat, the attendant coughs, and your gaze shifts.

deep inhale, hard exhale.

chrissie’s words of earlier surface in your mind: you should tell him about the phone call. it’s only right.

twisting, you look to your right, meet roger’s eyes, and promptly lose all sense of direction. his face is so near, his mouth parted, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. your throat runs dry, but you can’t look away.

“roger–”

“hmm?” his lips tighten, but his smile is just as sly as it had been the moment before he kissed you in front of the reporters. the touch still lingers on your mouth, but you will the memory away.

“there’s something i should—”

his fingers sift through a lock of your hair, and he moves his head almost in a nuzzling sort of gesture. you swallow hard. “i was wrong about you,” he whispers. when did his voice get so raspy?

“what?”

“i was wrong to judge you,” he says. his hand moves from your hair to the side of your neck, one long finger tracing the lines of your skin. “to be honest, i thought you were some cheap girl looking for a way into my bed, but i was wrong. you’re more than that.”

“what—” deep inhale. “what am i, then?”

his lips quirk upward. “my wife.”

hard exhale.

his mouth claims yours, and you don’t fight him. you melt against him, his chest pressed against yours in the narrow space of the car. you’re vaguely aware that a driver sits not two feet away, more than able to hear the way roger pulls a soft whimper from behind your lips and the rustle of clothes as you both scrabble for any exposed skin. but you don’t really care. you’re drunk off of roger, and have been since you met him. it’s his looks, yes, but tonight—tonight you saw him in his element. you heard him laugh and saw him smile and preened under his attention. you would go to hades and back to live in a world shaped just like tonight, every bit of it.

roger can’t keep his hands off you as you make your way from the sidewalk to the front stoop. his hands roam your body, skimming every inch, squeezing the parts he seems to like most. you giggle like young lovers experiencing one another for the first time, and maybe that’s because you are.

when you drop the front door key because you’re too focused on returning roger’s eager kiss, it doesn’t seem to matter. you just stand on the stoop and kiss beneath the light of the moon a little longer.

when you finally get the door open and his palm hits your ass at the same time, you squeal, and he dissolves into laughter.

when he fumbles with the hallway light because he’s too focused on getting your coat off, you tell him to forget it. you don’t need the light anyway.

halfway down the hall, limbs and lips tangled, the phone rings.

you laugh as you peel yourself from his grasp. he puckers his lower lip in protest.

“i’ll be just a minute,” you say, lifting the phone from the receiver. he sticks his tongue out, but then sheds his shirt, leaving it on the kitchen floor as he slips into the bedroom. you bite the edge of your thumb as you watch him go, your head as muddled as creamy soup.

someone clears their throat on the other end of the line.

“oh, sorry. hello?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

cold dread extinguishes any joy lingering in your chest at the sound of the sickeningly smooth voice. 

your fingers curl tight around the phone. “who is this?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

angry tears spring to your eyes as you scoot to stare out the window over the sink. nothing but darkness meets your eyes, but still you try in vain to search for an answer in the inky blackness. “i said: who is this?” your voice cracks, but you push forward. “how did you get this number?”

“what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

“i swear i calling the fucking police if you keep this up!”

a beat of hesitation then: “what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?”

with a helpless groan, you slam the phone down for the second time in one day. your fingers creak as you let go and step back, chest heaving. your skin feels slimy—slimy with roger’s lingering touch, slimy with the possibility that someone had been watching you kiss your husband, slimy with the possibility that someone could be watching you now.

you don’t stop and admire roger, clad only in his boxers, as you make your way to the en suite bathroom. you can’t stand to look at him, to know that somewhere someone cares for him so much they would take to harassing you. god, it makes you want to vomit.

you don’t bother with the bathroom door so intent are you at getting in the shower and scrubbing your slimy skin raw. you struggle with the zipper at the top of your spine, the tears hovering over your eyes threatening to spill over if you can’t be rid of your soaked clothing. you stamp your foot with a grunt and drop your hands, hanging your head in defeat.

roger’s soft chuckle sounds from the doorway. you don’t turn to look at him.

your back stiffens when he undoes the zipper, the pads of his fingers pressing along your shoulder blades, your ribs, the small of your back.

“that eager, huh?” he presses a wet kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

you want him; you really do. there’s some part of you that wants to drag him into the shower and work out your fears with the aid of his body against yours. but you won’t do that. you won’t use him, not when he confessed he thinks you better than that.

you twist to face him, holding the dress against your chest. “rog, i…” you place your hand on his smooth chest, feel the small hairs peppering his collarbone. “you’re drunk,” you finally say. “you’re drunk and you should go to bed.”

he smirks and pushes his hips against yours. “so? you’re drunk too.”

you shake your head. “no, not anymore.” you push him away gently. “believe me, roger, i want nothing more than to go to bed with you but—”

he plays with a lock of hair beside your face, and your desire to resist him weakens. “but?”

“i won’t do it while you’re drunk. besides, you’ll be over this by morning. you’ll go back to not wanting me. so i won’t do it—not while you’re drunk.”

with a huff, he lets you go, but not without kissing you once more. a traitorous tear slides down your cheek, and your throat seizes with emotion. somewhere in the back of your clouded mind, you wonder if you love him. or, if at least you are on the edge of loving him.

but it doesn’t matter. you’ll be gone in a year, and he will move on to someone else, someone strong enough to withstand his rabid fans.

he pulls away first and kisses your temple. “goodnight, angel,” he whispers.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and, once stood beneath the hot water of the shower, let the sound of the creaking pipes drown out the sound of your crying.

roger is gone before you wake the next morning.

he leaves you a note on the kitchen island, scrawled in his plain script: “angel, i’m hungover now, not drunk. i’d still like you in my bed. – rog”

the note should send a thrill to your stomach, but it manifests itself in a ball of dread instead.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

it’s heaven, but the price is hell.

you crumple the note and toss it in the bin, jumping when the phone rings. you hesitate, your gaze locked on the inanimate object that has come to haunt your dreams.

eventually, the phone stops ringing, but the shrill sound echoes in your head as you go about the day.

after the second phone call, tension becomes your constant companion. the days pass, and you withdraw into yourself, scared by the slightest sound, the never-ending line of cars outside the front window, and roger’s growing interest.

he seems to like you now that he knows you. he makes you laugh, asks you questions, even goes so far as to help you research university entrance exams.

but when he comes home from the studio, your stomach takes to twisting with apprehension as you wonder if your faceless friend watched him drive home and wonder further if your faceless friend can see roger kiss the side of your neck.

you try not to push him away. his attention is what you’ve wanted all along, and, though the romantic turn of events was certainly unplanned, he does make your knees weak and your head giddy like a schoolgirl’s.

still, the phone calls persist. it’s not every night and every day. you can’t trace the caller’s pattern because there is none. you never know who will be on the other end of the line. it could be roger calling during his lunch break as he is wont to do; it could be the university to which you’ve applied; or it could be them, the phantom who chills the blood in your veins.

there’s a pad of paper tucked beneath your side of the bed. the words of your faceless friend are scrawled across the page in frenzied handwriting, the handwriting of a madwoman.

what’s it like to kiss roger taylor?

did he buy you those earrings?

will he ask john to help you study for the maths entrance exam?

you should stop answering the phone; you know you should. but each time the phone rings, you respond like a pavlovian dog. you rush to answer, to frantically write down the day’s comment just in case there’s some sliver of information that might shed light on your faceless friend’s identity.

the caller is a woman; that much you know. her voice is deep and gravelly, but she’d referenced herself as the better woman for roger before. she seems to cling to the idea that you will leave him and the position of roger taylor’s wife will fall to her. if only to spite her, you will remain married to roger until your dying day.

you should tell roger too; you know you should.

but he’s happy.

when you first met him, he was sullen, dragging his tail between his legs like a scolded pup after the montreal debacle. it took a while, but you see him now for his true self. he’s carefree in a grounded sort of way, sold out for his music and the lifestyle it affords him. he’s gentle and kind and surprisingly considerate. he picks up the groceries when you ask it of him; he cleans the dishes from supper without complaint. he doesn’t pressure you for anything more than a make-out session on the couch when the lights are low and a record spins on the turntable. you would go further, but you can’t—not right now. he doesn’t ask any questions.

it would break you to tell him about the phone calls, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. each morning, you imagine his crestfallen face. you imagine the anger and the shouting and him calling the authorities and—

it’s easier for him—for everybody—if you just stay quiet.

besides, you’ll be gone in six months.

one evening, after dinner at an expensive restaurant, you let roger to take you to bed. he’d looked so pretty in the candlelight, and he’d listened to you talk about your hopes and dreams for the future. you think you fall in love with him when he drags you onto the bed and whispers sweet praises in your ear the whole night long.

when you wake the next morning, he is still there, and you snuggle into his chest. you breathe him in, and it’s bar soap from the shower and dried sweat and lingering cologne. his arms circle your back, squeezing you tighter.

“mornin’, angel,” he mumbles.

for a moment, you don’t respond. you keep your eyes closed and think back to yesterday.

there’d been no phone call. a blessed reprieve from three days in a row of randomly timed messages. roger had held you, and he holds you still. he is a comfort amidst your turbulent sea.

you should tell him. he can handle it. you’re tired of running from him.

rising to your palm, you meet roger’s gaze. he stares at you through his lashes, a sleepy smile on his mouth. he lifts a hand to cradle your face, and his thumb skims your cheekbone.

“how come you get a halo every morning and i don’t?”

you ignore his compliment before the bravery rushing through your veins dissipates. “rog, there’s something i haven’t told you.”

“yeah? is it about the freckle by your left ass-check?”

gasping, you slap roger’s chest. though he laughs, a red handprint remains in the center of his sternum, and he clutches his skin in pain. once settled, he apologizes and promises to behave.

deep inhale.

“about a month or two ago, i started—”

the phone on the bedside table cuts you off with its sharp bell-like ring.

your stomach plummets to your feet.

your eyes widen as roger holds up a finger and reaches for the earpiece.

he lifts it to his ear. “hello?”

some part of you hopes it’s your faceless friend. roger could deal with her himself. the other part of you prays it’s just a wrong number or john or—

“yes, fred, i know.”

hard exhale.

you slump to the side, leaning your weight against roger’s hip. thank heaven.

roger’s eyes slide to you, and he grins, winking. he squeezes the point of your chin between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes locked on yours as he nods and hums in response to freddie on the other end of the line.

“no, we won’t be late,” roger says. “yes, she’s coming. i promise i won’t forget.” he leans closer to the bedside table in his effort to end the conversation. “okay, fred. yes, i will.” finally, he heaves a sigh. “oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck off! i’m trying to woo my wife, so scram!”

“now,” he says, once the earpiece is on the base. “where were we?”

tugging on the back of your neck, he closes the distance between his mouth and yours. even with a hint of morning breath, you dissolve in his capable hands. he kisses you earnestly, and you struggle to remember what it was you wanted to tell him. he has this way with his mouth and his tongue and his hands that makes you forget everything but the feeling of him.

pulling back a moment later, he mumbles against your mouth: “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

you blink rapidly. “i—” damn, he looks so happy, glowing with youth and perhaps an inkling of love. you press your palm to his cheek then shake your head. “never mind. it can wait.”

he cocks his head to the side. “you sure?”

“mhm.”

“you remember the movie thing tonight, right?” he asks as he slides from the bed, drawing up his sweats from the floor and padding to the window. “that’s what fred called about.”

he throws the curtains open. the morning sun shines through, piercing every hidden corner, and your heart trips in your chest. your hands shake as you lift one of the bed sheets to cover your naked chest.

someone could be watching.

roger grimaces. “oh, shit, sorry, angel.” he tosses you his shirt from the floor, which you gratefully tug over your head. “anyway, tron, you know? we’re supposed to go to the premiere. something about flash gordon and—”

“i remember.”

“good. wear something nice because i don’t give a fuck about this movie, and i’d rather be looking at you anyway.” he smirks as he presses his palms against the mattress and leans in for another kiss.

you oblige him without hesitation.

“gotta go,” he says, pulling away only to firmly kiss you once more. “be ready by six, okay?”

you nod, and he leaves.

the majority of the day, you putter about the house. there’s chores to do—laundry and bills to catch up on and research for university admissions. it’s domestic work, mind-numbingly dull and repetitive. it leaves far too much space for your thoughts to run wild.

you admonish yourself for once more failing to tell roger of your faceless friend. you’d had the moment, and you’d blown it. with his unreliable schedule, there is no telling when you’ll have the chance to sit him down for a serious conversation again. you consider going to jim beach for help, but know once roger hears wind of it, he will fly off the handle because you didn’t come to him first. perhaps rightfully so, too.

you resolve that until you can find another peaceful moment, you will continue to suffer through it. it’s a step in the right direction, though. at least now, you have plans to tell him.

by five-forty-five, you are ready for the event. you sit in the living room, gnawing at your lower-lip as your leg bounces in anticipation. you haven’t gone anywhere with roger since the charity function earlier in the year. your faceless friend will surely be watching tonight, and already you feel sweat gather along your underarms.

roger unlocks the door and sticks his head into the living room upon his arrival. “car’s running. ready to go?”

you lift your handbag from the floor, nodding as you make your way to his side. roger stops you with a flat hand against your stomach. he bends to catch your eyes.

“you okay?”

“yes,” you say, but your voice sounds too rushed and eager even to your own ears.

he doesn’t hassle you for a more illuminative response. he just leads you to the car, opens your door, and makes his way to the theater, foot hard on the gas pedal.

as soon as you see the carpet—red this time—stretched along the sidewalk leading to the movie theater, bile rises in your throat. you reach for roger’s arm and squeeze tight. his head whips to the side.

“roger, i don’t think i can do this,” you breathe.

he frowns. “what do you mean?”

“it’s just that i’ve been—”

he pulls the car to the side. an usher opens the door, sound and light and chaos breaking the comforting quiet of the ride. your eyes flutter shut; you grit your teeth.

“[y/n], what is it?” roger’s voice is low, on the edge of irritation.

this is not the time. yet why do you feel like you’re going to pass out if you don’t—

“mr. taylor?” the usher prompts.

purging the emotions clawing at the front of your mind, you push roger’s shoulder and avoid his searching gaze. “nothing. go on! i’m right behind you.”

roger huffs as he slides from the car, but he dutifully offers his hand to aid you onto the red carpet. as he did before, he leads you toward the theater doors, stopping at the appropriate moments to pose for photographs. you hold on to the back of his jacket so tightly your knuckles crack. your eyes scan the crowd in search of your faceless friend. you will know her when you see her. she is a part of you now, like a demon on your shoulder.

roger rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture and leans to whisper in your ear. “you feel a stiff as a board,” he says. “what is it?”

you shake your head and nudge him further down the carpet. “we can talk about it later.”

“is it something i’ve—”

“no, roger. it’s not you.”

he studies your face a moment longer before nodding and returning his smile to the crowd.

near the entrance to the theater, a gaggle of girls wave their hands in an attempt to grab roger’s attention. he glances at you, and you nod, backing away to allow him one of the moments he so enjoys.

but one of the girls calls out your name. you lift your eyes to stop tracing the intricate weaving of the red carpet and stare at the girl in question until roger has to drag you over with a laugh. the girl shoves a newspaper in your face, your wedding announcement crinkled with affectionate wear-and-tear. she asks for your autograph, and you chuckle, feeling rather ridiculous as you scrawl your name across the page with a fat green marker.

it happens before you have time to react.

your head is bent as you sign the girl’s newspaper, your attention diverted from scanning the crowd for your faceless friend. but you feel her when she arrives, sense her eyes on your neck, and her fingers reaching for the sleeve of your dress. you have time enough to turn and catch sight of her long fingernails descending upon your cheek, but not time enough to stop her.

you scream more out of fear than pain as her nails scrape your face. truly, it does not hurt, though blood does begin to trickle down your chin and along the column of your throat.

it’s just that she’s there, before your very eyes, and she’s much smaller than you imagined. yet her eyes are dark with envy, and her nails are sharp. you recognize her labored breathing—deep inhale, sharp exhale—as she tries to move backwards and disappear within the crowd before she can be seen. you cannot look away from her, even when roger grabs your shoulders and wrenches you away from the iron gate. he’s shouting in your ear, cradling your uninjured cheek, but everything sounds like you’re underwater.

her face—round and childlike in its innocence—does not match the picture you’d created of her in your mind. she does not resemble the evil witch of your childhood fairy tales. she’s just a child, a little girl with a heart full of love for someone she cannot have.

your faceless friend is pointed out by the girl with the newspaper, and someone—maybe theater security, maybe queen security, maybe a good samaritan—drags her away.

roger grips your chin harder than he should considering the circumstances, but it brings your attention back to him. his eyes are ablaze with fury, and you suddenly feel the urge to cry.

“are you all right?” he demands. “are you hurt anywhere else?”

only my pride, you think.

“no,” you manage with a shake of your head. “no.”

“come on.” he slips his arm around your waist and pushes your head into the curve of his neck, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. “we’re going home.”

the trip home is silent. your head moves back and forth across the passenger window, in time with the bumps and dips and curves of the road. there’s a fast-food napkin pressed against your cheek to stem the blood. you aren’t sure if it helps. roger keeps his hand firm on your thigh.

once inside the house, he forces you to sit in the middle of the bed as he scurries to retrieve the first aid kit. while he roots around in the bathroom, muttering to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for fast enough, you strip yourself of your dress and return his old t-shirt over your head. you lift the collar to your nose and inhale his scent. when you draw the collar away, crimson blood and fresh tears stain the fabric. you sigh.

“fuckin’ hell.” roger drops to sit in front of you, his legs skewed to the side. a white, plastic box sits in his lap, and when he opens it, the contexts spill onto the bed sheets. “i’ve had this thing for ages. i think brian got it for me when i moved in.”

his hand returns to your chin; only his touch is gentle now. he looks over your wound, frowning at the sight.

“this is gonna sting, angel,” he warns.

it does. the antiseptic hurts, and you wince, but he keeps you from drawing away, his grip on your chin firm. he unwraps a butterfly bandage and presses it over the shallow scratch on your face. then he shakes his head, his face drawn tight.

“what is it you weren’t telling me?”

“there is—was this girl… and she kept calling, saying things.” you twist and unearth the pad of paper from under the bed. rubbing your eye, you hand it to him and watch his face darken as he reads the words.

he looks up, and you can’t bear to see the anger—the anger directed at you—in his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your first instinct is to shrug, to obfuscate, but he deserves the truth.

“you never wanted a wife,” you say. “you certainly didn’t want a wife who brought a stalker into the house. i figured—” deep inhale. “i figured i could live with it until our year was up.”

“oh, baby.” roger presses his forehead to yours. he cups your untainted cheek. “fucking up in montreal was the best thing that ever happened to me. it brought you to me, didn’t it?”

“you’re just saying that ‘cause—”

“no.” he draws back and grabs both shoulders in his hands. “i mean it. i never was one for marriage. didn’t make sense. but i get it now. it’s about partnership, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about trust, too.” he smiles softly, pressing his thumb against your lip. “it’s about affection.”

he goes quiet then removes his hands from your shoulders.

“i wish you would have trusted me.”

“i’m—”

“don’t apologize. this whole arrangement is weird, and i don’t blame you for keeping quiet. i just wish you would have told me so i could help you.”

you sigh, dropping your head. “what do you want, roger?”

he lifts your chin, and you are struck by the love so firmly etched in his eyes. it knocks the wind from your lungs, leaves you breathless.

“i want you to keep my last name,” he says.

“what?”

“you heard me: i want you keep my last name.”

tears flood your vision, but not for fear or worry or regret.

you begin to smile, but the skin of your cheek pulls tight, and you wince, touching your injury. “ow,” you mutter.

roger laughs and pulls your fingers away from the bandage. he kisses each knuckle then rubs the wedding band along your ring finger. “can we give each other another chance?” he asks. “can we forget all the assumptions and just be us? i think we started on the wrong foot and somewhere along the way we switched—”

“yes.”

he stops mid-sentence, his brows drawing together in confusion. “what?”

“i said yes. i’ll keep your last name. i want your last name, roger taylor.”

he grins, and the happiness in every line on his face outshines even the sun’s rays. “god, you’re perfect.” he kisses you hard, and you laugh as you drop against the pillows, pulling him with you. he stops attacking your neck with his lips long enough to prop himself up and stare down at you. “but don’t you ever pull something like that again! if someone starts nagging you, tell me first thing. promise?”

you nod, stunned by his firm tone.

“say it.”

“i promise.”

he smooths the hair on your forehead, and your stomach somersaults to watch him examine you so openly “good girl,” he mumbles before lowering his mouth to yours again.

you lose yourself in him. he loses himself in you. somewhere along the way, you find one another, and all is bliss.

in the morning, legs tangled in the sheets and steady rain pelting the window, roger adjusts his hold on your waist. he’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breath. you pull his arm tight around you and smile into your pillow.

your cheek is still sore, and you’re sure there’s some poor nun who remains scarred for life after witnessing roger’s montreal incident.

but this morning you cannot find it within yourself to feel bothered by your faceless friend, nor by the scarred nun. indeed, you think, you should write them each a thank you card, because in a funny sort of way, they brought you to your husband. in a funny sort of way, they gave you love of your life. and for that, you are indebted to them.

you twist at the sound of roger’s yawn. taking his face in your hands, you smile at him. “good morning, husband,” you whisper.

he grins back. “good morning, wife.”

now this—this you could get used to.

taglist (italicized handles wouldn’t work): @im-an-adult-ish​ @bluewillowmom​ @deakygurl @aprilaady @dancingdiscofloof​ @six-bloodyminutes​

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part two

Y’all are about to make me turn this into a long/full-length fic. I swear. Thank you for the feedback!! It made me all :D Enjoy this angst xx.

For the next few weeks, you would meet Steve at the coffee shop after class just to talk about Bucky. Your best friend joked that you must be dating someone, but left it alone when you told her she wouldn’t believe who you were with if you told her anyway.

Day after day, Steve brings some new story about his best friend. Last week, he brought you the sketches he found that Bucky made him draw. He said he has no idea how they survived, but by the yellow tint of the paper, you knew they were legit.

As was the letter Steve handed you a few days ago.

The paper is yellow. The ink faded. The creases permanent. 

And the handwriting. It’s Bucky’s.

You’ve yet to read the letter. You tried. You opened it. You got as far as “Doll, if you’re reading this, that means Steve kept his promise. I’m sorry I can’t be there--” before the tears made it too hard to read anything.

The letter sits on your dresser and every morning you hold it against your chest, pressing it over your heart. As stupid as it sounds, you can almost feel him standing behind you when you do.

How painful it is to love and miss someone that you have never met.

The emptiness is present most days, but today it is especially prevalent, and you can’t pinpoint why.

You dreamt of him last night. Sometimes you feel especially empty after seeing him, mainly because when you wake it’s a painful reminder that he isn’t here. But something about today feels different.

“You okay?”

The voice makes you jump, but it’s only your best friend. Her eyebrows furrow in concern at your reaction.

“Yeah,” you murmur, slowly placing the letter back on your dresser. 

“You know,” she pauses, walking further into your room. “You told me I wouldn’t believe it if you told me. But I’d still like to know.”

You smile, looking at her in the mirror. “You sure?”

“You’ve been acting strange for weeks now,” she chuckles. “I’d like to know why. I’m your best friend.”

“Okay,” you exhale. You turn around, gesturing to your bed. The two of you sit next to one another, and you hold a pillow to your chest for comfort. “It’s Steve.”

“Steve? Steve who?”

“Steve Rogers,” you say, watching the realization dawn. “Captain America.”

“You’re serious?”

You nod.

“Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Nothing like that. He’s...We’ve been talking about Bucky.”

“Bucky? Barnes?”

“Yeah,” you nod again. This time, you stand and grab the letter from your dresser, returning to your bed with it in your hands. “Bucky is my soulmate.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you hand her the letter. “I haven’t read it yet, but Steve gave it to me. Apparently Bucky dreamt about me, too. Tried to find me and couldn’t, but he gave Steve this letter before he was deployed in the war. He made Steve promise he’d find me, and well…”

“Holy hell,” she murmurs, staring down at the handwriting. “To Y/N, from Bucky,” she shakes her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me either,” you admit.

“Is this why you were so emotional that day?” She asks, looking up at you. “Gosh, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?” She pulls you into her arms, the letter resting on the bed between you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was delusional,” you confess, holding her just as tight. “I’ve had to be careful. No one outside of my parents knew before Steve figured it out.” 

Your best friend pushes back from the hug. “Wait. How did he figure it out?”

“He saw me standing in front of the video of him and Bucky at the museum,” you explain. “He said I looked familiar, and he was right. Bucky used to have him sketch me so he could have a picture of me to look at.”

You lean back and reach under your pillow, pulling out one of the many sketches Steve gave you. Your best friend takes it in her hands, one coming up to cover her mouth in a shocked gasp.

“Dated 1940,” she says softly. “Wow. It really looks like you.”

You nod. She’s right. Even you were a little shocked upon seeing the first sketch. Aside from the hairstyle being a little traditionally 40s, everything else was really close. Enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else, that’s for sure.

“So Steve tells you about Bucky?” 

You nod some more. “I didn’t think he would. I’m surprised he does, honestly. I can’t imagine how he must feel being thrown 70 years into the future without his best friend -- or anyone. He still visits Peggy in her nursing home, you know.” You smile softly. “They’re soulmates.”

“They are?” Your best friend gasps. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “But he’s told me a lot about Bucky. Every time I think he’s told me everything, he comes back with a new story. And every day I swear I fall more in love with Bucky. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” your best friend shakes her head. “I’m sorry he’s not here.”

“Me too,” you murmur. “I miss him.”

“I know,” she replies, a sad smile crossing her lips. “Are you gonna be okay at your interview?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I have to go. I need this job.”

“Okay,” she says. “When was the last time you got to talk about Bucky?”

“Oh, it’s been a few days. Steve’s been busy, probably, but it’s alright. We’ve talked about him every day for the past two weeks. I can manage a few more days without him. Now, get out. I need to get dressed,” you tease, shoving her off your best.

“Yes ma’am,” she laughs. “We meeting for lunch after?”

“Yep,” you nod, heading for your closet. “I’ll let you know where after the interview. Not sure if I’ll need comfort food or not.”

“Gotcha,” she shakes her head.

+++

The interview went...okay. You’re not sure which way it’ll swing, but you’re hoping it’ll be in your favor.

“Hey girl,” your best friend’s eager voice greets you. “How’d it go?”

“Good, I think,” you laugh, straightening your purse on your shoulder. “Still wanna do lunch?”

“Duh,” she replies. “Where?”

But instead of answering her question, your eyes are caught on something else. Smoke. The smell hit you when you first walked out of the building, but you just assumed someone had been smoking. Now that you see the large cloud in the sky, you think otherwise.

“Y/N?”

“Uh, where are you?”

“Still at the apartment, why?”

“Stay there,” you say quietly, quickening your pace. “Cancel lunch. Stay inside.”

“What?”

“Just trust me!” You nearly yell, cursing yourself for wearing heels, but you’re breaking into a run nonetheless. “Turn on the news.”

“Okay, okay,” she replies frantically. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you rush out. You skid to a stop at the intersection. “I don’t know what’s wrong but...I can feel him.”

“What? Bucky’s dead, Y/N.”

“I know that. I know he is. But I can...I can feel him. I don’t know why. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”

“Then get the hell out of there!” Your best friend screams. “Call the police!”

An explosion booms in the distance. Something in your chest pulls you toward it. Logically, you know you can’t run after it, but your legs have a mind of their own.

“Y/N! What are you doing?!”

“I have to see!” You scream. “I’m sorry! I have to!”

“Y/N, it’s not him! He’s not there!”

“I just have to make sure!”

About that time is when another explosion rattles the ground below you. You now recognize the other noises as rapid gunfire, an automatic weapon. Screams echo in the distance but all you hear is your soul screaming at you. It’s Bucky, it tells you. It has to be Bucky.

“Y/N, listen to me!” Still, your best friend tries to get you to turn back. “What’s on the news isn’t pretty. Cars turned over and people running. The police haven’t even arrived to contain it yet. Think about what you’re doing!”

“I am,” is all you can say. “I won’t get too close. I just have to see.”

“Y/N!” 

“I’m sorry!” You scream back, right as the line goes dead. Damn service must be down.

Shaking it off, you keep running. While everyone is running away from the danger, passing you with wild looks in their eyes, you run toward it with tears streaming down your face. 

It’s him. It has to be. I don’t know how. But it is. It just is.

Up ahead, you can see a fight going on. And it’s... 

It’s Steve?

Your steps slow when you see his shield thrown into a car with such force that it terrifies you and almost makes you turn back. The crunch of metal on metal causes you to flinch, but you don’t turn away.

But you don’t. You watch the scene unfold before you. It’s hard to tell who has the upper hand. Steve or...the guy with the metal arm? That alone confuses you to no end. What kind of person has a metal arm?

You watch for a few more frightening seconds. The one with the metal arm brings out a knife. As you get closer, you notice he has a mask on over his nose and mouth. You’re not close enough to see, but...

Steve finally gains the upper hand, landing a few punches and kicks on his opponent. You gasp when Steve sends him flying, doing a somersault in midair.

You slow to a walk as you get as close as you’ll let yourself. Steve stands, shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breaths. His opponent turns, his long hair swinging around his face, and all of the air around you seems to disappear.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

Bucky says something you don’t hear before raising his gun at Steve. You shout, “No!” before you can stop yourself, breaking into another sprint before you can think twice about what you’re doing. You don’t know what’s happening but you know that’s Bucky.

Something bird-like -- or someone, rather -- swoops down from the sky, knocking Bucky to the ground before he can shoot. Steve turns, sees you running, and yells something at you that you don’t process. You imagine he’s telling you to stop but that’s the last thing you want to do right now.

“Bucky!” You scream, voice full of hysteria and pain. 

Bucky hesitates, eyes locking on yours. You know he’s just tried to kill Steve, you know something is wrong, but you just want to hug him--

Steve catches you in his arms before you can get too far, saving you from being in the crossfire of a grenade that is shot right at Bucky by a redhead. You yell a broken sob that rips you open, fighting against Steve’s grip, but to no avail. You’re no match for his strength, and your emotions have rendered you weak.

The smoke clears and Bucky is gone, vanished into thin air. As if he was never there. 

Just like your dreams.

“Shhh,” Steve murmurs, arms not loosening around your body. Your knees buckle and he’s there to hold you up. “It’s okay. I know.”

“Bucky…” You whisper, face contorting in pain and you scream, a blistering heat spreading through your chest. Steve holds you tight, jaw clenching as he listens to you.

Sirens wail down the road, getting closer, but all you can see are Bucky’s eyes. They’re his eyes, but they’re not the same. That was Bucky, but he wasn’t your Bucky. The one who keeps you company during the night-- It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.

But it was his face.

What happens next you hardly remember. Guns pointed all around. Someone screaming at all of you to get on your knees. Handcuffs circle your wrists and your heart is split in half. Someone asks who the hell you are. No one answers.

You’re ushered to the back of a van, all four of you. You’re shoved in next to Steve and across from the Wingman and the redhead. Steve’s worried eyes look you over, but you can only stare down at your cuffed hands.

The ride is quiet. The guards beside you don’t move.

“Bucky,” you whisper, tears springing back to your eyes.

“I know,” Steve murmurs. “It was him.”

The ringing in your ears takes over, blocking out all other noise. You see everyone’s lips moving, but nothing registers. You’re too heartbroken. He’s alive. But he’s not...him.

+++

When you finally return to reality you’re sitting up against a concrete wall. The cuffs are gone, but you don’t remember when. You don’t even know where the hell you are.

You kick your heels off, too out of it to even care that the floor is probably dirty and full of who knows what kind of germs. But your entire body aches too much for that to bother you.

Bucky.

He looked right at you. He hesitated. Who was he?

You hear voices in the room next to you. Footsteps. Then Steve is kneeling in front of you.

You blink slowly, focusing on his face. His smile is sad.

“How you holding up?”

You shake your head.

Steve sighs, moving to sit down in front of you. Your eyes look to your hands instead.

“We’ve got a safe house set up,” he says. “We’ve already sent agents to get your roommate and some of your things. You need to stay there until we finish this. I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

You nod. Steve’s only indication that you’re listening.

“The doc wants to check you out first. You were unresponsive so he wanted you to come out of it before he did.”

Another nod.

“Come on,” Steve holds out his hand.

Tentatively, you grab it. His hand feels foreign, makes your skin crawl, but then again, so does the floor you were just sitting on. Regardless, your hand slips from Steve’s as quickly as you can. You smooth your sweaty palm down your pants leg, grimacing at the way it makes you shiver. Steve watches you like you’re going to collapse again, and honestly, you might.

Steve leads you into the room he just came from, where you find the redhead, the Wingman, an agent, and the doctor. You glance to the left and see a man with an eyepatch lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of shit. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Welcome back to earth,” the man says, full of snark and yet, a hint of caring. “Sorry you’re mixed up in all this.”

You shrug. “It’s okay.” But it’s actually not. You’re in so much pain you can barely breathe. It just...came out of nowhere. “Fuck--”

Steve’s arms jerk out to hold you up. You grip his arm as tight as you can, your eyes squeezing shut. The pain sears, it fucking burns--

“What the hell is going on?” Someone asks, frantic, you don’t know.

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Y/N? I’m gonna set you down.”

Slowly, Steve lowers you, but you aren’t met with concrete, you’re met with a soft mattress. Another bed, must be.

 Your head rolls back, the pain subsiding for only a moment. It returns as quick as it left, starting in your head, splitting your skull open. Your body seizes, unable to move. The burning is in your fucking bones but how is that even possible?

Faintly, you hear the doctor asking for something. There’s a prick in your arm, and your breathing slows.

“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes slipping closed. “Fuck.” You cough. “What the fuck was that?”

“I gave you a small dosage of a nerve blocker to ease it for now,” the doctor says. “Have you ever had something happen like that before?”

“No,” you croak, opening your eyes. “And I don’t want it to ever happen again.”

“Any ideas, doc?” The man in the bed says.

The doctor shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Not with as sudden of an onset as that.”

“Well, great,” you mutter, covering your eyes with your arm. “I love being a walking mystery.”

“You are a walking mystery,” the man in the bed replies. “Steve never gave us your name. Mind enlightening us?”

“Y/N,” you mutter. “Y/N L/N. I’m just a college student.”

You hear Steve sigh. Don’t do it--

“She’s Bucky’s soulmate,” Steve says, and you want to scream. But you don’t. Instead, you focus on holding back your tears.

“Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting,” someone else says. You move your arm to see it’s the Wingman. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Nice,” you nod.

“That’s Natasha,” Steve continues, pointing at the redhead. She has a bandage over where she was shot, a patch of red beginning to seep through. She nods at you, emotionless. “Director Nick Fury is over there.” Eye patch. Got it. “And that’s Maria Hill.”

You nod, not that you’ll remember all of their names in the next minute. Especially not if another episode of pain comes back on, but you really hope it won’t.

“I’m Dr. Fine,” the doctor says, walking around the cot to shine a flashlight in your eyes. You refrain from smacking him with it. “You’re The Winter Soldier’s soulmate, then?”

“Who’s The Winter Soldier?” You say, eyebrows furrowing. “Is that…”

Steve nods solemnly. “That’s what they call him.”

Your nose scrunches. You don’t like it at all. Yes, he wasn’t himself, but deep down, he’s still Bucky. Your Bucky.

“What are you thinking, doc?” Steve asks, arms crossed over his chest.

You turn your head away, bringing your arm down from your eyes. You have an idea of what it is, but you don’t like it. Because that means you’re going to begin feeling everything, and judging by what you just saw and experienced today, you don’t know that you’ll survive it.

“Some soulmates-- It’s not sound because there haven’t been enough studies done on this, but for some soulmates, it is possible that she feels what he feels. And vice versa.”

Your eyes close out of sheer frustration. “I figured.”

“You figured?” Steve questions, almost incredulously.

You open your eyes and you almost glare at him. “I’ve felt empty all my life, Steve. With no explanation. Went to therapists and doctors and all of them said it wasn’t that bad. So I learned to live with it. But when I woke up this morning, I felt different,” you explain, your voice losing volume the longer you speak. “Now I know why.”

“But that’s it? Just empty?” Sam chimes in, confusion covering his features, too.

“It’s possible that seeing him, face-to-face for the very first time today triggered the nerve endings,” Dr. Fine replies quietly. “Before it was muted feelings, and if they’ve brainwashed him, then that is understandable. But seeing him must have flipped a switch.”

“I’ll say,” you scoff. All you can do is deflect right now. If you think too much about Bucky, you’ll check out again. “Can you do anything at all?”

“I can prescribe some nerve blockers like what I gave you, but I don’t know how effective it’ll be,” the doctor shrugs mournfully. “They appeared to have worked for now, but I don’t know for how long. There isn’t much science behind it. Because you aren’t in pain -- he is.”

“Right,” you mutter. As if you needed the reminder.

“I’ll have them sent to the safe house,” the doctor says, nodding to Maria. “Other than that,” he focuses back on you with a sad smile. “You’re alright. Unless you have any other questions?”

“No,” you shake your head, beginning to sit up. Your calves ache, most likely from running through the streets of D.C. with heels on, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. “As long as that pain doesn’t come back, I think I’m good.”

“Is the car ready?” Steve asks, wrapping his arm around your waist to help you stand. Unfortunately, the episode zapped a lot of your energy.

“It is,” Maria nods. “I’m tagging along, but I’ll be back once they’re settled.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. Then, he cranes his neck toward you, “Ready?”

You nod, not that you have much of a choice here. A chorus of goodbyes ring out from everyone in the room, which surprises you. Natasha didn’t look like she cared for you too much, but she was also shot in the shoulder, so. Sam seemed nice. Confused about everything, but that made two of you.

After what feels like a mile-long walk to the car, Steve is helping you into the backseat of a blacked out SUV.

“Steve,” you say softly, hoping he’ll hear you. 

He does. He turns, raising his eyebrows. 

“He’s in a lot of pain,” you whisper. “Emotionally. It feels like a black hole.”

Steve nods firmly. “I’m gonna get him back.”

“What if you can’t?” You ask, tears coming back, but you shove them away. You can cry on the ride to the safe house. “What did they even do to him?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shakes his head. “But I swear, I’ll get him back.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “If you can’t, though,” you shake your head, willing the tears to stop. “It’s okay. Thank you...for everything you gave me.” You shrug half-heartedly. “I never would’ve really known him if it weren’t for you.”

You swear you see tears gathering in Steve’s eyes, too. He pulls you forward again, into his chest, holding your head as you take in a few shaking breaths. You don’t know how he’s been so put together this whole time. 

Pulling back from the hug, Steve waits until you’re looking at him before speaking again. “I promise. I’ll bring him back to you.” He smiles, all crooked and sad. “He has to meet his girl. He promised.”

You chuckle, wiping tears from your eyes, sniffling loudly. “Thank you.”

“Get some rest,” Steve says, squeezing your shoulder.

“Okay,” you promise, swinging your legs the rest of the way in the car. 

Steve shuts the door, waving to you as Maria drives away.

In the car, you finally have enough sense to check your phone. There’s a lot of panicked voicemails from your best friend, and then things calm down when she tells you she’s headed to the safe house. She’s already there, as of thirty minutes ago. You send a text to let her know you’re headed there and that you’re okay, you’re not injured.

You turn and lay down on the seats, using your arm as a pillow, and you dream.

You dream of Bucky.

[thelazyhermits]

Stoking the Fire

As I mentioned in this post, I wanted to write a drabble focused on Fortune having a vision about the All Might vs AFO fight since I figured out a way to make it happen so there wouldn’t be any extra wariness among the heroes about the summer camp.

This takes place after TABF chapter 29 but before the Two Heroes fic. I hope y’all enjoy it! ^-^

Your Quirk is very troublesome in many ways.

For starters, you have no control over it when it comes to receiving visions, so they always happen at random which can be really inconvenient at times. Although, there are also times they happen just when you need them, so you suppose you shouldn’t complain too much on that end.

One of the most annoying aspects of your Quirk is the fact that it comes with so many drawbacks. It’s seriously ridiculous how much suffering your Quirk constantly puts you through.

Sure, it somewhat makes sense when you consider how powerful your Quirk is since great powers like foresight normally come with limits, but you think your Quirk has way too many. 

It’d be one thing if you only had the drawback that prevented you from revealing the contents of some of your visions, but to also have a drawback that causes you to take the pain someone would have felt if you hadn’t intervened on their behalf and prevented them from getting injured? Truly ridiculous.

Not only that, when you use your Quirk for offensive purposes, you can only use it for a select period of time. Otherwise, you risk overworking your brain, which could result in seizures as well as horrible migraines and nosebleeds. 

A truly troublesome Quirk indeed.

And unfortunately for you, there’s one other troublesome aspect of your Quirk that you oftentimes forget about since it doesn’t happen very often.

Sometimes, for reasons unknown to you, your Quirk gives you visions while you’re asleep.

The reason this is problematic is because sometimes it’s difficult for you to tell if you had a vision or if it was just a dream. Not only that, you never can tell when exactly the events of these particular visions occur unlike how you usually can with the visions you get when you’re awake.

While it’s not unusual for you to not be able to tell the exact date and time an event will happen, you can usually tell if it will be a few days or months away, but when it comes to visions that occur while you’re asleep, you can’t tell what the timeline is at all for whatever reason. 

That’s why you hate getting those kinds of visions since it drives you crazy knowing that something is going to happen but having no idea when it will occur, especially when the events of said visions are very worrisome.

Like what you see in the vision you get a week before summer break starts. 

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

As soon as the vision comes to an end, you wake with a loud gasp and quickly pull yourself into a seated position. While you take a moment to calm down, you brush the back of your hand against your forehead to wipe away the sweat clinging to your skin. 

Once you’ve steadied your breathing and your heart is no longer pounding frantically in your chest, you mentally go over what you just witnessed while you were asleep. 

It was a battle but not just any kind of battle. It was a fight between All Might and All For One himself. 

There’s no way that was just a dream. It had to have been my Quirk at work.

That’s what your gut is telling you, so that’s what you’re going to believe since you can’t afford to write off something as important as this. 

You drag a hand down your face. Unfortunately, that vision didn’t give me a lot to go on since it didn’t even show me the full battle, just bits and pieces of it. I couldn’t even tell where those two were since I didn’t get a good look at their surroundings. It just looked like a typical battlefield that came to be after a section of a town got torn apart thanks to the fighters’ Quirks.

So, not only do you not know when this battle will happen, you have no idea where it will happen. Great, just great.

To make matters worse, All Might didn’t appear to be looking too good in that battle. Of course, you suppose that’s to be expected, considering he no longer has OFA and is only fighting using the remaining embers of his old Quirk.

However, despite that and All For One’s taunts, the number one hero didn’t look like he had any intention to give up. No, he was still fighting hard for the sake of everyone who was counting on him to win this all important battle. 

Unfortunately, All For One had a trick up his sleeve to shake All Might’s resolve.

“Shigaraki Tomura is Shimura Nana’s grandson.”

When All For One dropped that bombshell, you had first thought he was lying, but you quickly realized that that was something the villain would absolutely do. So, you’re sure he was telling the truth no matter how much you don’t want to believe it.

Poor All Might looked absolutely devastated by the news, not that you can blame him. His mentor was someone who was near and dear to him, so of course, it would hurt to hear that All For One was able to find her grandson and use him in his evil schemes. 

Fortunately, that news didn’t break All Might like All For One was aiming to do, so even though your vision didn’t show you how the battle ended, you’re sure that All Might continued to fight his nemesis with all his heart and soul.

That’s why you’re not worried about the outcome of the battle, because you know All Might will win. You have complete faith in him. There’s no way he’ll lose. 

Still, you do think you should tell him about your vision, so he’ll be prepared for what’s to come. A warning probably won’t do much in the grand scheme of things, especially since there isn’t much you can actually tell him that would be useful to him, but you still think you should let him know what’s in store for his future.

And maybe if you tell him the news about Shigaraki, you can give him the time he needs to come to terms with that information, so All For One can’t use it against All Might in their fated battle.

Just that alone would make telling All Might about your vision worth it since there’s nothing more you’d love to do than to throw a wrench in All For One’s plans. 

Your hands clench into tight fists. I won’t allow you to hurt All Might like that and use his suffering for your gain, All For One. I won’t let you do as you please.

That’s a promise.

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

After homeroom, you contact All Might and ask for him to privately meet with you, so the two of you can discuss the vision you had last night. 

Briefly, you had considered asking Aizawa and Nedzu to also join the two of you, but you figured you should talk to All Might first and foremost. And you wanted to do that privately because of the matter with Shigaraki since you’re sure that’s what All Might would prefer.

That’s why you later find yourself in a private room, sipping tea with All Might who returned to his true form once the coast was clear. 

“To request a meeting like this, you must have seen quite the vision.” Yagi remarks, “Is it pertaining specifically to me, or is it about Young Midoriya?”

“It’s just about you.” You answer before later adding, “And All For One.”

His expression darkens. “I see. In that case, I can only imagine that you’re here to tell me that I will fight against that man again.”

As expected of the number one hero, he’s incredibly perceptive, which is to your benefit since it saves you time explaining things. Although, ironically enough, this is the one occasion where you don’t actually need that kind of help since this vision is apparently one you can talk about without having to worry about your drawback., probably because you don’t actually have any worthwhile information that could result in changing the future.

You nod, “Unfortunately, I had this vision while I was asleep, so I can’t tell you when the two of you will have your fated battle. For some reason, I’m never able to provide a timeline for those particular visions.”

A sigh escapes you. “I also don’t know where that battle will be since my vision didn’t really show me much of your surroundings. It looked like you were in a part of a town that got destroyed by the battle, but it could literally be anywhere.”

“I can’t even tell you how the fight turns out since my vision only showed me certain parts of the battle and didn’t even let me see the end of it.”  You frown, “I’m sorry, Yagi-san. I wish I could be more helpful.”

He reaches across the table to pat your shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/N-kun. It is not your fault that your Quirk picks and chooses what it shows you.”

“Even if I don’t know when or where the battle will happen, I still appreciate the confirmation that such a battle will occur within the next year since I knew it was only a matter of time.” Yagi adds.

The corners of his lips curve upwards. “Your news is actually encouraging since, if you couldn’t tell who the clear winner would be, that means that I will be able to put up a good fight despite no longer possessing OFA.”

Your eyes widen. “I see what you mean. The more time passes, the less likely you’ll be able to continue using OFA since you’re currently just using the remaining embers. So, since you were still able to hold your own against All For One, then…”

“Then, it’s likely the battle won’t be a full year from now.” Yagi picks up where you left off. “While I intend to hold out for as long as I can for the sake of the public, I know it would be foolish of me to truly believe I can continue as I am with mere embers of my former Quirk for a long period of time, even though I would like nothing more than to remain the Symbol of Peace until I can pass along my mantle to Young Midoriya.”

Remembering the state he was in in your vision, you frown, “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to continue working as All Might after that battle, Yagi-san. It’ll push you to your very limits - to the point where you won’t even be able to maintain your muscle form.”

The blond sighs, “I can’t say I’m surprised, considering how strong All For One is and how I am not as strong as I was during our last battle.”

His expression turns determined. “But I am alright with that result as long as I can stop All For One once and for all. If my last act as a pro hero is defeating him, I will have no regrets.”

Yagi clenches his hands into fists. “I failed to stop him last time, but I won’t this time. No matter what it takes, I will put an end to his tyranny once and for all.”

For some reason, when you hear him say, “No matter what it takes”, you get an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. 

Probably because, to you, it sounds like, “Even if it costs me my life.”

At that moment, you suddenly find yourself thinking back to the vision you had of the events following All Might’s last battle with All For One. You remember seeing his worn out appearance and how Nighteye had tried to get the number one hero to retire. 

You recall how Nighteye foresaw All Might’s death, and that painful feeling in your chest grows stronger. What if...What if….?

What if the vision you had is of the future that Nighteye saw?

You give yourself a quick mental shake. No, there should still be some time before the events that Nighteye foresaw happen. Considering Yagi-san will be strong enough to fight All For One, it’s doubtful that a full year will pass before that battle, and Nighteye predicted that the future he saw should happen within one to two years from now. So, there’s no way he’ll die in the battle I saw.

…right?

 “Y/N-kun? Are you alright?”

It’s the sound of Yagi’s concerned voice that draws you out of your worrisome thoughts.

Immediately, you lift your gaze to meet his, and as soon as you do, you ask, without thinking, “Does ‘no matter what it takes’ mean that you’re willing to die if necessary?”

Yagi freezes at your words before quickly averting his gaze. Rather than say anything, he just goes quiet as he tightly clasps his hands, but you don’t need a verbal response since that reaction is all you needed to see to know what his answer to your question is.

Of course, you’re not surprised since the number one hero is no stranger to self-sacrifice. Ever since your Quirk started showing you visions about All Might, you’ve witnessed firsthand how many times he has sacrificed his time and wellbeing for the sake of others, because he felt it was his duty as the Symbol of Peace.

It’s a trait of his that you both admire and hate, because, while he only ever has good intentions, it hurts you to see him treat himself with so little regard. Why must he constantly put such burdens on his shoulders? Why can’t he allow himself to get the rest he deserves?

Why does he have to do everything alone?

At that moment, your thoughts suddenly turn toward Midoriya who is sure to follow in his mentor’s footsteps since he’s so much like the number one hero. Honestly, you’d say your student is even worse when it comes to self-sacrifice because of all the years of bullying which led to him having such low self worth.

If Midoriya was in All Might’s shoes right now, you have no doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to throw away his life if he thought it would be for the “better good”.

And that terrifies you more than words can describe.

That’s why you can’t let this horrible cycle continue. You have to do something for Yagi’s sake and for Midoriya’s.

So, that’s exactly what you do.

“You can’t die, Yagi-san, not when you still have so much to teach Midoriya.”

Briefly, Yagi looks at you in surprise, and then, his expression becomes pained. “The last thing I want is to leave Young Midoriya without a mentor, especially so early in his journey to become a hero, but-”

“But nothing!” You cut him off. “If you want to guide him, then do it! Don’t let anything get in the way, not even death!”

Your hands clench into fists. “Midoriya still needs you, Yagi-san, not just as his hero but as his mentor. You need to be there for him since there are things that only you can do for him. Your role in his life is irreplaceable.”

“So, please don’t accept dying so easily!” You plead with tears in your eyes. “Not when you have a successor who’s depending on you and so many people who care about you, not because you’re the number one hero but because you’re you! Please treasure yourself more!”

His eyes widen. “Y/N-kun…”

As you’re scrubbing your eyes, Yagi takes a moment to consider your words, and then, his expression softens. “I’m sorry, Y/N-kun. You’re right. Death is not an alternative that I should be so willingly to accept. That’s unfair to you, Young Midoriya, and everyone else who I have been so fortunate to receive love from.”

“I’m no longer just All Might the hero. I’m also All Might the UA teacher and Young Midoriya’s mentor.” He continues, “As Principal Nedzu has told me in the past, I cannot give one job more attention than the rest. I am equally responsible for all of them, so it would be remiss of me to forget that just for the sake of defeating All For One.”

His eyes gain a determined glint as his hands clench into fists. “That’s why, if death tries to sink its claws into me in this upcoming battle, I will fight back with everything I have. I won’t allow Young Midoriya to lose his mentor, especially when I still have so much to teach him, and I won’t cause you, my other students, or anyone else undeserved pain with my death. I’ll keep fighting no matter what.”

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave, causing you to slump back in your seat. Seeing this, Yagi gives you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Y/N-kun. I always seem to be causing you a lot of undeserved stress.”

“If you don’t wanna cause me stress, then take care of yourself, so I don’t have to worry about you.” You huff, “And make sure Midoriya learns how important that lesson is too. Honestly, you’re both way too self-sacrificial…”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose you make a fair point. I promise to be more careful on that end for both my sake and Young Midoriya’s since the last thing I want is to be a bad influence.”

Considering how Midoriya currently is, you think the damage has already been done, but you don’t say as much since there’s still time for things to change for the better.

Instead, you just reach for your teacup and drink the rest of your tea, which has unsurprisingly gone cold due to you completely forgetting about it during your and Yagi’s discussion.

That’s why Yagi decides to pour a fresh batch of tea for the two of you. As he’s doing this, you remember that there’s still something else that you need to tell him. 

“Shigaraki Tomura is Shimura Nana’s grandson.”

You’ve been putting it off since it’s not an easy subject to bring up, and you honestly would rather talk about anything else. However, for Yagi’s sake, you need to do it.

Finding your resolve, you take a deep breath and slowly release it. “As I mentioned before, I didn’t see the whole battle, just bits and pieces, so there wasn’t much to glean from my vision. However, there is one particular moment that stood out to me.”

When Yagi’s curious gaze falls on you, you clench your hands into fists. “All For One revealed something horrible that he did, something that will only cause you pain to know about, but I thought if I told you now that he couldn’t use it against you in the battle like he did in my vision.”

A deep frown forms on his lips. “It must be quite horrible indeed for you to look so upset. Although, I can’t say I am surprised since that sounds just like something All For One would do.”

“It’s worse than anything you could imagine, Yagi-san.” You bite your lip. “All For One really hit where he knew you would be hurt the most.”

After the number one hero gestures for you to continue, you take another deep breath before quietly revealing, “Shigaraki is your mentor’s grandson.”

Just like in your vision, Yagi completely freezes as horror slowly dawns his features. “No...it can’t be…”

“I wanted to believe it was a lie just as much as you, Yagi-san,” You sadly reply, “but we both know this is just the kind of thing All For One wouldn’t hesitate to do. That’s why I think he was telling the truth.”

Yagi lets his face fall into his hands. “Yes, you’re right. That’s just the kind of diabolical thing he would do.”

“Master had hidden her son away specifically to avoid this from happening, but it would seem her efforts were for naught.” Yagi trembles. “I’m so sorry, Master. If only I had known…”

Your expression softens. “It’s not your fault, Yagi-san, and I’m sure your mentor would agree. After all, she was the one who asked you and Gran Torino not to go looking for her son, right? You were just respecting her wishes.”

“Even so, I deeply regret that decision.” He sighs, “I should have considered the possibility of All For One finding a way to track down her family and made arrangements so that they would always be protected from him. I should’ve known better than to assume that All For One wouldn’t be able to find them.”

Unfortunately, it looks like you won’t be able to absolve Yagi of this guilt despite how much you want to. No doubt this will be something that will remain with him for the rest of his life.

As you frown at that thought, Yagi pulls his hands away from his face. “Thank you for telling me about Shigaraki, Y/N-kun. I’m sure it was a subject you would have preferred to not discuss, but you did it for my sake, which I am very grateful for. Like you said, it’s far better that I learn this horrid truth here rather than on the battlefield. ”

You frown worriedly. “Will you be alright?”

He forces a smile. “Yes, you don’t need to worry about me. It’s true that this news was a horrible blow, but I won’t let myself give in, especially not after I just promised to overcome everything that’s thrown my way.”

His smile falls. “Dealing with Shigaraki from here on out will not be easy, but for my master’s sake, I won’t fold. I won’t allow him to continue down the path All For One set him on. I will do everything I can to ensure he cannot commit any more crimes.”

Hopefully, things won’t come to that since you know fighting Shigaraki would be incredibly painful for Yagi. That’s why you think it would be better if another hero was in charge of stopping Shigaraki, especially considering how much the villain hates the number one hero.

Of course, you don’t say as much. Instead, you just keep those thoughts to yourself and enjoy the fresh batch of tea that Yagi later pours for you once it’s ready.

As you’re both enjoying the tea, you provide as many details about your vision as you can that you think could be helpful, which mostly entails talking about All For One’s Quirks in hopes that that’ll help Yagi in the long run.

Once that discussion concludes, you decide to take advantage of this private time with Yagi to ask a question that’s been on your mind for a while now. “Yagi-san, do you ever intend to tell Midoriya about the future Nighteye foresaw?”

Yagi quickly averts his gaze. “I didn’t think that would be necessary….”

A sigh escapes you. “As I thought. Honestly, you keep way too many secrets from him. It’ll come back to bite you one day, you know.”

You wag your finger at him. “As your successor, Midoriya has a right to know about those secrets, especially the ones about your predicted death and Togata Mirio. Those are not the kinds of things he should be learning from anyone but you.”

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose you make a good point, but if we can avoid him finding out at all…”

“Fat chance of that happening.” You huff, “He’ll find out everything eventually, Yagi-san. It’s only a matter of time.”

When he remains unconvinced, you add, “Just give what I said some thought. I’m not saying you have to talk to him right now, but at least, consider doing it in the near future.”

The blond reluctantly nods, “Very well. It is true that you make an excellent point, so I should, at least, try to give the matter some more thought.”

Once that matter is addressed and Yagi returns to his muscle form, the two of you decide to leave the room, so you both return to your regular duties.

As the two of you are walking, you remember one last thing you need to say to the number one hero. “All Might.”

When he turns to look at you, you smile, “I believe in you with all my heart. I know there’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it, so if you say you’ll win, I know that’s exactly what will happen.” “That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to feel as worried as I should have when I saw that vision.” You add, “Because I could tell just from looking at you that you had no intention to lose despite everything All For One was putting you through.”

Your smile grows. “Someone like you could never lose to someone like him. No matter what he says, he’s no match for you. I’ve always believed that and always will.”

Surprise briefly dawns his features before that trademark grin of his that you love appears. “Thank you. I promise I will live up to those high expectations of yours.”

“I know you will.” You fondly reply, “You always do.”

[retrievablememories]

the weekend | jaehyun (m)

title: the weekend pairing: jaehyun x black makeup artist!reader genre: fluff, smut request: “I love the Jaehyun x Stylist scenario can there be a part 2 where it’s like steamy and they are dating in secret with that Noona ana younger guy vibe???👀👀💞💞💞💓” and “Hiya this is the anon asking for a part 2 of Jaehyun and the makeup artist a first date with a little smut thrown in if you are feeling it. Whatever you come up with I'll read and more than likely love it💖💖💖😘😘😘” word count: 4k warnings: car sex, public sex, doggystyle, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex—don’t try at home 🔞 a/n: this is the sequel to style. i think it’s been more than a month since this request was sent in, y’all can throw sticks and stones at me now 💀 this fic is “set” after the release of final round, but let’s pretend it’s actually like november rather than july/august

Even though you and Jaehyun have been together for a few months now, today marks your first date.

All of your “dates” so far have consisted of video chats, phone calls, and text messages—and the occasional sexting session, of course. There’s no denying that you love talking to Jaehyun and hearing his voice over the phone, but you haven’t been able to do much else other than that, which could wear anybody thin.

Whenever you work with him on set, you have to play the part of makeup artist Noona who does nothing more than joke playfully with her client and treat him like a silly younger brother. It’s cute and fun for a while—you are grateful for the time to be around him, no matter how it comes—but you can’t pretend like you don’t want more. Maybe not the full experience of “going public,” but at least being able to be boyfriend and girlfriend around the other staff without it being a huge deal.

Jaehyun, in all his sneakiness, has managed to wrangle you into a supply closet or abandoned practice room a time or two, but there has never been time for anything other than a few stolen kisses. Between your endless assignments for NCT and other SM groups and his comeback activities, you’ve been operating on borrowed time.

But with promotions for The Final Round being long over and your schedule having finally slowed down, now is the time.

At this point, there’s so much tension built up between you that you’re almost afraid either one of you will spontaneously combust if you stay in the same space for long enough. The other boys have noticed and tease Jaehyun about it; even Jungwoo has snitched to you that Jaehyun has moaned your name in his sleep more than a few times.

Even though you’re going out today as an actual couple, you both still have to wear disguises. Lowkey, you’ve never really seen the point of these things; fans can always spot their favorite idols from miles away, but it’s probably better to be safe than sorry. You don’t really know what to expect, but you’re anticipating the date either way, excited to finally get together outside of work.

Jaehyun comes to pick you up that afternoon, and you look out the window to confirm his appearance when he texts you he’s outside. When you go to meet him, your nerves are alight.

You chuck your hat into your lap and pull your mask down when you get inside the car. “Ugh, I don’t like wearing that shit on my head. How are yo—” You’re interrupted when Jaehyun leans over the center console and kisses you full on the lips. For a second you laugh against his mouth at his eagerness, but you let yourself succumb to the kiss.

When he pulls away, it’s clearly reluctant, but he looks at you with his face pink and an overly eager grin on his face. “Sorry, we probably shouldn’t do that out there…” He glances around the apartment complex, but no one is there but you two, and his face betrays the lack of regret he actually feels.

“I don’t mind,” you say, trying to play it cool, though you’re feeling quite the opposite. You’re way too taken in with his dimples and his cute and playful demeanor, and it’s moments like these that make you realize that, despite being his makeup artist, you much prefer his bare face to any of the work you’ve done.

Jaehyun pulls out of the parking lot and you settle into the seat. “Aren’t you glad we finally get to hang out like a normal couple?” His excitement is almost palpable as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel to an erratic rhythm.

“Of course! As normal as it can be when you’re dating an idol, I guess,” you say with a hint of amusement, gesturing to your disguises. Jaehyun sighs a little at that.

“You might not believe me, but I still feel really lucky that you chose me, you know,” he says. “I mean...you could just date someone who you don’t have to go through all this extra shit for, someone you could see regularly, and I’m sure it’d be easier, but…”

“Don’t say that. I don’t care about that, Jaehyun; if I wanted that, I’d have it. This is different for me, but I don’t regret any of this.” You grab his free hand that’s resting on the console and slip your fingers between his. “You don’t have to be self-conscious about it or anything.”

Jaehyun squeezes your fingers between his and gives you a smile in return.

You and Jaehyun go to a restaurant he’s talked about before, claiming it serves some of the best pork belly in the area. It’s a little fancier than you expected it to be, and you would’ve dressed up more if you knew, but Jaehyun insists that what you’re both wearing is fine. It’s not like anyone one else will be judging you, anyway; the restaurant has a private dining room, which he reserved so you’d have some privacy while you eat.

“You really went all out, huh?” you say, giving him a sly look after you both sit down.

“Why not? You only get one first date. Got to make a good impression,” he says, putting his chin in his hand.

“We’re already together, I don’t think there’s much chance of me rejecting you at this point.” You laugh. “But you know I appreciate the effort.”

Jaehyun grips your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and smiling softly. “Anything for you.”

You and Jaehyun talk as you wait for your food to come, filling each other in on all the things you didn’t get to say over the phone or simply forgot about until now. Even though you talk or text over the phone at every opportunity, you’re a little surprised to find there’s still so much to discuss in person.

“It’d be nice to have a vacation...like, a real getaway. Two weeks. A month. Not just a few days off from recording or filming or whatever the hell they decide to have us do that week,” Jaehyun says wistfully once you eventually land on the subject of your jobs.

“Where would you go if you had that time off?” you ask, clasping your hands together as you anticipate his answer.

He shrugs. “Anywhere is fine, I don’t have a real preference...as long as you’ll come with me, of course.”

“Maybe the stars will align and our schedules will allow it someday,” you say, though you aren’t optimistic that it’ll happen any time soon. You already know a new round of SM comebacks is coming soon, which means you’ll be busier than ever. You don’t work with every group or idol, but just 1 or 2 comebacks means dozens of promotional appearances, which you’ll need to be on hand for.

“If that happens, we could go to the beach...” Jaehyun spins his fork around in his hand as he thinks.

“The beach is very ambitious.” You giggle, though it’s half-hearted. “There are way too many people there. People who could recognize you.”

Jaehyun has that face again, which tells you he wants to say but I don’t really care who finds out, but you assume he’s not actually that reckless. Maybe. “It wouldn’t be impossible,” he says slowly, “if it was nighttime. Or a beach people don’t go to often. Or a private beach.”

“Maybe,” you say thoughtfully, tracing your finger across the tablecloth. You’re both talking about it like it’s some far-off thing, but you can already see the wheels turning in his mind, and somehow you feel this beach trip might come sooner than you think.

Much sooner, actually.

After you leave the restaurant, Jaehyun makes good on his idea and actually takes you to the beach; the closest one is a little over an hour away from Seoul. It’s a last-minute thing, and you’re both exhilarated and anxious at the same time. You pester him with questions about the other people who’ll inevitably be at the beach, although that doesn’t do much to dampen your enthusiasm; taking this trip just means more time with him. And God knows you both need these hours together however you can get them.

“It’s almost winter,” he insists. “Hardly anyone will even be out there to see us. And if there are some people, we can just keep our disguises on.”

“Yes, almost winter, which means it’ll be freezing cold, too.” You shake your head at his smirk, and you know he’s thinking he’s just had the most genius idea ever. You wrap your arms around yourself at the thought of the temperature outside.

“If you get cold, just stay next to me. I’ll keep you warm,” Jaehyun says this like he’s just made some heroic declaration, and you look at him for a few seconds before you both burst into laughter.

“Here you go with the kdrama lines again.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the window as you watch other cars speed past on the highway. “I’ll be waiting for your acting debut, Mr. Jung.”

“Promise you won’t get jealous if I do?”

“Please! There’s no reason to be jealous,” you reply coolly. “I’m the one who gets to have you all to myself, after all.”

When you get to the beach, it’s about as empty as Jaehyun predicted it would be, to your surprise. There are a few stragglers here and there, but they’re too far off from where you are to worry about. You’re decidedly less nervous once you see this, and you let him tug your hand and pull you onto the sand like a thrilled kid.

“This is pretty,” you admit as you watch the waves crash against the shore. There’s nothing but sand and water for miles—enough to lose yourself in. You hold your hat closer to your head as a sudden strong breeze threatens to carry it off.

You and Jaehyun walk along the sand, and you make him walk on the inside closest to the water because you don’t want the cold tide splashing you as it rushes in. He doesn’t care nearly as much as you do about it, which makes you shake your head in amusement. He even takes his shoes off at one point.

“You’ll catch a cold out here,” you say, raising an eyebrow at his bare feet in the water.

“I’ll be fine,” he insists. “Even if I get sick, I’ll get to have you as my sexy nurse, so I’m not complaining.”

“You’ve got a lot of balls! Who said I’d be your nurse? You’d probably make me wear one of those goofy ass nurse costumes straight out of a porno.” You snort at the idea of that, though secretly, you don’t hate it.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You turn your head away from him, holding back your giggles but mostly so you can resist the urge to jump him then and there. “You’re so immature sometimes.”

“You still love it, though.” Before you can respond to that, Jaehyun leans closer to you and plants another wet kiss on your lips. You stumble in the sand a bit, but he slips his arm around your waist to steady you and press your body closer to his.

You quickly lose yourself in the kiss, focusing on nothing but Jaehyun’s lips on yours and the thunderous sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Jaehyun lowers his inhibitions as he deepens the embrace, his hands sliding to your ass.

“Your ass is so soft,” he groans, gripping the soft flesh and pushing his hips into you. You can already feel that he’s hard and straining against his pants.

“Horny bastard,” you giggle against his lips, though you could probably say the same for yourself, unable to part from his mouth for even a whole second. Your tongues slide together, and one of Jaehyun’s hands shifts from your ass to travel underneath your sweater. You don’t want to, but you manage to pry yourself away from him. “Maybe we should go back to the car. I know it’s hardly anyone out here, but I ain’t tryna get arrested…”

Jaehyun sighs, planting a few more kisses on your neck and collarbone. “Do we have to?” You try not to throw your reasoning to the wind as you stroke his hair and bring his face back up to be level with yours.

“Do you plan on fucking here? Because you’ll be washing sand out of your ass for days.”

“Well, when you put it like that...guess you’re right. Let’s go, then.” He finally steps away from you, only to hook his arms under your legs and sweep you off your feet, carrying you back to the car.

“You never quit!” You cling to his arms as if you’re afraid he’ll drop you as he walks you back to the car, with you kicking your feet and laughing the whole time. When he finally sets you down, your shoes touching the gravel of the parking lot, he unlocks the back door and you both slip into the backseat of the car.

Jaehyun shuts the door behind you both, finally closing you off from the cold. He leans over the console to put the key in the ignition and turn the heat on, and you take the opportunity to smack his butt while he’s up. He sits back with a fake shocked expression on his face, and then he tries to grab your arm and twist your body around so he can do the same to you.

You cry out and try to shield your butt from him, but he lands a smack hard enough to sting, and you punch him in the arm. “Ow! I didn’t do it that hard to you!” You two end up playfighting in the back of his car, both your hats flying off in the tumble as you push your hands against his chest in an attempt to stop him from tickling you to death.

You end up lying on your back with Jaehyun hovering over you, his warm breaths hitting your face as he laughs. He pulls his mask off fully so you can see his face, and you do the same.

Jaehyun tilts your chin up and kisses you, his other hand on the hem of your sweater as if he can’t decide if he wants to pull it up or go underneath it. He eventually settles on the former when he tugs it upwards to rest above your breasts, his lips never parting from yours the entire time. With this new access, he gropes your tits, kneading the flesh softly and pressing his thumbs into your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

You push your chest closer into his hands, relishing his gentle but firm touches on your body, and he presses forward more to slide his tongue past your lips, exploring the warm confines of your mouth. In turn, your hands go underneath his sweater and shirt, diving under the fabric and caressing his firm abs.

“Your hands are cold,” he smiles against your lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth after speaking.

“Because you brought me to a beach in the middle of November,” you reply, pressing your fingers deeper into his skin and absorbing his body heat. Your hands drift higher and ghost across his nipples, making them harden in response to your touch.

Jaehyun’s lips move to your neck again, biting at your pulse point and leaving soothing kisses in their wake, although he doesn’t spend much more time there before burying his face into your cleavage.

“No more low-cut tops for me,” you say breathlessly as he practically devours you and leaves marks behind on your skin. You wish to do the same to him, but that would only raise questions from the other stylists and the managers, who you’re not interested in doing battle with. Jaehyun answers that by pulling your bra cups down and sucking your nipple past his lips, swirling his tongue around the tip in a way that makes your legs tremble.

You move down towards the waistband of his pants and unzip them, pushing your hand into his underwear and gripping his dick. It twitches in your grasp, and his breath comes out hitched as you squeeze and stroke him as best you can while his jeans are still on.

“Fuck,” he says as he sits back, separating you from him and undoing your jeans. He pulls your pants off, and you help him shimmy them down in the small space of the car. Your underwear comes off soon after, discarded under one of the seats. You’re already wet enough to be glistening, and Jaehyun decides to take a taste of it, maneuvering you both so he can bury his mouth between your thighs.

You whimper quietly as he licks into you and pulls your clit into his mouth, curving his fingers inside you just like he said he would in all those nasty messages you sent to each other. Your mind and body are electrified with how good it feels, your hips pushing up to be closer to his mouth as he indulges in you, making a mess of his face.

Before you can come, though, Jaehyun pulls away from you, which makes you curse. You reach for him, though he’s quicker than you and shies away from your grasp. “Get back here before I kick your ass.”

Jaehyun pushes his pants and underwear further down, revealing his hard dick to you. “I’ve got somethin’ better for you. Get on your hands and knees for me.”

More shuffling ensues as you balance yourself on your hands and knees on the backseat of the car, Jaehyun settling in behind you. “This ain’t very comfortable.” It’s not the worst thing in the world, but there are definitely better places to fuck than inside a cramped vehicle.

“Sorry, babe. I promise the next time we have sex will be on a feather-lined King-sized bed, but until then…” The tip of Jaehyun’s dick slides across your ass and then through your pussy lips, nudging at your entrance. He teases you by pushing it in and then taking it back out, and you quickly grow tired of his games, wanting him to fuck you for real.

“Haven’t we both waited long enough?” You wiggle your ass against him and try to back up so he’ll slip inside, but he holds your hips in place and continues rutting against you like it’s the only thing he wants to do.

Finally, he acquiesces and slides inside of you, and you both gasp into the heated air of the car at this raw contact. Your fingernails make little imprints in the fabric of the seat as you hang onto the material, letting a shuddering breath pass through your lips. Jaehyun is hard and thick inside you and stretches you out nicely around him, filling that space inside of you that needed to be satisfied.

Your head hangs low as he begins thrusting into you, a little slowly at first and then more steadily as he gains a good rhythm. You keep your moans to a minimum, afraid to alert anyone outside to your presence in the car—even though they would most definitely see you before they hear you. Jaehyun isn’t having that, though, as one of his hands sneaks around to your front to stroke your clit; the added sensation makes you push back against him harder, wanting him as close as possible.

“Why are you hiding those pretty sounds, Noona?” he asks teasingly. “You told me all those times over the phone how you wanted to moan for me...why aren’t you doing it now?” He rocks his hips into you a little differently, rubbing against your spot, and you can’t help the groan of pleasure that slips out after that motion. You press your sweaty forehead against the seat, trying to gather breath. You never thought of yourself as being someone who gets off on honorifics, but in this context, it’s doing something to you.

“We’re in the middle of a parking lot, if you didn’t notice,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice low and steady as he keeps sliding against that spot, the soft slap of your bodies being the loudest sound in the car.

“A nearly empty parking lot at night,” Jaehyun retorts, pressing his fingers more firmly against your clit. His hand slides lower to where you’re connected, and he uses your wetness to help him circle his fingers more smoothly. You can only roll your eyes; he has a response for every argument you try to bring up. You can’t be bothered with that, though, as your mind gets increasingly hazy from how he continues fucking into you without a single worry.

Your attempts to stay quiet become more difficult as Jaehyun’s pace increases, like he’s purposely trying to overwhelm you with stimulation. The one hand that was still holding your hip comes to your front like the other, though he reaches up higher so he can grasp one of your breasts, pinching at your nipple.

“Fuck, baby,” Jaehyun grunts, pushing into you hard enough to make you yelp. “We waited too long for this. Should’ve just fucked you in the practice room.” A moan slips out at that, even though you try to hide it, and of course Jaehyun doesn’t miss it. “Do you like the thought of that? Want the whole group to see you taking my dick? Little exhibitionist.”

You can’t deny how your pussy throbs at the idea, even if you won’t say it to him. Not that you would need to; he can probably feel it. “That’s y-you! Th-this was your idea, pervert.”  

“Stop acting like you don’t love this dick.” It’s getting to the point where you can feel yourself climbing that summit towards your climax, yet you still need that extra push to get you to the top. If there’s anyone else in the parking lot right now, it’s already too obvious what you’re doing inside the car, so allow yourself to forget about trying to be inconspicuous and freely push back on Jaehyun’s dick, whining at how deep it reaches inside you.

More sweat gathers on your skin, and you’re sure the windows must be steamed up by now.

“Hope you’re gonna soak me,” Jaehyun says, pressing himself closer to your body so he’s draped across your back. The hand he was using to fondle your tits darts to your lower body, and he wraps his arm around your hips so he can hold you in place as he hammers into you. This move pushes you off the edge you’d been clinging to, and you scratch the seat’s material and moan loudly as your walls clench around him and draw him further into your willing body, trying to milk him for his own release.

“God, Jaehyun, please fuck me, please, yes.” You chant this incomprehensibly, uncaring that he’s already fucking you—you’re still going to ask him for more. You haven’t felt this blissed-out in a while. Jaehyun keeps pushing into you after the first orgasm and pulls another gush of pleasure out of you as he searches for his own end.

It finally comes with him hurriedly pulling out of you to spill his cum on your ass, stroking his length to get every last drop out. He groans deeply as he expresses his pleasure, and his sounds make you clench around nothing, wishing he’d come inside you instead.

Jaehyun wipes his cum off you as you slump against the seat and regain your breath, feeling more content than you have in months after finally unwinding that ball of tension within you. Jaehyun seems to feel the same way he keeps covering you with kisses even as you try to pull your clothes back on, satisfaction coloring his features.

“Look, if you want round 2, you’re gonna have to take me to an actual bed.” You playfully wave away his advances, but not before giving him one last long kiss.

“Say no more.” You both climb back to the front of the car and Jaehyun easily pulls out of the parking lot in search of a nearby hotel, readying yourselves for a long night.ahead.

[multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer]

Stars (Cal Kestis x Reader)

Author’s Note: Her guys! Here’s the Cal fic, as promised :) I figured I’d keep the fluff train going with this one, so I kept it cute. I hope you guys enjoy it!! And let me know by DM or ask if you want to be added to my Cal Kestis tag list! And as always, my asks/requests/tags are always open! (I’m in the mood for Anakin & especially Cal requests rn so let me know if y’all have any of those I’d be happy to write them hehe) Thanks so much for the love guys <3

Requested?: Not really, but thank you Ace for helping me come up with this one haha. Hope you like it ;)

Summary: You and Cal try to enjoy a much-needed night of relaxation on Bogano after the events of Fallen Order.

Stars

Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Major Fallen Order spoilers! So if you haven’t finished the storyline of the game, probably don’t read this. Otherwise, it’s pure fluff :)

You’re laying on the soft grass of Bogano when you hear footsteps behind you, ending right next to your head. You open your eyes and look up to see Cal standing next to you, looking off into the distance of the starry night above you.

“Sit with me, Cal.” You smile up at him. He doesn’t look down at you, just sits down and keeps facing forward. You don’t pay him any mind, really. You simply close your eyes again and bask in the peacefulness you had finally earned. After all, you had just successfully run away from the most terrifying man in the galaxy, Darth Vader himself. It was unfortunate how Trilla had come to an end, as you know she might have joined you, but you had almost defeated her, too. So, yeah, you’d say you earned the peace and quiet you’re finally receiving.

“How are you so calm?” Cal finally breaks the silence, and you hear the pent up stress in his voice. You open your eyes again and look over at him to see him already staring at you.

“What do you mean, Cal? We’re on Bogano, we’re safe right now. Relax for a bit with me.” You smile at him, trying to resist the urge to take his hand in yours. You opt to put them behind your head instead.

“But they’ve found Bogano before, we won’t be safe for long. I mean, Darth Vader himself tried to fight us. We’ve got to be on some wanted list now. They’ll be here at any moment-”

“But they’re not here yet, and I doubt they’ll send troops out until morning. Let yourself have a night off for once.” You scoff, sending him a sympathetic smile.

“I can’t let you guys get hurt! I’ve got to be on my guard right now, (Y/n), what if they show up? We can’t know their plan for sure! I don’t want your blood to be on my hands if they come in and slaughter us-”

“Cal, we’ve got basically three Jedi, a Nightsister, and a great pilot at our disposal. It’ll take a lot to bring all of us down. We can handle ourselves. So for once, stop putting all of the pressure on your shoulders. We’re here for a reason, you don’t have to put the weight of the world on yourself alone anymore.” You murmur, sitting up to finally look at him head-on in the eye.

“I...I can’t. I-If I let my guard down for even one second then you could get hurt or...k-killed and I can’t let that happen-” Before Cal can finish listing off his worries to you, you silence him.

You all but launch yourself forward and press your lips to his. You feel him still for a solid moment before he relaxes and starts to kiss you back, one hand cupping your cheek and the other making its way to your hair. You smile and separate from him, letting out an airy laugh at his still-shocked face.

“...What?” Is all Cal can manage to get out.

“I had to shut you up one way or another. Come on, relax with me. Please. Let’s pretend that we’re normal people in the galaxy for just one night.” You murmur, laying back down.

“Well...who am I to deny you, right?” Cal laughs nervously. He’s obviously beyond flustered, making you giggle again. 

“Lay down with me.” You muse, patting the grass. He immediately complies with your request, laying down next to you and intertwining your fingers. You shuffle over and lay your head against his chest. You let him wrap his arm around your shoulder and hold your hand from that side.

For the first time in what seems like forever, you feel warm and happy again. There’s no running, no fighting, and no yelling. Just...peace. You can finally be with Cal. Now that’s not to say that there won’t be running and fighting tomorrow, but you can bask in what you have for now.

“So I’m assuming...you like me?” You hear Cal’s voice vibrate from his chest, making you smile.

“I do.” You assure him, looking up to see the wide grin that breaks out across his face.

“Good, because I like you, too. In fact, I’d say…” He trails off, a blush rising to his cheeks that you can see even in the dead of night.

“Do you love me, Cal?” You tease him, laying your head back down on his chest.

“I love you, (Y/n).” He says. You smile again, this time wider.

“I love you, too, Cal. I have for a long time.” You hum in content, closing your eyes again.

You feel him start to pull you up so you look up and make eye contact with him.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, his eyes lit up like the stars above.

“Of course.”

So he does. He lays you back down on your back and leans over you, kissing you softly under the starlit sky. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You wish this moment could last forever, that you’d never have to worry about Darth Vader or the Empire ever again. That you could travel the galaxy with Cal and just explore for the fun of it. To have absolutely no worries.

You know that’s not in the cards for you yet, but at least this moment is. At least you have Cal, that’s all that really matters.

When you finally break apart, you swear Cal’s smile lights up your life more than any star could. You smile back at him and he lays back down beside you, resuming your former position. 

“I love stargazing with you,” He murmurs, rubbing small circles on your hand with his thumb.

“I love you,” You giggle.

“And I love you. I’m glad you decided to make a move.”

“Well, we both know it would’ve taken you a lot longer to get the nerve up, so I decided to shorten the process.” You tease him.

“Fair. I wonder what the rest will have to say.” Cal hums.

“Merrin will probably say she already knew, and Greez will say something along the lines of ‘no funny business in my ship.’” You giggle.

“You’re probably right.” Cal’s laugh resonates below your ear, eliciting another smile.

“We can worry about them later. Relaxation, remember?” You giggle, closing your eyes against his chest again.

“Relaxation.” He agrees, and you hear his speech start to slur at the end of the word. His breathing starts to slow and you feel his muscles relax under you.

He’s finally asleep. Truly, beautifully, asleep. And you get to be in his arms in his state of absolute peace. You’re truly honored by the amount of trust and love he has for you.

So, you entrust him with the same thing the same way, and you feel yourself start to drift off into a peaceful and much-needed sleep.

~~~~~

Tags: @spideyboipete

[stardusttkachuk]

Mistletoe

Pairing: Jamie Benn x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: swearing, fluff, a little bit of sad Jamie, a lot of teasing Tyler

Summary: Tyler is tired of his two best friends dancing around their feelings for each other and takes matters into his own hands by deliberately placing mistletoe above them.

A/N: This is day 11 of starduststarkey’s 12 days of Christmas fics. Check my masterlist for more!

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jamie asked, watching as Tyler attempted to hang a bundle of mistletoe above the front door. “Are you serious? Take that down.”

“It’ll be funny,” Tyler laughed. 

“No it won’t. You’re tricking everyone who probably doesn’t want to be together into being together with that thing. And what happens when you get two people under it who aren’t a couple? Don’t you think they’re going to be pissed at you?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Lighten up, Benn.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at Tyler. Lighten up. Yeah. How was he supposed to lighten up after being dumped two weeks before Christmas? He had already gotten her several gifts, already told his parents she would be joining him this year and was so excited to bring her home. He had the whole thing planned out. And then 6 days ago he came home and all of her things were gone and he was left with a note that said she couldn’t do this anymore, that they were moving too fast and things were getting too serious. But he should definitely lighten up. 

“Sorry. Forgot,” Tyler mumbled, remembering the entire reason Jamie was here helping him decorate in the first place. Tyler took the mistletoe down from above the front door, stashing it back in the box of decorations. 

Jamie knew he should apologize too. He didn’t need to go off on Tyler like that. Tyler was just trying to make the night fun.

Jamie gave a half hearted apology that Tyler brushed off and when he grabbed another piece of decoration he picked up the mistletoe with it, deciding to leave it in the main room for people to use for their own enjoyment.

—

You rang Tyler’s door once and then again, something you’d always done when you’d stopped by, a little trick to let him know it was you. The party wouldn’t start for another hour and a half but you made sure to bring enough food for double the entire Stars roster and then some.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Tyler said upon opening the door. 

He nearly gasped seeing the container of cookies you had brought. “You even made cookies!”

“Of course.”

Tyler grabbed a few of the bags, closing the door behind you. 

“Jamie’s here too, by the way.” Tyler said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“He is?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name and you tried not to sound so happy. “How’s he been since… you know.”

“Mopey. But I’m sure he’ll be happier when he sees you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny the butterflies in your stomach when Jamie came to the kitchen and lifted you into a crushing hug. 

—

Jamie couldn’t stop staring at you as you set up the kitchen. He was still helping Tyler with the living room area and the gaming area but kept turning around and smiling as you moved effortlessly around.

“Dude,” Tyler said, punching his arm.

Jamie’s cheeks turned red. Tyler was like a big brother to you. When he moved to Dallas you had moved in with him, going to school, working part time, and watching the dogs when he was gone. With the amount of time Jamie spent with Tyler, it wasn’t a surprise the two of you had grown close as well.

“Tell her,” Tyler whispered.

Jamie shook his head. “I don’t think she sees me like that.”

Tyler raised one eyebrow at him. “Uh… yeah. She does.” 

“Really?”

Tyler looked in your direction, catching you staring this time. You turned away quickly, pretending you weren’t just caught.

“Yeah,” Tyler laughed. “So you should tell her tonight.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” Jamie said

—

You barely noticed the party dying down; people slowly trickling out. All the while you were on the loveseat with Jamie, both deep in conversation about holiday plans, that had slowly drifted down memory lane. 

“Nothing will ever beat playing Winter Classics on new years day though,” Jamie said.

“That game was amazing,” you replied. “I still don’t know how I’m going to repay you for getting me tickets.”

“You’re not,” Jamie laughed. “Well unless…” he began but trailed off. 

“Unless what?” You asked. Seriously if there was any way for you to repay Jamie for those tickets, you would. 

“Nothing. Never mind,” Jamie said, shaking his head.

“Jame!” You swatted at his arm and begged,“tell me!”

“Okay… those cookies you made tonight. If you make me some, that’ll be payment.”

You didn’t believe that was the original thing he was thinking of. But you weren’t going to press it. “When do you leave for home?” You asked.

“Tuesday,” he said.

“I’ll bring some by on Monday. Then you can take them with you.”

“Really?” Jamie gasped, wrapping you in a hug. “You’re the best ever!”

Mid hug you heard someone clearing their throat. You jumped away from Jamie, turning your head, and finding Tyler behind the couch. 

Tyler’s eyes averted to above you and Jamie. Attached to the end of a fishing pole was a bundle of mistletoe. 

Although you couldn’t see it you knew your face was bright red. You could feel the warmth radiate from your cheeks, to the tips of your ears and down your neck.

“Tyler,” you started.

“What?” he laughed.

“I told you to put that thing away,” Jamie said.

“Yeah, funny story. I clearly remember putting it away, but then I found it on my coffee table. So obviously someone didn’t want it put away, or else they wouldn’t have gotten it back out of the decoration box and left it on the coffee table.”

It was Jamie’s turn to blush.

Tyler sighed. “Look, I’m so tired of the both of you playing this just friends game. You both like each other. And don’t deny it because I know. I’ve heard the way y’all talk about each other.”

You looked toward Jamie. Although you had your suspicions before, they went away once he got together with his now ex. Your crush on him never went away though. You felt destined to always be just friends, that your feelings would never be reciprocated.

Jamie had his bottom lip between his teeth. Your heart sunk as you started thinking that maybe your suspicions were right. Maybe he didn’t actually like you and what he had told Tyler was a crush that he had gotten over.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked suddenly, putting a halt to your wandering thoughts.

You nodded. The next second his hand was cupping your cheek and his lips were on yours. You had completely forgotten about the party and where you were, and about Tyler behind you two until he started whistling.

It was a quick kiss, but nothing short of amazing. You’re sure it would’ve lasted longer if Tyler wasn’t being obnoxious in the background. 

“I took some pictures for ya,” Tyler beamed. “So you’ll always remember your first kiss.”

You rolled your eyes, although you were incredibly happy. You couldn’t wait to see them.

Tyler grabbed the fishing pole he had rigged up, finally moving the mistletoe out from above your heads. You glanced around the room, noticing that it was just you and Jamie left. You wondered what time it was, and how lost in conversation you and Jamie had been.

Jamie didn’t say anything, simply rose from the couch and held his hand out to you to help you up too. Panic coursed through you again. Maybe this was just a one time thing. Maybe he only did it to get Tyler off his back.

“Do you need a ride home?” Jamie asked.

You shook your head. 

“Well… can I walk you to your car then?”

You nodded that time, heading to Tyler’s coat closet to collect your stuff.

“Bye Ty!” you called, finding him in the kitchen.

“What? You’re not gonna help me clean up?” He whined.

“Nope,” you laughed. You gave him a hug as he stepped closer to you. “Have a good Christmas.”

“You too.”

“Good?” Jamie asked when you had walked out again.

“Wait. You’re not staying either?”

Jamie laughed at Tyler’s disappointment. “I’ll be back. Just gonna walk Y/N to her car,” he said.

Tyler shot him a wink, making him blush once again. 

--

“I’ll bring you those cookies on Monday,” you said once you had reached your car. “Want or need anything else?”

“Actually, yeah.” Jamie kicked at a rock that was next to his feet, averting his eyes to the ground before back up at you. You gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to continue. “Come early. Have coffee and breakfast with me.”

“Like as a date?” You asked.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Like as a date.”

“Will there be mistletoe?” You teased.

“Do I need mistletoe to kiss you?” Jamie asked. You shook your head. “Good,” he said. “Because I wanted to do this, without Tyler being a paparazzi.” 

Jamie placed both hands on your waist this time, bending down as you stood on your toes. The second kiss was even better than the first and knowing Tyler wasn’t there to interrupt or take pictures or tease made it better.

It could’ve been thirty seconds or it could’ve been five minutes you weren’t sure but you were definitely breathless by the time you both pulled away.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Jamie whispered, pecking your lips again. 

“Monday,” you said between another kiss.

“Drive safe.” Another kiss.

“Okay.” Kiss.

Clearly you both were making up for lost time. You laughed between kisses, tried to say your goodbyes, all the while neither of you made an effort to actually leave.

“Okay. Tyler. Needs. You,” you said, punctuating each word with another kiss.

“I. Need. You.”

You placed your hand on his chest after another long kiss, keeping the both of you separated.

“Monday. We can continue this on Monday.”

Jamie nodded, taking a step back from you despite not wanting to.

“Monday.”

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you climbed into your car. Jamie waited in the driveway, watching as you pulled off the lot.

As you watched his disappear in your rear view mirror you had two thoughts:

1- You were so thankful for Tyler.

2- You couldn’t wait for Monday. 

[toukenramblings]

can I have child saniwa and shokudaikiri, daihannya, and ookurikara headcanons? sorry, you can tell I have a Complete Bias to the osafune swords and the dategumi ww. thanks! (child saniwa has so much potential though- how did they get into government shenaniganry? why were they picked above all else? they pull this in the live action movie but idk if it's adequately explained in universe. you don't gave to answer these questions, I'm just thinking out loud ww thanks again!!)

~~

REXYYYY HAVE I EVER MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU BECAUSE I DOOOOOOOOOO. anyway pls take my love. Y’all, Rexy does fics as well! I love their mind and they made a lil fic about the child!saniwa headcanons I’ve done before. PLEASEEE give Rexy some love~<3

Shokudaikiri Mitsutada

“I’m Shokudaikiri Mitsutada, I-” “...”

“A little one!”

Micchan is a kind soul, he bends down to the height of the little one - who may be terrified of his eye patch or see him as amazing. He’s a pirate! Yeah sure he’ll be whatever the fuck this little one wants, this is his child now. He treats the little one with such gentleness.

If they ever touch the burnt part of his face, his eye that no longer works - he’ll flinch. He’ll flinch, and maybe this kid will notice? If they pull away, Micchan will apologize. He was just surprised that’s all. But their hands are so small, so pudgy and soft, unlike his own oh so scarred and cracked in places. Maybe he’ll compare his larger hands to them, let them rest it in his palm and marvel at his fingers and how big he is. Maybe the lil one calls his hands beautiful despite the scarring.

Anyway back to the happiness. Micchan cooks for everyone in the citadel but for the little one he makes special care to make their dishes as cute as possible. Their apples are bunnies now, their pancakes are elephants, everything is cute now! But he also sneaks things into their meals that is healthy. Like making their chicken pot pie with vegetables, cut up so small that they won’t notice or something.

Nightmares come to everyone. But to this little one who probably has more than a child should at their age, it’s Micchan to the rescue. Mitsu’s room is found pretty close to theirs and he’s already somewhat of a light sleeper so the minute he here’s a sniffle, he’s awake and there to comfort them.

Will also be found crying as they interact with the rest of the Dategumi. Tsuru he trusts the most around them, going back to the Tsuru and Child Saniwa headcanons I made, Tsuru is rather gentle around the little one. Micchan trusts everyone with the kid but Tsuru just....I don’t know how to say it, he feels for the kid more, I suppose.

One day the lil one draws a picture, holding hands with Micchan and Tsuru - a family picture of them and the Dategumi. Expect Micchan to stuff that picture into an omamori and cry about it every day.

Yes Micchan caves under their pouty face and puppy eyes in the end, but he is rather stern when he wants to be. He keeps them on their toes, in a way. He ensures that they study on time, is always there - basically just a mom.

Yes Shokudaikiri is a busy man but he always makes time to spend with the little one, just to hold them close or just exist.

Head pats. Hugs. Micchan SO AFFECTIONATE. Ruffles their hair, forehead kisses, whatever this kid wants.

Oh Micchan, like Tsuru, is fucking ready to fight the government. Probably will poison their damn food for making this little kid fight.

Daihannya Nagamitsu

“It is quite a pleasure to meet you-”

“...”

“Ah! A young one!”

See, Daihannya, like Mitsu, will bend down to their height and make himself known. He’s a gentleman through and through, with a sweet smile that charms the pants off of them, calling them a nickname from their real name, or whatever title they prefer. They are his master and he will call them whatever they wish!

A mental image that warms my heart is the idea of Daihannya taking the kid away from a stressful day and just...sitting in his lap and painting something. Or just playing with his hands, or finger painting, or writing, or whatever. Daihannya appreciates creativity in all forms, whatever makes the kid happy!

Like Micchan above, if the lil saniwa makes a picture of him and them holding hands and have it like a family photo, Daihannya found framing it, making several copies, shoving it into an omamori, and just showing it off to EVERYONE. He’s that one dad who shoves like 60 pictures of his kid into his wallet and pulls it out like receipts whenever someone asks about his kid.

Daihannya isn’t much of a chef but he will at least try to cook something for them. He is the kinda dude who takes note of whatever the hell they like to eat though and keeps snacks for them hidden in his pockets somewhere.

Despite all this, I think that the above headcanons are for more the Daihannya that gets closer to the lil kid. He does care for them, but is rather distant about it at first. He does care, but is more so along the lines of first getting to know them. He teases and makes them laugh yes, but he doesn’t initiate much physical affection compared to like Tsuru or Azuki or Micchan. He’ll give them a head pat and say, “You did great,” but that’s where it ends.

As time goes on however, Daihannya will warm up to them. It’s rather strange. Yes he leaves out little treats for them outside of their door and whatnot but his smiles become more and more genuine as time goes on. He’ll begin to spend more time with the little one, who he slowly dotes on. Think of it as someone who isn’t against the parental role but slowly grows into it over time.

Anyway Daihannya can and will give the kid piggyback rides if they ask. He isn’t a monster.

He’s rather teasing to the little one in a way? Will be the one adult who holds treats out of their damn reach and chuckles as they jump and try to reach it- NO DON’T CLIMB ON THE SHELVES, HE’S SORRY, HE’LL GIVE IT TO THEM.

Daihannya is a bit lazy at times. So if anything he’ll invite the little one to nappy with him! Sometimes nappys are just what you need mAN.

When Daihannya becomes full parent of this little kid, expect him to casually and snidely threaten the government. “Oh ho, sending a little one out on such a dangerous job like this huh? Naughty naughty...I outta punish you.” what are you kikkou

Oookurikara

“....”

“......”

“........”

Why is there a child here? Why is this child their master? Where is everyone else? Oh God. Mitsutada? Sada??? Tsuru? HELP. Okay but there is no doubt that the kid is a lil bit terrified of Kara. Kara naturally has a rather intimidating aura. He knows how to curb himself around kids, no swearing and all, but he’s a bristly sort of man. He won’t bend down to their level to greet them or anything, maybe just brush past them. He’ll greet them, almost silently.

He isn’t as physically affectionate as Micchan or even Daihannya. He’ll reserve the affection for much more private times. Even then it’ll be sparse! His affection is just a mere head pat and maybe a simple, “You did good.” than anything.

Now, Ookurikara does have a bit of a softspot for kids and animals, he really does care about Taikogane, even if it’s sporadic. He’ll give a soft smile to the lil kid before turning away, denying that he ever did such a thing. It’s rather tsundere like in a way, or more perhaps kuudere?

Like Daihannya, Oourkikara will leave out snacks for them with a note. Compared to Daihannya’s notes which are like: “For you, master~!” and signed with his name, Kara’s little notes are just, “Master’s” and that’s it. Often kept somewhere where he knows the other tantous won’t take them or ‘accidentally’ eat them.

Daihannya will leave snacks at their room, with a knock and a smile, but Kara leaves them snacks with a soft knock and then leaves. He won’t wait for them to thank him.

As time goes on, Kara doesn’t open up per say. He does in his own way. He begins to tolerate the saniwa and their lil self, but more or less as they become more ingrained into his life he’ll notice things a lil bit more. Kara is already pretty damn observant despite how cold he is to people and he knows some things that the little kid likes. Maybe they’ll get a surprise gift after a long hard day?

Ookurikara is not good for comfort. One day this little kid stumbles into his room and he doesn’t know what to do. All he does is listen, rubs their back gently, and just stay there. However awkward it may be. They fall asleep on him and he carries them back to their room, curling them up in a blanket.

If they ask for him to stay, he awkwardly will, holding their tiny little hand. They’re a kid, Sada-chan takes warfare in stride despite the fact he...well, is Sada-chan and has been through is fair share of stride. But this little saniwa? Oh, they don’t deserve this.

When the morning comes, Ookurikara is gone but in his place are a small batch of snacks - their favorite, he knows, he’s seen how they light up when Micchan gives that to them. Did he make it himself? He won’t tell.

Over all, it’s very hard for the little saniwa to get to know Ookurikara, despite his penchant for hiding snacks and candy for them in his pockets. It takes a long time but he’ll warm up to them in the end. He’ll deny it but he’s already taking pot shots at the government officials who allowed this to happen.